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princessasmosprincess · 2 years ago

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Charmed, I'm Sure

Chapter 18

Summary: No human has ever avoided Asmodeus's charm. Except for you.

Pairing: Asmodeus x GN Reader/MC

Genre: Drama, angst, a little fluff.

Warnings: None.

***

Lucifer formally announced the field trip at dinner even though everyone present already knew about it.

“You may want to purchase some more suitable clothing for the trip with your allowance,” He’d said to you.

You spent most of your time in your school uniform, and your Human World clothes were acceptable for lounging around the house but you’d noticed none of your outfits, save for the one you’d bought with Asmo, were fashionable in the Devildom. They weren’t bad, just bland. The other factor was the weather. It was quite hot in the Devildom at this time in the year. Devildom-style clothing would be much more comfortable.

You felt ok after your first day back in class (as you suspected you would) so you had Mammon take you to Majolish when RAD was over.

The store looked different during the day. It was full of customers, you noticed a lot of them were RAD students, likely preparing for the field trip as well. The racks were filled with the latest fashions, different from those that had been in the store on your last visit.

Lisette was talking with two assistants, she gave a curt nod as the two of you entered the store.

The back wall of Majolish was decorated with multiple photos from the latest issue of Devil Style; the biggest was a blown up picture of the cover featuring Mammon. He puffed out his chest at the sight, and a few customers stared at him when they noticed the cover model standing right in front of them.

“The Great Mammon’ll make sure ya get VIP treatment.” He slung his arm around your shoulders. “Hey Lisette, mind if my friend here uses one a’ the private dressin’ rooms in the back? It’s crowded in here.”

Lisette smiled, sending her assistants off to their assignments, “Of course, and welcome back, MC.”

You returned her smile.

Mammon looked between you and Lisette, “You two know each other?”

“I’ve been here once, with Asmo.” You said.

“With Asmo?”

You lowered your voice, “You know, the night we went to The Fall.”

“Oh,” Mammon hadn't cared that much right after it happened, then your pact had been new and you were just a human to him, his crush on you only just beginning to bloom. But looking back he really wished he had been there for you. Although he didn't envy Asmo’s punishment, knowing Lucifer would have been harder on him if he had been in Asmo’s position. Such was the life of the second born.

“She read tarot cards for me,” you said.

“What?” Mammon said a little too loudly. “Tell me what they said, human.”

“It’s my future,” you said. “I’d rather keep it private.”

“We got a pact and I’m supposed to watch over you. Ain’t that my future, seein’ as we’re always together?” Mammon argued.

You shrugged, revealing nothing.

You had mostly pushed Lisette’s card reading aside in your mind, a lot had happened since then. But it would be incorrect to say that you hadn't thought about it at all. There had certainly been a lot of heartache as she'd foretold, for you and others. Asmo’s face came to mind and you tried to push that away. The Death card was always looming in your mind, even though Lisette had assured you it didn't always stand for death, but for change. And as for the seven cups, the illusions, you still weren't sure what that meant.

Mammon followed you around the store, somewhat deflated since he wasn't the one to introduce you to Lisette and Majolish, disappointed that you wouldn't reveal your future to him, and still thinking about the past. Carrying your outfit choices for you wouldn't exactly make up for it, but he hoped it would help. You seemed to be enjoying yourself as you matched pieces together, imagining how they’d look, all of it piling up in Mammon’s arms. Occasionally he would speak up and give you recommendations, usually suggesting you add more layers and even more accessories.

When you were finished, Mammon led you to a room in the back labeled “Room 1”. One side of the room was sectioned off with a black curtain to change behind, directly across from it was a large three paneled mirror and a dressing table. A round platform surrounded by three chairs took up the center of the room.

But what really caught your eye was the large portrait taking up most of the back wall of Room 1. It depicted an elegant, beautiful looking couple. It looked to be a very old portrait, both the subjects wore Edwardian era clothing. The woman lounged sensuously on a settee, the full-length skirt of her intricately beaded midnight blue dress dripping onto the floor. Her golden hair was done up with diamond pins in the Gibson Girl style, which you recognized from old illustrations. The woman was Lisette. The man standing behind her, a demon, spread his large, elliptical wings out behind him; the artist captured the iridescent shine of his black feathers. Thick black ram’s horns curled from his head. He resembled Lucifer a bit, with glossy black hair parted to the side and a haughty smirk on his lips. His violet eyes seemed to stare right into your soul.

“That’s Lisette and her husband, Kallios, they started Majolish together,” said Mammon as he hung your outfits on an empty rack. “He was a RAD student and pretty close to the crown.”

“Was? What happened to him?”

“He died like fifty years ago in a rebellion. Not everyone's on board with Diavolo's ideas to unite the realms.”

“Fifty years ago?” You repeated.

“Yeah,”

You approached the painting, staring up at it. The mark in the corner indicated the year it had been commissioned. Your hand hovered over the date. “1909… That would make Lisette-”

“Well over a hundred?” Mammon smirked. “That’s what dabblin’ in magic and lovin’ a demon can do to ya.”

You stared at Lisette’s painted form. She looked the same as she did now, not a day over thirty.

You didn't have much of a chance to think about that because Mammon was dragging you over to the dressing table to show you something else.

“Have a look at this,” He had pulled out a thick binder. Inside was a copy of every cover and full-page spread in Devil Style from the last hundred years. There were lots of different models, but you noticed many of them were of Mammon, although Asmo showed up several times, and both Satan and Lucifer appeared a few times each as well.

Mammon pointed out a few of his favorite photo shoots: April 1925, December 1937, August 1964, and October 1995.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in, everyone’s decent!” Mammon called through the door.

Lisette stepped into the room. “Everything going alright?”

“I haven't even started trying anything on,” you admitted.

“I was showin’ MC some of our past photo shoots,” said Mammon. “Remember January 1959? Man, I looked sexy!”

“I can see why you haven't gotten anything done,” Lisette suppressed a laugh. She turned to him. “Mammon, since you’re already here, I'd like you to try on your outfits for our next photo shoot. Andromalius has them all ready for you in Room 2.”

“On my day off an’ everything?” He gave a dramatic pout. “Of all people, why does it gotta be Andromalius?”

“It’s his collection we’ll be debuting next month.”

Mammon sighed, “You’re lucky you’re the only witch I can tolerate.”

“Be careful what you say about my siblings in the craft,” she simpered, returning his banter in good fun.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mammon gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. “You’ll be alright by yourself, MC?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said.

“This will only take a few minutes,” said Lisette.

The two of them left, leaving you with your rack of clothes.

You tried on outfit after outfit, trying to style them the way you’d seen in Devildom magazines and on the street. This would have been a good time to have Asmo around, he’d know exactly what to do. You did set aside some of Mammon’s choices, and you hoped he wouldn't see them when he came back to the room. They were just a little too much for you.

In the end you had several outfits put together that you were somewhat confident. You’d have to ask the brothers for their advice later.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” You straightened the hem of your shirt. “I just tried on my last outfit but tell me how you feel about the length of these pants.”

Lisette was the one who entered.

“Oh, I thought you were Mammon,” you said.

“He’s just finishing up.” Lisette smiled. She and her assistants were wheeling three mannequins into the room. They pushed them up against the wall under the painting. “The pants look good on you, but I might suggest shortening the cuff by half an inch. We can also take in the inseam just a bit.”

“How much will that cost?” When you had been to Majolish the last time, Lisette had sized yours and Asmo’s clothing to fit perfectly with magic. The spell looked complicated but Lisette had done it so easily. Even so, you didn't think that was something that would be done for free.

“Free of charge, my dear. I did promise Mammon I’d give you the ‘VIP treatment,’” she said with a little glint in her eye and a wink.

“Thank you,”

She waved your thanks away humbly. “I magically tailor all the Demon Lords’ and rulers’ clothing for free, it's good advertising. And since you’re a guest of the crown as a RAD exchange student, I should do the same for you.”

While you changed back into your own clothes, Lisette surveyed your fashion choices, humming approvingly.

“I’ll admit my coming here and offering to tailor your clothes isn’t a totally innocent occurrence.” she said.

You pushed the modesty curtain aside, now fully dressed. “How so?”

“I wanted to ask if you would try these on so I could get another human’s opinion.�� Lisette led you by the hand to the three mannequins. Each one was dressed in traditional Devildom formalwear, you recognized the general shape of them from portraits in RAD and the House of Lamentation. “These were all created by local designers. I’m hoping to debut them next month alongside Andromalius’ collection.”

“I don’t know that much about fashion.” you said.

“Nonsense,” said Lisette. “Clearly you know something, judging by your wardrobe choices.”

You looked at the three ensembles. They did look gorgeous. And Mammon still wasn't back yet so you still had some time.

You agreed to try them on. Lisette and her assistants helped you dress, there were many different components to each outfit, lots of sashes and buttons, that you weren't sure you could do by yourself and you didn't want to ruin them.

The first was made of black brocade silk, sewn in multiple triangular panels, the pattern of the brocade matching up perfectly on each seam.

The second was made of thick, red velvet and covered in jewels. It was heavy but you found it was still easy to move around in.

The third was softer than the first and more understated than the second. It was made of pearl white gauzy material with a little bit of lace that seemed to almost float around you. There was a cutout in the back, exposing some skin, but it wasn't overly revealing. The edges of the sleeves and the hem had delicate embroidery in eight different colors that sparkled in the light. The colors of the thread could only be seen up close.

“Now, which one is your favorite?” Lisette asked.

You twirled in front of the mirror, watching the fabric billow as it moved. “This one, for sure.” It felt so light and airy and very comfortable.

“An interesting choice…” there was that glint in Lisette’s eye again. “You have to take it, darling, you look marvelous in it. I noticed a lack of formalwear in your chosen wardrobe and this would be perfect to fill that gap.”

You turned toward her, the fabric moved with you before falling in a graceful poof. “I really don't think I’ll have a need for anything this fancy.”

“My dear, the Prince is always hosting balls at the castle. I’m surprised he hasn't held one since you’ve been here.”

You looked at your reflection again, pondering, it flattered your figure so well. You ran your fingers over the embroidery.

You really did want to wear it again, if only for one night.

“How about this,” said Lisette. “I’ll loan it to you and when the day comes that you wear it, and that day will come, you can return it to me when you’re finished with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am, in fact I insist.”

“Ok, I’ll take it.” You relented.

Lisette and her assistants helped you undress and you changed back into your own clothes. By the time you were finished, Mammon had returned to your dressing room.

“Beel said he just got outta Fangol practice, wanna meet up with him at Café Lament?” Mammon asked as the two of you made your way back to the front of the store to pay for your outfits.

“Sure,”

You left your contact info with Lisette so she could text you when your purchases were ready. “It should take about an hour to size everything, dear,” she said.

As you and Mammon walked to Café Lament, he told you about next month’s collection. You were only half listening, though. Your mind was still on your new clothes, and particularly the formalwear.

When you arrived at the café, Beel was already there with four empty cups of buffo egg milk tea in front of him, he was working on a fifth.

“I ordered a cake too,” he said. “Want some, MC?”

You accepted a small slice and Mammon went up to the counter to order you a brown sugar buffo egg milk tea and a Dark Hell Mocha Chip Cream Frappuccino for himself.

***

Cross-posted on AO3

#obey me #omswd #obey me shall we date #asmo obey me #asmodeus obey me #asmo #asmodeus #asmodeus x gn mc #asmo x gn mc #asmo x gn reader #asmodeus x gn reader #asmo x reader #asmo x mc #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus x mc #mammon obey me

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bakuliwrites · 1 year ago

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Mirror, Story One: Vessel

Disclaimer: Post-Game Spoilers!!!!!!

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI) for Eventual Smut

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Relationship: Astarion x Tav (OC)

Summary: With Baldur's Gate saved and Cazador gone, Astarion and his beloved work to try to carve out a life for themselves. But freedom does not come without its complications and challenges.

An anthology of short, post-game stories featuring Astarion and my Tav, Orlando.

Chapter Tags: BG3 SPOILERS, ACT 3 SPOILERS, Fluff, Angst, Comfort, Grief, Mentions of Character Death, Depression, Telepathic Bonds, Kisses, Hugs, Karlach hugs and soft kisses from Wyll, Past Tav x Gortash, Ceremonies, Healing from Trauma

Read here in this post or over on my AO3

The streets of Baldur’s Gate are full of mirth, construction paused so that its citizens might celebrate the very fact that there is a city left to rebuild. They dress in their finest, flooding the streets with celebratory joy. Alleyways strewn with rubble are filled with dancing revelers. The air, thick with settling dust, is light with warbling song. And the night sky brightens with shimmering fireworks, sparks fizzling down into the harbor. Vendors sell delicious treats and memorabilia to remember the day Baldur’s Gate was freed from the Absolute. While the city proper is alive with good cheer, anticipation thrums through Wyrm’s Rock as people try to squeeze into the audience chamber, eager to catch a glimpse of the famed Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. They all murmur to one another, whispering rumor and speculation, peering excitedly at the motley crew of adventurers standing before the throne.

“I heard the Duke’s son made a pact with a devil and that’s why he has those horns now.”

“They look quite fetching on him, don’t you think?”

“Is it true that one of the Tieflings has got an engine for a heart?”

“Oooo, bet she’d keep me nice and toasty at night.”

“That pale elf is rather handsome, don’t you think? Mischievous looking, too. Bet he’s a boatload of trouble.”

“I’ve never seen a Tiefling with webbed ears before.”

“Rumor has it that she and Gortash were quite the item.”

Meanwhile, Astarion fidgets restlessly where he stands, a dour expression on his face. He does his best to entertain himself by tuning in to all the various theories being slung back and forth throughout the hall. There’s plenty of rumor, true or otherwise, to keep him distracted from the empty feeling that has pervaded him since he awoke this afternoon. As the sun sank beyond the glittering waters of the Sword Coast, Astarion found the elation of the last several weeks gradually emptying from him, like a slow leak in a cracked bottle. Has it really only been a little over a tenday since the defeat of the Netherbrain? Battling the Absolute feels like a lifetime ago, and yet, the deep exhaustion makes it seem as if Astarion and his companions fought only this morning. His sore muscles and creaky bones need months to heal. And his foggy thoughts, even longer. He feels weary already from this evening and nothing has even happened yet. It’s nice to be honored, he supposes, but it also seems, perhaps, a bit too much, a bit too soon. He’s hardly had a moment to breathe.

A gentle caress draws him briefly from his swirling thoughts. Orlando’s lips feather kisses along his cheekbones, sending a gaggle of young men and women into a bit of an uproar near the front of the crowd. She chuckles at their nonsense before cupping Astarion’s face in one hand and smoothing her thumb over his cheek. He leans into her caress, letting his eyelids flutter shut.

“You look lovely, my darling,” she whispers in Astarion’s ear, the tickle of her breath sending delightful shivers up his spine. The outfit he sports is one Figaro tailored just for him: a royal blue tailcoat with feathered, gold embroidery and a white undershirt with a frilled high collar. His knee high boots are made of black leather and have the slightest kitten heel. Orlando helped him pick the shoes, which are both comfortable and stylish, perfectly showing off his shapely calves.

Astarion casts a coy look at her, crimson eyes dragging up the length of her body. Orlando looks bewitching in her black and gold robes, swirling tentacles embroidered along her collar and sleeves. She is every bit a formidable warlock and sorcerer, enigmatic and not to be trifled with. And yet, her gentility shines through even her most severe apparel. Her dark hair, long now from many months of journeying without a haircut, cascades down her back in ringlets and waves. Astarion delicately tucks a loose strand behind her webbed ears. Her bioluminescent spots over her eyelids and on the shells of her ears twinkle in delight.

“And you, my dear, look ravishing,” he purrs, savoring the blush that dusts her cheeks. Before their flirtations can go much further, the din of the crowd softens as the grand doors are flung wide once again. Counsellor Florrick and Grand Duke Ravenguard make their way to the dais, taking their places aside the ragtag team of adventurers who somehow managed to save Faerûn from the doom of the Absolute.

Wyrm’s Rock lulls to a hush, silenced by a simple flick of the wrist from Counsellor Florrick. Astarion feels the eyes of hundreds fall upon him, upon his companions, and a sudden flutter of anxiety tickles his lungs. He shifts uncomfortably, hardly one to stand on ceremony. He cannot recall the last time he addressed a crowd as large as this. Back in his years as a magistrate, public speaking was not unfamiliar to him. But in the two-hundred years since, it has become nearly as foreign to him as the sun on his skin.

“Don’t worry, my love,” Orlando had reassured him earlier that evening, “Wyll’s in charge of the speeches today.”

Astarion hopes this remains true. It was already hassle enough to request this gods-forsaken ceremony be held at night, rather than in the morning like it had initially been suggested. He thinks of the hullabaloo that would ensue were he to open his mouth and flash the sharpened canines housed within. He can’t even begin to fathom the uproar that might occur were it to be discovered that a vampire spawn is one of the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Though, stranger things have happened, he supposes. Flying brains wasn’t exactly on his docket for this year. And neither was the adoring woman beside him, flashing a loving look his way just as the festivities officially begin.

The voice of Ulder Ravenguard drones in the background. Astarion is far too focused on looking poised to pay any attention to what the man is going on about. Praise, no doubt. Camaraderie and pride, blowing smoke, yadda yadda. It’s all well and good, but there’s a million other things Astarion would rather be doing with his freedom than sitting through some long winded speeches. The after party promises to be far more entertaining than the ceremony itself. Karlach has challenged everyone to a dance off, which Astarion would gladly pay to see (though he’s not sure he wants to participate). And the after-after party with Orlando promises to be a delight, as always. He catches her eye once again, smirking devilishly at the coquettish beam that plays on her lips. His mood brightens for a little bit after this small exchange.

As the evening wears on, however, the chilly emptiness begins to creep in again. An inexplicable untethered feeling; like he’s adrift in the ocean, unmoored and without direction. Astarion and his companions each gain a crimson sash, heavy with medals of honor and valor. Ordinarily, Astarion might scoff at something so- heroic. But in the wake of the vacuum forming in his chest, he feels a swell of pride when Florrick greets him with a smile, lowers the sash over his head, and moves aside to adorn Orlando with one of her very own. The crowd erupts into cheers, applause, the hall overflowing with joy, relief, elation. Astarion feels their energy burst within him, pushing aside the icy chill in his heart, chest filling with an overwhelming sense of gratification.

Until anxiety rears its head once again, sudden and without explanation; and all excitement peters out, a flickering candle snuffed out by rain. A thousand eyes on him. Eyes in the shadows. Lurking. But he cannot tell if it is something real, a malignancy out to get him, or if what lingers in the darkness are the ghosts of his past. He searches the faces in the crowd for one in particular, but he cannot find the narrow face of his master, the hateful glowering gaze. And why would he?

Dead and gone, he reminds himself, I killed him, myself. I watched him die.

Relief has not found Astarion, yet. He cannot help but look over his shoulder when he travels through empty alleyways. He cannot help but cower in the shadows at the slightest hint of sunlight. He winces at the sharp calls of hawkers in the market, as if their cries are admonishments for his failure and not promises of goods. His back prickles, tiny needles stabbing his scarred skin, the memory of a blade carving his flesh still poignant in his nerves. There is blood in his mouth, rat fur trapped in his teeth, the horrible crunch of bone when he bites down. Red eyes in the dark, eyes that aren’t there, but seem to leer at him from ages long gone. He has not dared venture anywhere near Cazador’s Palace, now abandoned, but still no less frightening.

When will it end, this feeling of paranoia? Shouldn’t it be gone by now? Shouldn’t Astarion be feeling the full rapture of his freedom? The full force of ecstasy that comes with the unshackling of his bindings? Shouldn’t he be feeling- happy? And not whatever this hideous, soul-sucking vacancy is?

Beside him, Orlando’s breath hitches in her throat. Astarion can feel that same lacuna in her, that same draining emptiness. Behind her soft smile is a deep sorrow, an immense exhaustion Astarion, himself, is wholly familiar with. Her eyes reflect a weariness etched permanently into her soul. He nudges her gently with his elbow while the crowd is distracted by Wyll’s rousing speech. They’re seated now, in one of the pews near the front. The Tiefling smiles weakly at him, intertwining their fingers when he slips his hand into hers.

“What troubles you, darling?” Astarion whispers, nudging at her thoughts with his own. They are forever bound, a telepathic link born not of the tadpole, but of Orlando’s eldritch heritage, a gift from her most generous patron. Astarion cannot use it very well and she is still learning, one toddling step at a time. But they each can use it well enough to pass secrets back and forth, or gossip from across the room at parties and what not. However, sharing memories seems to come easy to them both.

Orlando lets him in. The familiar exhaustion of months on the road is first to greet Astarion. He knows that feeling all too well. The constant walking. Gods, the endless walking and jumping and climbing. If he never has to hike again, he could die a happy vampire. Roughing it in tents, trying to find comfort in thin sleeping rolls, and bathing in whatever water they could find has sapped him of his vigor. It has been an absolute godsend to be able to sleep in a comfortable bed and bathe in an actual bath tub, even if it is at the Elfsong Tavern for now.

Deeper than this surface-level exhaustion, however, is a pervading sense of weariness in Orlando’s soul. The pain of her childhood: searing sunlight, brackish water, coarse salt, and jagged rocks. Harsh words thrown at her by a tyrant father, fleeing, and wondering if she’ll ever be safe. A brief reprieve, immense love, shared laughter with her mother and brother, the bustling harbors of Baldur’s Gate, the smooth ocean against her scales, freedom and independence. Confusion, uncertainty. And then darkness: trapped in a dank basement, confined to the shadows, lost and confused, separated from her loved ones, now the property of a devil. This all merges and congeals with the pain of loss throughout these last several months. Betrayal, anguish, ruin. Innocent lives lost, and for what? Tadpoles and brains and undead armies. The death of her father, a complicated and raw recollection. The severing of her tie to his despotic patron. Joyously reuniting with her own, M’aheth, Daughter of the Cosmic Sea. Being named Twin Star, honorary daughter. The pride that comes with such a title.

Orlando’s thoughts lift for a moment, recalling her relief when she and her mother and brother finally became free of their ancestral ties. But something Wyll says sucks her right back down into wallowing.

“Gone are the tyrannical days of Enver Gortash,” Astarion hears Wyll’s voice call out to the crowd. A soft murmur ripples through the room, some voices resounding in approval, others in staunch disappointment. That name is a complicated one amongst the citizens of the Sword Coast. For Orlando, it sparks an aching sorrow, a bereavement riddled with anger and shame. The memory of Gortash lingers strong in her mind, mournful and rife with confusion. Astarion feels this pain on the fringes of all her thoughts. Images of Enver as he was, youthful and mischievous, sweet and intelligent, gifting Orlando a tiny, mechanical figurine of a mermaid, flit before Astarion’s eyes. These images do not compute with the ones that follow: Enver lording over Baldur’s Gate, cool and uncaring gaze sweeping over enslaved Gondians, dead citizens, and pools upon pools of writhing tadpoles. Orlando’s mind struggles to contend with the sickening squelch of the metaphorical knife she plunged into the lordling’s back, an eternal curse falling from her lips out of anguish, a final kiss in his dying breath. Laying motionless at his side, for an engulfing eternity, staring vacantly into an abyss she almost couldn’t return from.

This abyss enshrouds Astarion’s vision for a moment. Suddenly, Cazador blips into Orlando’s thoughts, and it’s then that Astarion realizes the focus has shifted to his mind. The agony of stolen youth pummels him, sunlight bright and warm on his skin, a forgotten memory. Blank eyes gazing at him in a mirror, eyes he cannot remember the color of. Arrogance, pride, power in his early years as a magistrate. And then pain, body broken and mind fuzzy as he’s beaten senseless. Fear as he realizes he is going to die, and he is going to die alone, in some stinking back alley of Baldur’s Gate. Fear turns to hope- a figure emerging from the shadows, austere, angular face swimming into view, promising he can save Astarion. Promising an end to his suffering.

Icicles in his neck, pinpoints of pain. And then emptiness. Dirt, loam, stifling and cold. His fingernails bleed from how hard he is scratching the inside of- dear gods, this is a coffin. Screaming, wailing for someone to help, please help, he’s been buried alive. Clawing his way through the earth, the first sweet breath of fresh air, only to retch. Rotten blood burbles in his throat, foams in his mouth. And then darkness, for two-hundred years. Darkness and agony, self-hatred and ruin.

Orlando squeezes Astarion’s hand, drawing him back to the present. He sucks in a breath, as if he’d been holding it. As if he has any breath to hold. He re-orients himself. Wyrm’s Rock, ceremony, Wyll’s boring speech. Astarion settles, quietly pressing a lingering kiss to Orlando’s temple. He feels her mind almost sigh in relief. The contact settles her thoughts and the desolation seems to wash from her mind in a gentle sweep of comfort. Suddenly, Astarion is bathed with the rosy warmth of adoration. All thoughts of Cazador disintegrate, turning to ash and sifting away. Orlando offers up an image of a house he’s never seen before: built out of cream-colored stone, a lush herb garden skirting the perimeter, smoke rising from the chimney. Astarion feels cozy in this vision, the scent of rosemary filling his nose, lungs blooming with warmth.

“Your home?” he puts forth, limited to simple questions by their infant telepathic link. Perhaps this is her childhood home, the one she spoke so fondly of when it was just her, her mother, and brother. Orlando shakes her head, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Ours,” she corrects, squeezing Astarion’s hand. He ruffles her thoughts with his surprise, his excitement. He wants to ask her more questions: did she buy it already? Is this a house that actually exists or just the idea of one? What does she mean “ours?” But before he can, he feels her thoughts shift. Now, he sees the two of them on the road, packs slung over their shoulders, hand-in-hand as they traipse through a sparsely wooded area. Fresh air, bright and clean in his lungs, and a clear night sky. The world is aglow with moonlight, a silvery band of stars streaking across the heavens. There is a promise of tomorrow in this vision, of possibility. Of adventure.

“Adventure, with a home to return to,” Orlando posits, a well of joy overflowing in her heart, “Not ready to settle down quite yet.”

She winks, knowing Astarion is just as restless for adventure as she is. Though having a home to return to would be more than ideal (less hiking that way, more resting). How long has it been since Astarion had somewhere he could call home? Somewhere that wasn’t a dungeon or a jail. How long has it been since he’s been allowed to go where he pleases, when he pleases, how he pleases? They could go anywhere. Excitedly, images of Waterdeep, Chult, Neverwinter, Avernus, even, pop into Astarion’s head. Orlando stifles a chuckle from beside him, beaming brightly at the vampire’s enthusiasm.

Wyll’s speech comes to a close. Duke Ravenguard instructs his son and his companions to rise from their seats so that the citizens might thank them one more time. The audience chamber is filled once again with raucous cheers. Looking around, Astarion sees the faces of his fellow adventurers. His friends . He sees the faces of his fellow Baldurian’s, jubilant and proud. Astarion feels simultaneously overwhelmingly full and painfully empty. Cheers ring in his ears and it's as if all of Baldur’s Gate is pouring itself into him. The world is ahead of him. Life is ahead of him. Freedom. But there is something terrifyingly vacuous about knowing he is free. With both everything and nothing to look forward to. Where do they go from here? Astarion’s veins fill with an icy cold at the thought of having to carve out a life for himself.

Orlando gestures for Astarion to lean down, crashing her lips to his in a passionate kiss, thawing the anxious chill that had begun to numb his fingers. Astarion pulls her close, caught up in the exuberance of the moment, caught up in the reminder that he is not alone. Karlach, beside herself with excitement, tears in her amber eyes, pulls the little group into a massive, crushing hug. Warmth spreads through his body, fills his limbs with a tingling joy. Wyll squeezes Astarion’s free hand, presses soft kisses to his, Orlando’s, and Karlach’s cheeks. There is uncertainty, and that is the only thing Astarion can, funnily enough, be certain of. But in this moment, he is reminded that he will not be facing his uncertain future alone.

“Our home,” Astarion repeats to Orlando after a little bit, having to shout over the roaring applause, “Our adventures.”

“Our future,” she returns, stealing one more kiss before the adventurers are led out of the audience chamber, followed by shouts and cheers. People spill out into the streets, ready to spend the remainder of the night in carefree revelry. Astarion pauses at the threshold, the shining city of Baldur’s Gate ahead, his nearest and dearest companions at his side.

Deep breath. Release.

Wyrm’s Rock exhales, and Astarion is free.

A/N: Hello, everyone! I wanted to write a post-game story for my Tav, Orlando (a Sorlock), and Astarion. I've been a little bit all over the place with writing down her story (as in, I can't seem to write it down in any particular order). I have a couple things up on my Tumblr about her and I do plan to write a story that takes place during the events of the game. But for now, I had an itching to write some post game content, so here it is.

Some notes: this occurs post-game with Vampire Spawn Astarion, Orlando and crew managing to stabilize Karlach's heart (which I wish you could actually do in-game), and Wyll managing to rescue his father. Orlando was severed from her Warlock patron with the insertion of the tadpole, but has since reunited with her patron, M'aheth (the baby of another Great One patron called the Cosmic Sea). She comes from a family of Sorlocks that worshipped a cruel Fathomless patron, but Orlando managed to sever her ties with her family and the Fathomless. She and Gortash were trapped in the HOH together and were in an on again/off again relationship for many years. If you have any questions, feel free to ask! I'd be happy to answer. More info to come. I mostly wanted this story to be about her and Astarion adjusting to living a life of freedom. Most of this story will be about Astarion, but I wanted to give a little context for some things mentioned in this chapter.

*Edit (02/09/24): Changed a line about Gortash’s death.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #act 3 spoilers #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #orlando moonwater #my writing #my fanfic #dani writes #wyll ravenguard #karlach cliffgate #postgame spoilers #fluff and angst #eventual spice #angst #fluff

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hlvrfreakyfriday · 2 years ago

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HLVRFF: Chapter 9

Okay. So.

The whole 'clear head with fresh air for easier thinking' thing is completely backfiring on Benry. Instead of clearing his head, it’s just gotten full of even MORE thoughts he’d really rather not be thinking.

Mostly ones about that last week at Black Mesa.

Thinking more about how scared Gordon was the whole time, and how oblivious Benry himself was to Gordon’s very justified fear. Thinking about how he just kept making shit more stressful for the guy, like how he’d purposefully get in the way of progress, and not help out during fights, and making jokes about his missing hand... that he’d caused Gordon to lose in the first place… acting like he was going to straight-up kill the Science Team…

He also thinks not just about how scared Gordon was, but how angry Gordon was, at him. All the times he’d shoot Benry in the face, and slug him with the devil gun so hard he went flying, and how he’d be near constantly telling him how much he hated him and wanted him dead. How much he wished he could kill Benry himself. How elated he looked when Benry got sucked into that funky portal as he died on Xen…

Benrey feels like he’s going to be sick.

Or, at least, he thinks that’s what this feeling is. He never felt sick in his own body, but he knows it’s not a good feeling, and this one he’s got now is absolutely awful. Benry stops walking, and yanks his beanie down over his borrowed eyes, knocking Gordon’s glasses a bit askew, as he lets out a low-pitched whine. He tries to reason with himself, that’s all in the past now, Gordon doesn’t say or act like he hates you anymore, and you’re even roommates with him now.

Unfortunately, Benry’s brain is in full-on self-loathing mode, and immediately counters with it’s in the past but it left lasting damage- he still has nightmares about you. Just because he doesn’t show it as much doesn’t mean he’s still not harboring hate for you- he hid his fear of you all this time. You’re only living with him because Tommy asked him to let you, and he just happens to like Tommy more than he hates or fears you- Tommy saved his life when you only threatened it.

Even when you’re not actively trying to, you’re still giving Gordon nothing but grief by simply existing in his life.

.....

Benry pulls the beanie back up off his eyes, and just stares at the sidewalk.

Maybe... maybe he should ask Tommy’s dad about getting... different living arrangements, once he’s back and has fixed the body switch. Part of him is telling him he should probably discuss this with Gordon too, but... he’s scared of Gordon being all 'oh thank GOD, finally’ over hearing Benry’s considering moving out. Not like he wouldn’t deserve that, though.

There’s also the possibility of Gordon expressing guilt over making Benry feel he has to leave, ‘cause Gordon’s the Big Hero Man, and caring too much is what he does, even when he shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty, since Benry’s the one giving him fucking death nightmares and- guh...

Wrapped up in these thoughts as Benry is, he completely fails to notice there’s a man approaching him, until the guy barks out a gruff ‘hey' at him.

Readjusting the glasses on his face, he turns to the man before speaking. “uh… can i help you, sir?”

“Dr. Freeman,” the man addresses Benry with a frown.

Oh fuck someone who knows Gordon that Benry’s never met. Uhhhh shit. What the hell does he even do. Benry supposes he could just play dumb; say he isn’t Gordon, that this guy’s got the wrong dude. But then again, whoever this is seems to already be in a real bad mood…

“uhhh yep, the One Free Man, that’s me- GH-!” Benry replies, and is cut off when the scowly guy grabs him by his shirt.

“You miserable piece of shit,” he snarls in Benry’s borrowed face. “You should be dead right now, you know that? How is it that my entire fucking squad is gone, but some fucking out-of-shape egghead like you is still walking!?”

Ohhhh fuck, this is one of those bootboys from Black Mesa, that were sent in to… kill everybody for some reason? Benry never understood why. ‘Mesa being overly worried about ex-employees spilling their secrets, but also being cheap bastards and wanting to avoid paying hush money for their silence, he guesses. Yeah, that sounds about right.

But, hold up, didn’t they kill all the soldiers that were sent after them? He’s pretty sure Coomer said as much. So then who is…

Wait.

Aw fuck.

“forzen?” Benry says dumbly. Which was apparently a mistake, as that just makes the guy angrier.

“MY NAME,” he shouts at close range, causing Benry to wince, “IS TRAVIS. TRAVIS ESLA.”

Esla? Oh, ha ha, he almost forgot. That’s how he came up with the name ‘Forzen’ for this guy. Esla. Elsa. Frozen. Forzen. Man, he is so fucking clever.

Travis (formerly known as Forzen) doesn’t seem to agree. “That security bastard friend of yours got into my head and yanked me around like a god damn puppet!” he yells again as he swings Benry around and slams his borrowed back against a nearby wall. Benry groans in pain when Gordon’s already bad spine hits the bricks with such force. “But he’s not here now, is he? And you don’t have any weapons or that hazard armor, either,” Travis continues, a dangerous tone entering his voice. “I think it’s about time I finished my mission.”

Travis reaches for his back pocket, and when Benry sees the man pull out a rather sizable knife, his borrowed heart nearly stops.

This guy intends on killing him. Which, in any other situation, would be like, whatever. But in Gordon’s body, things are 200% more serious. If Gordon’s body is too damaged, Gordon won’t be able to get back in it. And… while normally having his physical body destroyed doesn’t truly kill Benry… considering that he can’t use any of his usual powers, it’s very possible that his connection to the cosmic void and its boundless energy has been temporarily severed. If this body was killed, Benry might not have the juice to form his old pure energy body, and keep his consciousness together…

If Benry dies right here, right now, there’s a very real chance he’ll stay dead.

If he didn’t already have a good idea about how Gordon felt during the ResCas, he certainly does now.

Adrenalin rushing through his borrowed veins, his fight or flight kicks in, and lands on fight. Which, uh, might not be the best choice. Black Mesa never trained him in unarmed human-style combat, they just taught him how to use a gun.

So Benry just goes with what he knows.

Before Travis can get his stabbing on, Benry knees the guy in the crotch, causing the man to loosen up his hold on him. Benry then does the first thing that comes to mind and bites down hard onto Travis’ left forearm. A scream is pulled from the man as Benry's borrowed teeth sink into the limb, his mouth filling up with the metallic tang of blood. He very briefly notes that, like everything else, it doesn’t taste as good on Gordon’s tongue as on his own.

Turns out Benry overcompensated for Gordon’s comparatively duller teeth when he bit down, as when Travis yanks his arm away, a small chunk of flesh is left barely hanging on. Benry doesn’t have time to dwell on how he almost kinda-sorta made Gordon a cannibal, before he gets a punch to the gut and sweep-kick to the legs. Benry topples over, Gordon’s glasses falling from his face as his head hits the concrete, making him see stars.

Travis spits out some profanities, and maybe says something else too, but Benry doesn’t register any of it. He certainly registers the sudden kick to his ribs, though. And being rolled onto his back. And a boot being pressed to his chest. And the glint of metal from what is probably definitely that knife shining up above, roughly in line with his neck. He tries to struggle against the foot pinning him, but he’s still too dazed from hitting his head on the sidewalk so hard to get Gordon’s body to cooperate. His eyes stay locked on to the blurry image of the knife, unable to look away.

Travis raises the blade, preparing to plunge it into Benry’s borrowed neck, when someone else comes up from behind the soldier and violently yanks him off and away from Benry. The new person growls out a ‘motherfucker’ as he tosses Travis to the street, and Benry recognizes his own voice, despite it sounding a little off with Gordon’s particular angry tone behind it.

He may not currently have a direct connection to it, but it seems the cosmos is still looking out for its wayward child.

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

Benry being out of the house somewhere, alone, with no powers and in Gordon’s body, was more than a little worrying, to say the least. The rest of the Science Team seemed to agree on that, and thus wasted no time in helping out on the search for the alien.

At first, they thought they all wouldn’t need to- Sunkist can detect and track life energy signatures, and Tommy was going to have him sniff out and find Benry that way. Unfortunately, something about the switch had apparently muddled up Benry and Gordon’s signatures in such a way that the giant dog couldn’t get a bead on Benry. Sunkist was, at the very least, able to point them in the vague direction Benry went- somewhere into town. And now, they’re out looking for him the old-fashioned way. Tommy and Darnold in one car, Bubby and Coomer in their own, while Gordon himself is searching on foot.

The rest of the team had actually advised Gordon to stay home; both to meet Benry there should he come back on his own, and to avoid the risk of Gordon accidentally making a scene from Benry’s powers getting out of his control.

Gordon agreed to… initially. But he couldn’t ignore the way his borrowed guts writhed with his anxiety and worry, or the feeling of uselessness that kept nagging at him as he sat (well, paced) around the house doing nothing.

So instead, he’s moving down a random street in town, in the general direction Sunkist indicated, eyes peeled and ears tuned.

He’s honestly not really expecting to find Benry himself, as the other two search pairs are both in cars for faster ground coverage, and have been at the search for longer than Gordon. Hell, who knows? Maybe they’ve even found him already, and are trying to call Gordon to tell him. Too bad Gordon forgot his fucking phone in his haste to get out and start looking himself. Which… probably wasn’t the best move, really. Shit, what if Benry and the others already are back home? And then, upon seeing that Gordon isn’t, are now out looking for him? He could be on a wild goose chase while simultaneously putting the others on one as well.

It’d… prrrrobably be a good idea to head back home. And if they aren’t there, he can at the very least grab his phone before heading back to the search himself.

That’s what Gordon’s thinking anyway, before he hears a strangled cry from a ways ahead and around the corner, in a very familiar voice- his own. He's tearing down the sidewalk in an instant, and upon rounding the corner, he’s greeted by a very distressing sight.

Benry, borrowed mouth dripping with blood as he lays pinned to the ground by a heavy boot. The owner of said boot (with a huge bite on his left arm, explaining the entity’s bloody mouth), getting ready to shove a combat knife straight into the Benry’s throat. And by Benry’s throat, Gordon means his throat. The scene conjures up very unpleasant, very specific memories. His fingers tense, nails sharpen, and feet carry him forward without even thinking.

Benry’s attacker has his back to Gordon, and thus doesn't notice he's right behind him, until a disproportionately large clawed hand grabs him practically by his whole head.

“Motherfucker,” Gordon straight-up growls as he throws the bastard off Benry and onto the street.

With the pressure off his borrowed chest, Benry attempts to sit up, and groans in pain after he apparently did it too fast. Gordon turns his head to Benry, about to ask if he’s okay, and what the fuck he even did to tick this guy off so hard. But before he can get the question out, Benry’s attacker speaks up first.

“You...” the man with the knife says, eyes locked on Gordon. Gordon turns back to him, and sees a small look of panic behind the man’s eyes. More importantly, though, he finally recognizes who this guy is. It’s the one that got away- that soldier that tried to hold Sunkist hostage, and claimed to be former friends with Benry. Still can’t remember his fucking name. There’s something off about his voice, though. Gordon distinctly remembers him sounding much less gravely, and more... well, more like Benry, really. Which Gordon always thought was kind of weird.

That panicked look only lasted for a second, as the soldier is now looking outright pissed. “You’re that freak who was in my fucking head!” the soldier yells as he gestures his knife right at Gordon.

Gordon’s borrowed brow furrows. In his head? ...Wait- no way, he doesn’t mean...

Before that thought train can leave the station, the soldier lunges at him. Distracted by his own thoughts as he was, Gordon fails to react in time, and the soldier’s knife slices deep across his borrowed throat. Gordon gasps as dark sanguine blood sprays from the newly acquired slot in his neck.

But only for a little bit.

The flow of blood quickly comes to a stop as Benry’s body’s rapid regeneration does its thing, the slash wound knitting itself back closed right before the soldier’s eyes. They both just stand there in stunned silence before the soldier quietly breaks it with a “What the fuck?”

That manages to snap Gordon out of his state of shock, and he quickly takes advantage of the one the soldier’s in. He grabs the soldier’s right arm, and gives it a rough, sudden twist in directions the human arm is definitely not meant to go. The soldier screams, knife falling from his hand and clattering to the ground as the bones in his forearm audibly snap. Said forearm is now bent into an acute angle, and the skin around the break is torn and looks partially ‘de-gloved’ thanks to all the twisting it underwent.

Now, normally, Gordon would probably regret having so badly underestimated the sheer strength Benry’s body packs. But this guy was straight-up about to fucking kill Benry (and likely thought he was killing Gordon), which ain’t really helping him in the sympathy department. Boot boy’s buddies certainly didn’t seem to regret severing Gordon’s own hand, that’s for sure...

And like, honestly. Fuck the troops, man.

Completely fucked though his arm may now be, the soldier's still standing (and screaming), so Gordon attempts to shut him up by knocking his ass to the ground with a swift kick to the stomach. The guy hits his head when he falls, and it seems to knock him out cold.

“daaaamn, you really fucked him up, huh.”

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

“daaaamn, you really fucked him up, huh,” Benry speaks up behind Gordon, who turns to face him. Benry’s still sitting down on the sidewalk, but his head’s feeling better, and he found the fallen glasses and put them back on his… still very bloody borrowed face. Which Gordon is staring at, with much concern.

“Benry! You good? Nothing broken?” Gordon finally gets to ask. Benry just gives him a quick nod and a thumbs up as he starts trying to wipe the blood off his mouth, now that he’s remembered that it’s there. He’s expecting ‘why did you sneak out?’ to be Gordon’s next question, but the man instead hits him with something entirely different.

“Hey... what did that soldier mean just now, when he said you were ‘in is head?’” Gordon asks. Benry freezes up at that, casts a guilty look at Gordon, and then looks away. Fuck. Shit. He really, really should’ve told Gordon about this earlier, during a much less sensitive time...

“so, uh. remember hoooowwwww that guy said me and him were friends?” he starts. Gordon nods. Benry continues. “yeah well. we weren’t. didn’t even know the guy. i uh. mindjacked him? just grabbed a random boot boy and pretended to be one. thought it’d be funny. even got sunkist to play along when he showed up lookin’ for tommy,” he says, wincing at that last bit. “we, uh, we both apologized to tommy after, since he got so upset… buuuut i guess i forgot to tell you, huh…” Benry goes quiet, still not looking at Gordon. He’s not sure what expression the other man’s aiming right at him, but he really doesn’t wanna see it.

What he also doesn't see is Travis, clutching the knife in his left hand, coming up behind an oblivious Gordon.

Somebody else sees this, though.

“SURPRISE ATTACK, GORDON!” Coomer bellows just as his fist connects with Travis’ face, sending him sprawling to the ground for the umpteenth time this evening, and finally down for the count.

Gordon whips around at the sound and Benry looks up, both seeing not just Coomer, but Bubby as well, standing by his souped up custom cadillac. How the hell they didn’t hear that noisy piece of work drive up is anybody’s guess. “Dr. Coomer, Bubby!” Gordon calls to them.

“Yeesh, good thing you weren’t that unobservant in Black Mesa, otherwise you never would’ve made it out of there,” Bubby remarks. Gordon says something in response, but Benry’s already checked out of that conversation, still hung up on the disappointment he could feel radiating off of Gordon just a bit ago. Coomer briefly grabs his attention, offering Benry a hand up off the ground and asking him if he’s okay. Benry just shrugs. They all pile into Bubby’s caddy, give Tommy and Darnold a buzz to tell them Benry’s been found, and then it’s an uncharacteristically quiet drive back to Gordon’s place.

Benry’s not sure if he appreciates or hates the silence the whole trip back, but he is sure of one thing.

He should definitely go away once this body mix-up is all over.

#half life vr but it's freaky friday #fic repost

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maguro13-2 · 2 years ago

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Legacy of Shinra ~ Origins of the Ink Demon Chapter 1 Pt.4.5

Crona : No! Please, don't make me do this! I don't want to be a God! Not like this! Why are you three doing this to me!? You sick monsters! This isn't family!

Eruka : Uhh, Crona is absolutely right, Medusa! In fact that you got every witch involved of the Kusaka-*SMACK!* Ow!

Medusa : Shut your ass up, you Muppet! This is the real reason we were born to bring chaos to this planet and to think of that we crave for death and Destruction, I only heard that the Devil himself has created Soul World and that is exactly that madness is really the power of demonism!

Eruka : No you're not! You just wanna bring Buddhism to wiccans like us, didn't you? Well, guess what? We wiccans has been worshiping demons for old times and you three want to get away with it by bringing Buddhism from Asia? There is no Kishin, there is no demon god, and there is no madness in the real world. The only madness you'll ever experience is you burning in hell, Medusa! You're dooming us all! Why on earth would you and your sisters are doing this?! Please, let us go! We want to be free!

Medusa : Listen here, Froggy! Who cares id we wasted our lives as witches to hear the words of a witch who seeks the truth! But if people had rumors that heard of seeing the eyes of truth, we should tell them why we were born to crave all that death and Destruction! We are a witch trio called the Gorgons that had years of putting an end to the Kusakabe Legacy by destroying it from the inside, that's why the people of Boston would think that I was Massachusetts's biggest jerk in the real world. And I got no tragic backstory, well the real and original "me" has one, who was I expelled from her own heart.

Eruka : And yet, you a witch with a bad attitude, who can controls arrows is really an evil doppelganger of another person, the "other" Medusa I know who was good and innocent! But you, you betrayed the real witch and you are nothing but an evil imposter! You have no lust to demons that Are gods! Or if there is one, but all that Kishin you just said, was all a lie...lies that were made from the Devil himself! Don't you understand that!

Medusa : I see, you're actually right about that...but that "Devil is a lie Guy" was just the beginning of where it all begins and it ends right now, starting with the Kusakabe's grandson. Now you excuse me, I've got some work to do with my sisters and deal with this legacy from the Kusakabe. (Walks off)

Eruka : You have officially lost it, Medusa! I swear if it's the last thing I do, I will make you eat dirt and to prove to you that I won't be serving a pscyho like you! You'll burn for what you've done to us!

"So on that day, I never felt so angry at Medusa for doing something like this. All those evil things made for us by the Kusakabe thought that the Ohkubo Verse was just a lie, everything in the real world was supposed to be the way it was."

"Eventually, I knew that the Gorgon Sisters were supposed to be human witches or something else, but they are nothing but a bunch of ruthless, heartless, monsters. Or I'd prefer to call them bastards"

"Yeah, I doubt about that. Everything in my life about this means nothing to the human society."

"Everything will be covered in Inky Darkness."

Sammy Lawrence : Perhaps, the Old World of Shinra Kusakabe is just the same planet as Soul World. Living in the same universe as Shotaro's. I bet it's not even the same as the real world with us, humans. (Snickers)

~ Bonus Scene : Craving Death and Destruction ~

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m5ria · 2 years ago

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Chapter 23: The Cold Manipulation

I’ve barely got to dry my hair when a shadow glows at my door.

“Time for...” it announces, but it’s cut short by my throwing knife.

I teleport at the reception, not having the energy to climb down the stairs. Alastor waits for me in front of the ballroom wall, looking at some frames on it. Frames with Charlie’s family.

“You do like her,” I speak up.

He turns to me with a confused smile.

“Like who, dear?”

“Charlie. Well, what’s there not to like?” I breathe lighter, thinking of her today.

“She’s a joyous spirit that Hell’s lucky to have,” he turns to the painting: Lucifer, Lilith, and little baby Charlie.

“So, you do appreciate good in demons?” I ask him curiously.

He makes the wall dissolve. The ballroom is semi-lighted.

“Let’s start a new day of lessons!” he boosts with energy.

“Alastor, hmm, it’s like six in the evening,” I step into the ballroom.

“Don’t worry, darling! Charlie’s still struggling with that delicious pie! We have plenty of time!”

He closes the ballroom wall. I notice that the air is warmer than it was last time. I don’t see why, though.

“So, ...” I speak up. “What ability are we focusing on today?”

“Hmm,” he stands straight in the center of the ballroom. “I think I’ll be chivalrous today and let you decide!”

“Oh, how kind of you” I mutter in pure sarcasm. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“My dear Diana, I am merely trying to lift your spirit up! After yesterday’s events, that is.”

His eyes are predatory. I frown at his reply. Does he imply that he knows what really happened on the stage? Or that it was clear how much I struggled to succeed?

I don’t take the bait, though. With more confidence than I feel, I declare: “I choose ice,” Ice, I think, is the best power so far.

“Splendid! My thoughts exactly! Great minds think alike!” he winks.

“How would you anticipate this?” I ask him incredulously.

“Haven’t you noticed, my dear? The room is getting warmer!”

Screw him! He has somehow predicted.

“How are you going to help me with ice? You know fire.”

“Exactly!” he winks again. He summons a ball of fire in his open hand and lets it burn. “They're opposite! Ice is frozen water, and water can be solid, liquid, or gas. Fire is the state of matter that water cannot be! Plasma. They contrast in structure, temperature, and action! Yet, they follow the same rules.”

These times when he speaks so logically, so excitedly... These are the times when I can see he was a human once and not born a devil. A witty man.

“What kind of rules?” I try to hide as much as I can my enthusiastic curiosity.

“Rules of summoning, shaping, manipulating...” he delightedly enumerates. He lets the fireball wander in a circle around our heads. He changes its sizes and temperatures in ways I can feel on my skin. I follow it with engaged eyes.

“So, you say I can use ice in the same way as you use fire?”

“The majority of the time, yes,” he answers and the fireball disappears. “You can use it as a weapon, as a shield, as a means ...” his eyes glow with evil, “... To freeze to death your enemies. Freeze their pumping heart, their coursing blood, their...”

“Alright! I get it!” I stop him.

“Yet,” he comes back to normal, “there are some things only ice can do. We’ll take my fire for example. Fire can burn things down. Ice can’t. However, it can do other things...”

“What things?” I wipe some sweat from my forehead. The room has the temperature of hot summers.

“I suppose we’ll have to find out,” he looks at me curiously.

Right, I’m a lab rat. At least, I am an experimental one and not one he tests pain on.

“Well, we’ll start with what we might have in common,” he winks.

We start comparing our powers. When he summons a fireball, I summon an ice ball. When he creates fire arrows, I create ice bullets. When he conjures a fire tornado, I manage to conjure a blizzard. The very act of me using my powers gives me immense relief towards the never-ending temperature rise.

We shape simple things, like shields and weapons. But there comes a time when he sees there’s no need for improvement on my part. At least, not on this.

“Shall we start with more... complex aspects?” he suggests thrilled.

“Such as...?”

“Lower the temperature in this room!”

I stare at him scalding, not getting why this is a difficult task in the first place. I already know how to initiate a blizzard. I start rotating my hands.

“Nah ah!” he stops me by grabbing my hands. I back off his touch. “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face! Did you see how I’ve warmed the room?”

“Yeah...?” I weakly answer.

“Ha ha ha! The answer is no!” he smiles widely. “You didn’t! I want you to do the same!”

“So, in short words, you want me to cool the air without summoning anything?”

“That’s precisely what I want! Yes!” he nods animatedly.

I sigh and reflect on how to do it. The air is like a sauna. It’s pressing me from each side. Weirdly, Alastor, with his coat and everything, doesn’t show an ink of discomfort. I bet he relishes mine.

Focus!

The air. I don’t control the air! I can control ice. But Alastor doesn’t control the air either.

Then, how did he make that tornado yesterday? The one that ate me, Angel, and Cherry?

I think of air, and atmosphere on Earth. It isn’t that much different down here. It only has an unnatural smell of iron and closed space. In the city it is far worse, of course. But Hell’s atmosphere works similarly to the one on Earth. There are clouds, rain, and snow.

My thoughts wander when I was young and I excitedly read all the books in my father’s library about nature and science. I wanted to be a scientist. An explorer of world physics. I self-taught myself lots of unusual facts about my surroundings. And I know for a fact that air moves around Earth due to temperature changes.

The Sun gives the best heat at the Equator, so the warmest air collides with the cooler one at the Poles and results in wind. Alastor plays the Sun.

Yet, the majority of the Universe stays cold. It is predisposed to be cold. Only energy creates heat. Lack of energy... Means cold.

I know what to do.

I absorb the heat. While doing that, I cast a calming, almost unnoticeable, wind around Alastor. To isolate the source of heat.

My entire body starts sweating like crazy, but I keep on. I breathe hard while I watch Alastor humming a song and glancing around the room curiously. I don’t know if he notices the slow decrease in temperature.

After five minutes, he can’t pretend nothing’s changed anymore. I believe that now, the room temperature is as it’s supposed to be. It’s a relief for my almost wet body. Great! Now I have to take another shower!

“Fascinating!” he vibrates with delight. “Unorthodox, of course. There may be other ways to do it faster and... easier,” he pointedly glances at my moist clothes. “Nevertheless, such an intriguing tactic!”

“Thanks,” I smile.

His compliment, this time, hits differently. My success is based on my long-gone dream. I haven’t even hoped that I still have some of it in me.

“As fatigued you might be now, I’m afraid we’re not done yet,” he snickers, relishing my exhausted face. “We still have two more aspects we need to tackle!”

“What are those?” I exhale the words.

“Using your ice power on someone’s body and... other mystery powers that might emerge.”

“You want me to experiment my powers on your body?” I ask him incredulously. There’s no way this is true.

“As much as I’d relish you straining to accomplish something as close to a normal body temperature, I’m afraid my body’s not for testing.”

His eyes light up at the chosen words. I smirk as well when I recall I picked similar ones when I stood up to Valentino.

He snaps his fingers and, out of nowhere, a confused Imp stumbles on the floor.

“What the hell, Al??” I scream and jump back.

The Imp blinks baffled and regards the ballroom. When he glances at the Radio Demon, he backs out, sliding.

“Hel-” Alastor tries to greet him, but the Imp jumped to his feet. He’s desperately running towards a wall, “-lo!” he finishes.

“Who is that?” I try to get his focus.

“He is Zumo,” Alastor introduces the Imp who’s scratching the walls to climb them. “He lives in the Sloth Ring. I picked him willy-nilly.”

There’s no shame on his face. Only pure satisfaction.

“So, you just randomly grab Imps from the other side of Hell??” I cry out.

“For a good purpose, to be sure!” He then looks at the Imp. “Zumo, lad! Would you be so kind as to offer your help? We are in need of assistance.”

“Fuck you, Radio Demon!” he gives the middle finger, then he goes for the windows.

“You can’t let him break...” I warn Alastor. The next thing I know is that the Imp is right where he appeared, this time tied up, with his mouth gagged. “Hey!” I shout at the Deer Demon. “You can’t keep him hostage!”

“Ha ha ha! I am not, my dear!” he tilts his head. “I am merely confining him to a place for a limited amount of time until he completes his purpose!”

“That’s the fucking definition of holding hostage!” I raise my arms in exasperation.

“The sooner you learn, the sooner he’s free,” he points out.

I can’t fight Alastor on this. Not when the Imp is not in any real danger.

“What do you want me to do?” I sigh.

“I want you to freeze his skin!” he exclaims.

“What the... I’m not going to do that!”

“Don’t worry, little wolf!” he motions his gloved hand with flames. “I’ll keep him warm inside.”

I don’t trust him. But, if he sees me hesitate... I don’t know what he’ll do. Maybe he’ll purposely burn the Imp alive to get a reaction from me.

I mean to start slowly, with his hands, but I realize I don’t know how to do it.

“Uhm...” I stutter. “How...?”

“Do you need a clue?” his smile widens.

“I need a rationale,” I argue. “Give me another scientific explanation or whatever suits you.”

I try to sound uninterested, but I crave another scientific comparison of his.

“Hmm...” he wonders. “Should I be helpful or mysterious?”

“Helpful!” I pray.

“Mysterious it is!” he completely ignores me. He wanders around the ballroom, leaving the Imp to mumble in his gag. “You were supposed to cool this ballroom the same way I warmed it. Now, you have to find the key to this in order to understand how to do your next assignment.”

“Oh, come on!” I complain. “Do you really expect me to come up with this supposed key in the next few minutes? Without any other clue?”

“Do you want a clue?” he stops symmetrically from where he was, facing me.

“Yes!” I breathe exasperated. “Are you going to make me ask it again??”

“Hmm...” he makes a thinking face. He is so messing with me right now.

“Just... tell me.”

“If you say please!”

I stare at him. This is my price. For being so outward and desperate.

“Please.”

“One must fix their gaze,” he frees the words. “Akin to the art of teleportation. 'Tis a feat of concentration, a mere exercise of the mind. The greater the focus, the greater the possibilities that lie before thee.”

I turn to the Imp, who, in the meantime, has tried his best to get as far away from me as possible. I feel Alastor appearing behind me and we both watch the desperate demon struggling in his ropes.

“Tell me when you deem it suitable to begin” I hear his arrogant smirk in my ears. It almost makes me combust.

It doesn’t matter. I have to think of the long game.

“Now.”

He raises a hand on my right towards the Imp. His body on two of my sides feels like a cage around me. With my natural instinct to get free, it makes me almost forget what I have to do.

He’s supposed to help me achieve this... Or at least not get in my way.

I try to ignore him and focus on the Imp’s hand. With my head empty of thoughts, I let my eyes fix on a spot.

With teleportation, the idea is to appear in that place. This time, I have to control the place from afar.

I find it as impossible as I found teleportation six days ago. Yet, it’s possible.

The Imp’s hand. The Imp’s hand. The Imp’s hand.

Made of flesh, made of cells, made of atoms. Is that what this is? Is matter really a thing in Hell? We have bodies and all, but we have inexplicable powers as well. How can I control something I don’t understand?

Do atoms exist? Is this how Alastor controlled the air now? Why has he said my method was unusual?

I close my eyes.

It doesn’t matter. I have to believe they exist, or else I don’t know what I can freeze.

My focus plunges into my mind. The structure of the hand. The warmth it emanates.

I suddenly become aware of my surroundings at another level. I see everything without my open eyes. I can distinguish different objects and entities based on their temperature. Like a bat does with sound.

Alastor is a volcano about to erupt. And the Imp is the explosion.

He forces my hand to save the Imp!

I open my eyes. The Imp is trembling, not sure from being too hot or cold.

“Stop it!” I turn my face to Alastor. He looks at me intrigued, as if I’m at the bottom of a pit, unable to save myself, and he just stands there. “You’re going to boil him alive!”

“You’ll have to handle that on your own, dear,” he whispers unmovingly.

“I barely understand how it should be done!” my voice is slightly desperate.

“A good start indeed!”

There’s no reasoning with him. I face the Imp and close my eyes again. I have to match Alastor’s power. There’s no time for me to learn slowly. The Imp can die of fever.

I channel all of my energy into dropping the Imp’s skin temperature. After some seconds, though, I realize Alastor’s not toying with only his skin. He’s gone deeper. To the Imp’s organs.

This is just a game for him!

I have to save the Imp.

With all of my focus, my power penetrates through the Imp’s skin. To his heart, his heavy lungs. I start cooling them down. I breathe hard, as it takes immense energy from me.

After I assume that the Imp’s body’s gone to a normal temperature, I open my eyes.

Only to see the Imp frozen.

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

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trashcanmoose · 1 year ago

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Continuing from last time, here's more of my commentary on my Animorphs re-read! We're on book one right now.

Of course, a SPOILER WARNING for anyone who hasn't read the series.

Let's get into it.

Book One: The Invasion (Chapters 6-14)

I don't know what came over me right then. I had been so afraid. So terrified. But it was like something just snapped in my head. I couldn't just hide and watch, I couldn't. "You filthy - " I jumped to my feet. I snatched up a piece of rusted iron pipe from the ground and started to climb over that wall. I guess I just went crazy or something. It had to be craziness, because there was no way that I, alone, armed with a piece of pipe, was going to accomplish anything. The Andalite's silent cry made me hesitate. I felt Marco's hands grabbing at my shirt and pulling me back. Tobias and Marco held me down. Rachel put her hand over my mouth. I was trying to scream, or curse, or something. "Shut up, you idiot!" Marco hissed. "You're just going to get us all killed." "Jake, don't." Cassie put her hand on my cheek. "He doesn't want you to die for him. Don't you realize? He's dying for us." I shoved Marco and Tobias away angrily. But I was in control of myself again.

Okay, so it's a long part to be highlighting but this whole section makes me actually feel like I can relate to Jake on something, which I feel like won’t happen super often in this series from what I can remember, but I could be wrong. The anger of seeing something terrible happening that you can't stop? That's exactly what's going on here.

Then we have this, which felt necessary to share:

At the very end, he cried out. His cry of despair was in our heads. His cry will always be in our heads.

Okay, when I said last time I wasn’t going to highlight anything specific from Elfangor’s death? This. This I’m highlighting because it’s a major starting point in the Animorphs’ PTSD development and it would actually be really terrifying in real life.

And just a little more of Elfangor’s death, as a treat.

Okay not really a treat, more of a punishment I suppose:

The Taxxon-Controllers rushed forward and crowded around Visser Three. They seemed to be stretching up toward him, and then I saw why - a piece of the Andalite fell from the Visser's jaws and the nearest Taxxon greedily gobbled it up.

A second instance of Andalite-eating in the series already. That was fast.

Ready for something else that really gets my attention?

I heard a sound that was strange because it was so normal. It was laughter. Human laughter. The humans . . . the Human-Controllers - because that's what they were - were laughing, like they were at some kind of a show.

I know they’re human-controllers, so it’s the Yeerks making them laugh, but it still feels just as fucked up, and for some reason more fucked-up than the Hork-Bajir-controller laughter. There will be so many substantially more fucked-up things in this series though, and I think I’m ready.

Now for some slightly more random notes:

She slowed down just a little and began yelling and waving her arms. "Come on, come on, you - " And then she said some words I didn't realize Rachel even knew.

Rachel got that fancy swearing going on.

And on the topic of language:

Even in my panic it surprised me. They were talking some mix of their own alien language and ours. "Ghafrash fit nahar! I get! I kill!"

I want a Hork-Bajir-to-English dictionary, please. Can this be my next Duolingo language?

The two Hork-Bajir were coming after us, bounding like some devil kangaroos.

I just love this imagery. It’s hilarious to me for some reason.

Then we get back into some more serious stuff:

"Just save the head," the human told the Hork-Bajir. "Bring that to me and we can identify it."

This would be so damn petrifying to hear, especially when you know they’re talking about you.

Then we jump to later, after the construction site, at Jake's house. Jake and Tobias are there.

He was glowing. I swear, he was glowing. Not like he was radioactive or anything, I don't mean that. It's just that his eyes were shining bright, and his face was one big grin, and he seemed to be tingling with energy, bouncing like he couldn't standstill.

I love happy Tobias, and I hate how rare I know that becomes.

He nodded his cat head up and down. Very weird to see, I can tell you - a cat nodding yes in a thoughtful, normal way.

The thought of seeing this is just really entertaining to me.

He just looked at me with those deep, troubled eyes - eyes I can now see only in my memory.

Ahhh! HOW did I never catch this foreshadowing before?

"Jake, listen to me," Tobias said. "It's just what happened to me when I morphed into a cat. The dog brain is part of your brain now. You have to deal with it." <But . . . there's a dog in MY yard.> "That's Homer, Jake. You are Jake. You're just in a body copied from Homer's DNA. That's the real Homer out there. You put him out there. Focus. You are Jake. Jake."

A dog in MY yard. Early stages of learning to control the morphs are kind of hilarious.

"Bad dog," Tom said to me. "You keep quiet. Bad dog." And then he left. I was devastated. I wasn't a bad dog. Not really. I was just barking because some other dog was in MY yard. Bad dog? I was a bad dog? No, I wanted to be a good dog. I crept into the corner, utterly miserable. Tobias knelt down and patted my head. When he scratched me behind the ears, I felt a little better.

Jake’s reaction to being scolded as a dog is actually somewhat precious. Not sure why.

But as I was sitting there watching him munch toast, I just had this feeling. This feeling that said No, this has to be a secret. Even from Tom.

Why does this HURT??

A thing that was part horse and part Cassie smiled at us with big horse teeth and said, "Hey, kids."

Petrifying. Certainly nowhere near the worst of what I’ll read in this series, I know, but it would be petrifying to see.

"Let's take a vote," Rachel said. "I vote we try to live long enough to get driver's licenses," Marco said. "I vote we do what the Andalite said - fight," Tobias said. "You've never even been in a fight," Marco sneered. "You can't handle the punks at school. Suddenly now you want to kick butt on that Visser Three freakazoid?" Tobias said nothing, but a blush spread up his neck. "I vote with Tobias," Rachel said, giving Marco a dirty look.

This is the start of me being mad at Marco frequently, isn’t it?

Marco looked at me. "Jake. He's one of them." "What?" "Tom. Tom is one of them. Your brother is a Controller." I swung my fist and caught Marco in the side of the head. He jumped back and I swung again. But Marco was quick. He dodged my second swing, and I slipped and went down. Marco snatched the bedspread off my bed, threw it over me to tangle up my arms, and sat on me. "Jake, quit acting like a stupid jerk," he said. I was trying to grab him, but he had me pretty good. "Take that back!" I yelled.

Ahhhh! Not only can I 100% picture this scene; but this gives me all sorts of feelings. Marco’s intuition is on point but like, I’d probably be like Jake on this, which is to say, angry and in denial. It’d be a pretty hard hit to hear that someone you care about is the enemy.

"That was the coolest thing I've ever done in my life," Tobias said. His whole face was glowing. "I was riding the thermals." "What's a thermal?" I asked. "That's when there's warm air rising up from the ground. It forms this cushion under your wings. You can just float up there. Like a mile up! You just surf the thermals. You guys have got to do it! It is the best thing ever."

Oh, you asked Tobias about thermals? You’re about to LEARN.

Tobias's eyes darkened. "It's terrible when birds have to be locked up in cages. They should be free." "Yeah, free the birds," Marco commented sarcastically. "I'll get the bumper stickers printed up."

If I had a car, I’d want this bumper sticker for Animorphs reasons.

"Suddenly the wimp is a hero," Marco sneered.

Marco is an asshole, plain and simple. I would’ve punched him by now.

This time Tobias didn't blush. "Maybe I just found something worth fighting for, Marco."

I want to give Tobias a hug.

"It's not exactly some video game, is it?" Marco said. "This is reality. You don't know anything about reality, Jake. Nothing bad has ever really happened to you. You have this perfect family. Like I used to have." His voice cracked a little. He never talked about his mom's death.

Okay yes, Marco is an asshole, but I still feel bad for him sometimes.

At that moment, something weird happened. I was looking at Tom, and he was smiling at me. But then his face kind of twitched. His head started to pull to one side, like he was trying to shake his head only he couldn't quite do it. For just a split second there was a look in his eyes - scared or . . . or something. He was looking right at me, and it was like some different person, some scared person, was looking out of those same eyes. Then he was back to normal. Or what looked like normal.

Ahhhh too many emotions! Tom has always been one of my favorite characters and I get all too many feelings reading this.

"It could have been anyone," Tom said. "But it might be the one who's my brother, Jake. I know he goes through the construction site sometimes. That's why I brought him here tonight. So we could either make him ours . . . or kill him."

Yikes. Okay, that's part two of book one! Sorry to take so long to write up the commentary. I'll try to be a little quicker with the next part! The next part should be chapters 15 through the end.

I plan to start a re-read of the Animorphs series for the first time in about 10 years. Since I’m sure there are plenty of things I won’t remember, I’ll be sharing my thoughts here. Wish me luck.

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cqntrcller · 2 years ago

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.. just a little observation. but i wonder what makima’s thoughts on the other horsemen/her siblings are and if it differs from control devil incarnation. like, we know that makima doesn’t understand or show love as one might expect - she ‘loves’ humans as one might a dog, she considers being eaten by chainsaw man an honour, etc.

so like. her wanting to make csm eat the other horsemen... on one hand, she says its for the world, to make it a better place. on the other hand, she herself is completely content and would be happy to be eaten and erased from existence.

but the explanation for this i’ve found to be the most likely is that. well, makima was raised by the government. they had an agenda for her and intended to use her for their own means, because that’s the world they live in. so it makes me wonder how much of makima’s desire to erase her siblings was a result of the governments influence and how much was actually in her nature.

#ₓₓ ˢᵃᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵛᶦˡ [;OOC]#ₓₓ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ [;CSMSPOILER]#ₓₓ ˢᵘʳᵍᵉʳʸ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃ ᶜʰᵃᶦⁿˢᵃʷ [;META]#.. i think we'll find out when we see nayuta again #.. but the supposed death devil last chapter got me thinking #.. perhaps death is just kind but.... im obsessed with makimas fucked up perception of love #.. and also bc threads with yoru got me thinking #.. maybe there's no relation between if makima loves her sisters & if she wants them erased #.. she loves them and the world would be better without them. in her mind at least.

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jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

��I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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akirayuri · 2 years ago

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Ok. I'm glad someone is still posting about this topic. And I've said this before AND I will rant about this again thank you very much.

The thing the biggest plot hole was to glorify the main character ( the protagonists, apparently ). Don't get me wrong, but the protagonist of UB were, well not what I throught they would be. The way the series tackles the good and bad is very sloppy. The people who are on Hayan's good side are good, Angel, literal fucking god's and deties. And the people on the other side of the coin are bad, evil ( well, that's the only character element they have, really ), devil's etc etc.

It was supposed to be about blurring the line between being human and actually having a human heart. Hayan did not feel comfortable in her own skin. It was about her excepting who she was. Not about painting the whole fucking world black and white.

The narrative is greatly flawed by later half of the series. It doesn't clearly elaborates what it is that separates the angel's of deaths from the other vampire ( other then being, well stupidly evil and selfish. Not you Sohan and Jinha, you guys are great villains ) or vampires from human in general.

Is Hayan actually comfortable in her own skin? How does she views the world as? How does she views the other Angel of deaths as ( other than being inraged )? How does she views vampires as? And lastly, dose she still not realises just how hard they fumbled the bag with treating Yohan. ( No, I'm talking about hating him. It's the only thing she does. )

I wanna ask something, dose the author realises that how the situation with Yohan was completely out of his control and could have been avoided? How he is the greatest victim of man made hatred? And how misleading the narrative surrounding him is?

Hayan's parents could have avoided what happened to Yohan if they wanted. But they didn't. Giving a mentally and physically broken kid a op power is not the way, sir. And the worst part is that it never gets discussed?? Like, we're so invested in Hayan's self pity narrative that the other, larger part of the narrative gets ignore. The situation surrounding the actually helpless and abused people who latter spiral down the rabbit hole is left untouched to rot. And I'm disgusted.

The noticed this issue back then the first arc with the school girl vamp that Sohan was controlling but I brushed it off cause, you know? The story was pretty darn fucking good back then. I think the narrative with Euntae kinda pecked into that part with his sister and him being abused. I really liked how they handled it. It would've been great if we actually got an monologue from him on Yohan's situation because he, of all people should understand. Hell even Vael was a good character for those monologues. Hayan is an excellent Choice but she never really experienced that kind of mind numbing horror.

And about Yohan, I won't say he's entirely evil, but rather badly corrupted and among those who lives in the grayzone . If read the last chapter focusing on his monologues, you would notice that he, infact planned all of this up until the second he died. It was a suicide. And the vaccines are actually working and he's the one who made them work. Crazy right?

Idk, but it almost feels like I'm reading a story from the wrong prospective of the wrong person. It's, uncanny. As if us thinking of Yohan as the big bad evil is also the part of his plan. ( Lol that's the same effect Makima had on the Chainsaw Man fandom. ) Idk if the author is aware but it's uncanny.

@greenapplebling I will have to pester you yet again 🙃

is it that the anger was just too great?

i just. idk. i feel like transforming into a vampire = getting corrupted is just. kind of hazily explained, so idk if it’s genuinely inconsistent, or i’m just not getting it, for unholy blood.

initially it’s just. oh, if a person has ambition, they instantly turn evil. so, what? vael never had ambition, then? euntae doesn’t have ambition? jinha doesn’t have ambition?

(i actually think euntae had a lot of ambition in the story. why then, did he never once get corrupted?)

hayan’s parents seemed to imply that giving a regular human pure vampire blood would make instantly get corrupted and turned evil. but because yohan didn’t want the blood/showed kindness they thought that he might be different –

and maybe, right, if yohan had never meet his bullies, he wouldn’t have “given in” to the eviller side of him? or maybe it would have been a ticking time bomb all along, or maybe he just never had enough faith in hayan & her parents, and they likewise didn’t have faith in him bc they were so quick to decide to kill him instead of calming him down, talking to him?

like. as kind as yohan was, back then. he was abused for years. they, what? didn’t think he had a shred of anger within him? they didn’t think he could get angry and lose himself, just for a moment? he was a child, back then. like a massacre is a big mistake, it’s a choice, yeah, but. what, he can’t have a moment of weakness? and mess up? (vaguely reminded of anakin skywalker and his massacre of the tusken raiders in sw2, tbqh)

then it’s like. so, if yohan is the one to create hordes of vampires. does a regular human with half-vampire/other dilutions vampiric blood in them… does that have a different corrupting effect on them?

like it clearly changes their lifespan to 5 years. sure.

i just. what was it, that made vael and euntae exceptions to this? they were always good people? their willpower was strong enough to overcome that inherent darkness in vampires???? (if vampires automatically bad, why is hayan and her parents good?) that increase in power doesn’t corrupt them, why?

so, what then? if what made euntae and vael unaffected by being good people, or having a support system – euntae’s sister, daniel. then, like, yeah, ofc yohan was going to snap, bc he didn’t. hayan and her fam weren’t there for him, bc if they knew that yohan was an abused kid, they didn’t help him until he was on death’s door. which is… y’know, not great tbqh?

like idk. i don’t get why hayan spared jinha, and why that was enough to make jinha stop hiding like that, but i think that’s more bc i should reread the story and examine stuff more closely.

idk. i’m trying to gather thoughts, but i still don’t really get the logic in this.

#unholy blood #seo yohan

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ijhyo · 3 years ago

Text

CHAPTER 1

what was supposed to be a fun weekend away with friends turns into a sinister game of hide and seek where their lives are on the line. trapped in a lake house cabin with only six hours on the clock, can y/n figure out who is behind the mask and manage not to get caught all before sunrise?

PAIRING. soobin x gn reader ; beomgyu x gn reader ; yeonjun x gn reader

GENRE. college au ; mystery ; thriller ; escape room ; angst ; horror ; humour

WARNINGS. swearing ; character death ; mentions of blood ; stabbing ; knives ; drinking ; joke about the devil

FEATURING. lia (itzy), sunghoon (enha), sumin + isa (stayc), jongho + yunho + wooyoung (ateez), kai + taehyun (txt)

WORD COUNT. 6.2k

A/N. it's starting yasss! laughs evilly. i want to say again that this isn't scary like i really don't think so 😭 i hope this good omg im not confident in my action writing skills (if u have read my other stuff u will see that i am a dialogue writer first and foremost). tell me what you think i am begging cries. okay bye now.

TAGLIST. @hyukaas @xysthe @tsupuffs @ren-chib @yjwfav @mykalon @junityy @iyeonjuni @fallingforhoon @fairybinie @enhacolor @cheorei @jjhmk @acciomylove @yeonjunsgf777 @soobin-chois @chosoluvr @odxrilove @soobisms @strawbrinkofdeath @etherealcherrie @maemarahuya @1-800-ryujin (send an ask to be added)

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Lia was late. You glance at the clock on your phone and see that ten minutes have passed since your agreed meeting time and your friend was nowhere to be found.

Not that this was surprising. Lia was always late. Chronically so, it seemed like sometimes.

For her birthday last year, you had thrown her a surprise party in your shared apartment and instructed her to be home by seven pm so you could “watch movies and do your nails to celebrate”. You had gathered all her friends in your small living room, hiding in plain sight waiting for her arrival. Thirty minutes turned into an hour before it was nine o’clock and half the guests had dwindled out, leaving their gifts and wishes with you.

When the birthday girl finally arrived at almost ten, she revealed that she got caught up in the dog park on her way home and kept asking what the party streamers on the ceiling were for. You ended up spending the night watching movies and doing your nails anyway.

All this to say, though, that Lia being late was not the point. Not entirely.

The two of you had started packing at the same time yesterday and yet, you were the only one ready, waiting on the sidewalk for your friend to emerge. Honestly, you didn’t know what she was packing that was taking so long but at this point you have learnt not to question it.

While mentally berating your friend, you were also compulsively checking the road for your ride. You haven’t gotten any other texts yet, and the fact that he could arrive at any moment was putting you slightly on edge.

You check your phone. Twenty minutes. God, where the hell was Lia?

Speak of the devil and she shall appear, apparently. Stumbling out of your apartment building lobby is Lia, lugging an inappropriately massive suitcase behind her. It makes you look down at the school issued duffel bag you have slung over your shoulder and wonder what she could have possibly brought.

You watch as she struggles getting through the doors with her bag, holding back a laugh because you are supposed to stern in this situation.

She makes it eventually and joins you on the sidewalk. “I’m late, I’m late, I know! You have no idea how difficult it was fitting those Stephan King novels in here on top of the hairdryer.”

You squint your eyes at her. “What do you need Stephan King novels for? And what do you need a hairdryer for? In fact, why do you have so much stuff? We are staying over for two nights, not moving in.”

Lia waves off your questions with a simple wag of her finger in your face. “Remember, I am doing you a favour by coming along to your nerd weekend, do not make me go back upstairs and unpack.”

Raising your hands in mock surrender, you drop it, even though you know that Lia wouldn’t leave you. After being assigned as roommates in your freshman year, the two of you had been inseparable. You didn’t do anything without the other; trying out clubs; pledging a sorority and subsequently not making it in; helping each other study for tests on subjects you weren’t even taking. You’re pretty sure you could ask Lia for anything and she’d agree, and vice versa.

You check the road again, as if in the few minutes you have been talking to Lia, a car has driven by and parked and you hadn’t noticed. Lia sees your looking and follows suit, eyes narrowed at the cars whizzing past.

“Where is your boyfriend anyway? Questioning me when our ride isn’t even here yet.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” you correct even though you can feel your face heat up despite the cool breeze blowing and Lia simply raises a disbelieving eyebrow that you ignore. “And I told him he could go fill his tank before he got here because somebody was taking her sweet time.”

Your mind wanders to the texts exchanged between you and Soobin just a few minutes before. He had texted you to say that he was only five minutes away and asked if it’d be okay to stop at a gas station on your way to the lake.

Thinking about your friend who was still in her room, probably running around grabbing different shirts and shoes in a haste, you instruct him to just change his direction. You didn’t know what you would do if he had arrived without Lia being there and how long you would have to talk to him alone.

You have known Soobin for two years now, meeting when you both were sophomores, now being seniors, and in all that time, you never really hung out just the two of you. You were always with other people, other friends and while the thought of finally spending some time alone with Soobin excites you, it scares you shitless, too.

Lia opens her mouth to make a retort, but is interrupted by the loud roaring of a car engine. The two of you turn your heads to the road to find a vehicle speeding its way towards the two of you. As it nears, you can make out the familiarity of the model and colour, and your heart races in expectation.

The car comes to a stop a little ways ahead of you and out steps the boy of your constant musings. “Were you guys waiting long?” Soobin looks like the lead out of a drama, leaning against the roof of the car, a perfect picture of charm and confidence.

“Nope,” you manage out, smiling up at him. “Right on time.” Lia elbows you in your side.

Soobin rounds the car and joins the two of you on the sidewalk. “Hey,” he greets looking at you and you smile in response.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Lia, nice to see you, too,” your friend mutters bitterly and Soobin has hung out with her long enough to know she’s just kidding.

He laughs and turns to her. “It is nice to see you.”

She rolls her eyes despite the smile on her face. Lia has always said that Soobin was just too hard not to like. He was polite and friendly and always brought her back pastries from his trips to the café. “Yeah, yeah, can you help me with this?”

Without a second thought, Soobin lifts up Lia’s suitcase to put it in the boot with a huff. “Jesus, what do you have in there?”

“Essentials,” is all she says before walking around the car and getting in.

“Let me get that,” he says, gesturing to your duffel bag and you shake your head.

“It’s not that heavy, honest, you don’t have to help.”

“I want to.” He smiles earnestly and it throws you off so much, he is able to take the bag from your shoulder and put it in next to Lia’s.

“Okay,” you say, half in a daze. You make your way to the passenger seat, seeing as Lia has already made herself comfortable in the backseat, laying across all three, Soobin’s smile still on your mind.

He climbs into the driver’s seat and the next thing you know, you are on your way. “You guys excited for this weekend?”

Lia scoffs lightly. “I think only one of us is excited for this weekend,” she says nodding her head in your direction and Soobin laughs.

You know she’s right but you put your face in your hands at the call-out all the same. Soobin and Lia just laugh more. It’s no secret that you are obsessed with games and riddles alike, you being able to turn almost anything into a competition and never backing down from a bet.

So when Soobin told you about the weekend trip he was planning where you would be playing games each night, you agreed to attend before he even got the chance to formally invite you. A weekend away with the boy you’ve liked for months now doing your favorite thing in the world? Of course you would be excited.

You drive for hours, the sun fully sunk behind the horizon, the stars glowing in the sky. The further you get from the city, the thicker the trees get around you.

Eventually, the smooth road you were previously driving on, turns into a bumpy gravel one, winding through trees and over rocks. You can see the lake through the gaps in the passing trees and think fleetingly about how you need to go out to see it with Lia sometime.

The car comes to a slow, pulling into a driveway, the house where you would be staying coming into view.

“Oh my god,” you mutter in disbelief, staring out your window.

Lia is just as shocked as you. “We’re staying here?”

Soobin nods once, turning the engine. “Welcome to Hotel Choi.”

The house is a massive three storey, maybe bigger than that, brown wooden building. There are four balconies that you can see, two one either side. Light shines through the two dozen or so French windows and looking through them you can see that the source is from multiple chandeliers.

Honestly, it looks more like a castle than a house. And you had it for the whole weekend.

Soobin takes both your bag and Lia’s to the door and leaves you two staring up at the house that is practically looming over you.

“Soobin is rich,” Lia says matter-of-factly.

“Yep,” you say dumbly.

“Like, Y/N, he is rich.”

“We have established.”

“Oh my god.”

“You guys coming?” Soobin calls out from the front door and snaps you out of your stupor.

Somehow, the inside is even more impressive than the outside. A staircase greets you, reaching the second floor before splitting off in two directions. The chandelier you saw from outside hangs above your head in its full glory and looks impossibly large.

To your left was the living room, large and cozy with three couches and chairs and a fireplace. The hearth is burning, warmth hitting you the further you pass into the house. A TV is mounted above it, off for now and you have a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t the only one in the house.

There are three people sitting on the couches, though you can’t make out who they are just yet.

On the right is the kitchen, separated by a wall that stops just so you can see the island and stove. Even still, you know it is just as big as everything else in the house.

You turn to Soobin. “When you said lake house, I thought you meant a little, modest cabin. Not Bill Gates’ vacation house.”

“Nah, Billy prefers Jeju Island. Seoul isn’t really his thing,” Soobin jokes and you huff indignantly.

“I’m being serious! You didn’t tell me you were, like, rich.”

He tilts his head faux innocently. “Oh, did I forget? I could have sworn I had. I usually do when I meet someone for the first time.” You cross your arms unimpressed and he sputters before defending himself. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I’m Choi Soobin, I’m a sophomore and my parents are extremely and grossly wealthy. Would you like to get coffee?’”

A pause. “I’d probably think you’re a liar or some pretentious douche.”

“See? Exactly what I was avoiding.” He cracks a cheeky smile then grows serious. “You’re not mad, though, right?”

You think about the Soobin who gave you five dollars when you were short at the café the first time you met and how he continued to be just as kind and caring as that day for the rest of the time you’ve known him and suppose that he is the same, just, now you know he has money.

You sigh, shaking your head. “No, just surprised, I guess. Like, if this is just your lake house, I’m a little scared to imagine what your actual house looks like.”

He smirks. “I’ll show you sometime.”

The way his lips curl is enough to temporarily short circuit your brain. You avert your gaze to a spot just above his shoulder, flustered. “Speaking of sometime, is this the day I finally get to meet your elusive friends?” Taehyun and Kai are two of Soobin’s closest friends and yet, for some reason, you have never met them before. They were always busy when you were free and vice versa.

He talks about them all the time and that only spurs your curiosity to actually see what they are like yourself. If Soobin gets along well with your best friend, who’s to say you won’t with his?

Soobin groans dramatically. “I wish. They were supposed to be here but Kai’s parents had a yacht party to host and Taehyun went with him. I really wanted tonight to be the day you guys met.”

“Yacht parties,” you repeat, turning the idea over in your head. “Because that is a totally normal and regular thing for the middle class person to do.” Soobin scratches the back of his neck sheepishly and you get the feeling that Kai and Taehyun are not middle class. “Are all of your friends as rich as you? Like, do they all have to show their credit scores before joining?”

“It’s more of an upfront payment thing, actually.”

You laugh at his joke and make to quip in response, but are interrupted.

“Hey, Soobin!” you turn at the sound of your friend’s voice to see her standing at the foot of the stairs. “Where are we sleeping?”

“Yeah, stop flirting and host!” one of the people from the couch, Sumin, teases. You remember from the volunteer group you and Lia had to participate in for a month after you accidentally defaced one of the school statues for a bet. Sumin was the leader, if memory serves right.

The comment has you ducking your head shyly, face heating up. Soobin, ever the charmer, just smiles good-naturedly. “The rooms are upstairs to the left, you can pick any empty one you’d like.”

At that, Sumin stands up and gives Soobin a mock salute before grabbing her things and her friends and climbing the stairs. “See you later,” Soobin says to you with a smile and you nod, returning it, before joining Lia.

It is a feat lugging Lia’s suitcase up the dozens of steps, but the two of you eventually make it. Looking down at the first floor, you feel like you’re on top of the world.

Lia leads you down the hallway to the left, passing photo frames of what you think is Soobin and his family. There are doors on either side of you and you leave it up to your friend to pick one knowing it won’t matter much, all the rooms had to be good choices regardless of where they were.

She pulls open a door on the right, picking a room near the end of the hall and stops dead in her tracks when she sees what’s inside.

Curiously, you peak over her shoulder to see what the fuss was about. “What is—Holy shit.”

The room is huge. Two queen sized beds with matching bedside tables and lamps fit comfortably with space to spare for a vanity table and chest of drawers. There is another door inside the room and you almost scream at the possibility. An attached bathroom?

“Y/N,” Lia breathes out clearly blown away by everything she has seen so far.

You release your own breath. “Yeah?”

“You have to marry him. Like propose. Tonight, preferably.”

You snort though you don’t dismiss the idea entirely. The two of you walk in finally, placing your bags on the floor and claiming the beds. Lia flops down on the one closest to the window with a sigh.

“Can’t believe this house is being wasted on a game night.”

You lay down next to her, shrugging. “I think it’s gonna be fun.”

She snorts. “Course you do, nerd. Unfortunately I find no joy in competition and am going to wither away in boredom while you have the time of your life.”

“Not with those novels you brought,” you point out.

A sigh. “You’re right. Guess this won’t be a total bust.”

Reluctant to move from the comfortable bed, you push yourself up. “Let’s go downstairs, I’m thirsty.” You hold out your hand which Lia takes, standing up as well with a grunt.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs,, Lia turns to you. “I’m gonna go talk to Sumin, can you get me something, too?”

“Sure.”

Passing by the living room, you see that more people have arrived and are milling around and talking to each other. You recognise one of the new arrivals as Wooyoung who was in your Statistics class in your first year. Lia makes her way over to where Sumin is talking to those other people, who you can now identify as Isa and Jongho.

The kitchen is just as big as you expected it to be. There are two fridges on either side of the stove, cabinets and drawers lining the walls. You could probably host a dinner party just inside her, forget the living room. And the dining room that you haven’t seen. Hidden next to the second fridge, you almost wouldn’t have noticed it if it wasn’t for the fact that you actively taking everything in, is a door. You don’t know what it is for and find that those two drinks for you and Lia is more pressing business.

Pulling open one of the fridges, you grab two cans of beer and shut the door. Turning to go back to your friend, you bump into someone who was trying to pass you.

“Oh, sorry!” you exclaim, jumping back in surprise. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

The boy—cute boy, your brain supplies unwarranted—waves you off goodnaturedly. “Yeah, don’t worry about it—Y/N?” He’s staring at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. It makes you squirm nervously.

“Um…Yeah?”

His face lights up. “No way! It’s Beomgyu! Choi Beomgyu, from middle school.”

Your eyes widen once the recognition hits and you nearly drop the cans you were holding. “Oh my god, what the fuck? What are you doing in Seoul? How do you know Soobin?”

The last time you had seen Beomgyu, you were fourteen and moving to Seoul with your parents. You had both been distraught about having to be separated from each other but eventually, after weeks turned into months without seeing one another, it got bearable, until Beomgyu became just another face from your childhood.

Seeing him now, though, it was like you never left.

He grins that cheeky grin you remember from your time as children and it brings an odd sense of comfort. “Transferred to BigHit last year. We stay on the same floor.”

“How did I not know you moved to my school?”

“Well it’s not like I knew you were going here either, now did I?” he retorts.

You roll your eyes fondly, smiling sincerely. “It’s good to see you, Beom.” You knock his shoulder once with yours before leaving him in the kitchen.

Joining Lia on the couch, you hand her her drink which she accepts, eyeing Beomgyu curiously. “Who was that?”

“Beomgyu, we used to be friends in middle school but then I moved. I had no idea we went to the same school now.” You still can’t believe how things worked out for the two of you, to meet at a random party years after you lost contact. You had to get his number before the weekend was up.

Soobin claps loudly from on top of a coffee table in the middle of the floor, causing the chatter to quiet down. “Everybody! It’s ten o’clock, and we’ve got a round of beer pong and charades set up. Split up into teams and let the games begin!”

A round of cheers erupt around the living room, including from you. You can’t stop the excitement practically coursing through you. Aside from seeing Soobin and the knowledge that you would be sleeping in the same house as him, this was what you came here for.

You chose to start with beer pong with Lia because Y/N, if I’m getting through this night, I need alcohol. You roll your eyes at her antics and don’t hold back from saying I told you so when you see her having fun and high fiving Sumin when she gets a ball in the cup.

Playing Twister, you go against Isa and Jongho and Wooyoung. Wooyoung gets out after his third spin when he had to tuck his hand under his right leg and Isa’s and she managed to knock him over. Ten minutes later and it is just you against Jongho on the mat. It doesn’t take much to beat him, just a very strategically placed leg that has him wobbling trying to get over.

You continue to catch up with Beomgyu during the times where you weren’t playing and introduce him to Lia, too. You are introduced to the rest of the party goers. Jung Yunho came with Wooyoung and is scarily good at Uno. He also brought pizza and beer, so you think he’s pretty cool. Park Sunghoon came on his own but knows Isa from one of the classes they share together. And Soobin—

Is terrible at charades. Paired up with Yunho, the two of you absolutely wipe the floor with Soobin and Sumin. Whenever the two of you were up against each other to describe the same word or guess, you would always get it before he did.

While the two teams, Lia and Isa against Sunghoon and Wooyoung, prepares to start their round, you quietly excuse yourself to get some fresh air outside. Between the fire that was still going and all the games you’ve been playing, you could do with the cool air.

Stepping out onto the patio, you take in the view of the lake and everything surrounding it. The house was perched at the top of an incline, looking over the lake. The moon reflected across the water was such a sight to look at and you wish you hadn’t left your phone inside so you could take a picture.

Movement catches your eye from across the lake. You squint to get a better look. A figure moves in the dark. From your vantage point, you can’t tell what—or who—it is or where they’re going.

“Sick of games already?” You don’t hear Soobin walking out to join you until he is taking a spot next to you. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

“No,” you clarify. “Just need a break from kicking your ass,” you tease, shoving his shoulder lightly and he barks out a laugh. Staring ahead again, you sigh. “This view is—Wow.”

“Yeah,” Soobin agrees, leaning his arms on the railing, looking out at the lake.

“Do you have any neighbours?” You ask, thinking about what you saw earlier.

Soobin shakes his head. “Not for miles. Good for privacy. When you run out of eggs? Not so much.”

At the mention of privacy, it hits you that this is the most alone the two of you have been before. You chuckle awkwardly, trying to keep the nerves out of your voice. “Thanks for inviting me. I’m having a lot of fun.”

“Well that’s a relief. I planned this whole thing for you.”

“What?”

He looks like he regrets saying anything in the first place but only hesitates a moment before sighing. “It’s going to sound super pathetic, I know, but I know how much you love games so I kind of set this all up with you in mind.”

This stuns you into stillness. “Really?”

“There were supposed to be more people here but convincing people to spend a weekend away for Snakes and Ladders doesn’t really go over well.”

“It’s fine,” you reassure, laughing at the thought of Soobin trying to get people to come this weekend. “It’s perfect, really. Thank you.” Again, you are hit by the knowledge that you are alone. There are people just a wall away, sure, but Soobin’s sole attention is on you. He did this whole thing for you. “Can I ask why, though?”

He looks at you with a shy smile, and the sight makes your heartbeat stutter, then pick up twice as fast. Before he can say anything, though, an alarm blares through the entire house, so loud, the sound rattles around your head. Frantically you press your hands over your ears to try to lessen the noise, and it works though not by much.

“What’s going on?” you yell to Soobin over the ringing and he just shrugs, seemingly as confused as you are. Hands covering his own ears, he motions with his head to follow you back into the living room. The rest of the guests have abandoned their games and are standing in similar positions to, trying to block out the ringing.

You immediately cross over to Lia when you catch sight of her and Soobin follows behind you. Just as suddenly as it started, the alarm stops, leaving behind a faint ringing in your ears.

“What the hell, Soobin?” Sunghoon asks.

The boy in question just sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man.”

Feedback whines through the surround sound system connected to the house. “I hope you have been having a good time so far,” a voice booms out from the speakers. Everyone’s head snaps up, trying to find the source to no avail. “It’s about to get better, and the stakes are about to get higher.” Whoever was talking was using a modifier, their voice coming out too gruff and tiny and to be normal.

“What’s going on?” you hear someone whisper. You were thinking the same thing, and with the quick glances you took to Soobin, it seems he was, too. Which you don’t really get, seeing as this was his party.

“Welcome, players, to the final game of the night: Hide and Seek.”

Murmurs go up around the room. You nudge the boy next to you slightly. “Are we really going to play that?”

Soobin glances down at you, and admits seriously. “I honestly have no idea what is going on.”

“Gonna beat you anyway,” you say cheekily.

“The rules are simple,” the voice says, grabbing everyone’s attention again. “Stay hidden until sunrise and you win. If you get caught, you’re out. You can hide anywhere in the house, but going outside is strictly off-limits. You will get a hundred second head start before the game starts. Good luck.” The speaker crackles with finality.

Silence. Then, “You can’t be serious.” You turn to Lia who looks like she would rather be anywhere else. “Who plays hide and seek for six hours?”

“She’s got a point.” This time it’s Beomgyu who speaks up. “Soobin, we don’t actually have to do this, right?”

“Guys, this isn’t my game,” Soobin announces which raises some eyebrows. “Somebody must have gotten into the media room and said all that.”

You try to think of a reason why anyone would want to do that and come up blank. You should probably be more concerned about somebody potentially breaking in and forcing you into a game but you have never played hide and seek on this scale before and besides, Soobin doesn’t seem all that concerned himself. So— “A game’s a game, right?” you say, addressing everyone. They all look at you, unreadable expressions on their faces. “It could be fun. And we could always end it early if it gets too boring.”

You don’t know how much time has passed but, looking at the clock, you see that there are a few seconds until midnight. The game was going to start soon.

Nobody makes a move to do anything and you almost resign to the fact that you won’t get to play when Lia sighs heavily. “You owe me so bad.” You grin wildly at your friend and throw your arms around her neck, pulling her into a hug.

At that, everyone seems to decide to give the game a chance and play. Wooyoung and Yunho run off somewhere upstairs. Sumin leaves by herself and Isa and Jongho take off in the direction of one of the guest bathrooms. You don’t see Beomgyu anywhere.

“Y/N,” you look down to see Soobin holding your wrist. “Hide with me?”

You almost do. His pleading eyes boring into yours, and you hate to turn him down. “I’m hiding with Lia. And besides, I can’t beat you if we’re together,” you add the last bit teasing and he cracks a wry grin before reluctantly releasing your hand.

The warmth of his hand doesn’t leave your wrist.

You turn back to Lia and run off together in the direction of the kitchen. You remember the door you saw in there and hope that whatever it is, it’s going to be big enough to fit the both of you.

The last thing you hear before you shut the door behind you both, is the voice from earlier coming from the speakers. “Ready or not…here I come.” The microphone clicks.

6 HOURS LEFT

The room you end up in is shrouded in darkness, you can’t even tell what it is. Lia pats the walls on either side of you until she finds what she is looking for and flips a switch. The room erupts in light.

The first thing you notice is that this is not a normal room. It’s a cellar. The second, you are standing at the top of a staircase.

Lia whistles. “How big is this place?”

The two of you descend the stairs and find yourselves in where the Choi family stores their wine. Two wine racks are in the middle of the floor, full of different bottles.

“Do you think Soobin will mind if we open one?” Lia muses inspecting each bottle carefully.

“You don’t like wine,” you point out and Lia flips you off.

“This is crazy, right?” she asks while looking around the room. “Like how big this house is. How rich Soobin is?”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Do you think his great grandfather did something weird a hundred years ago? Secured all this money by making a deal with the devil or something?”

You blink slowly. “I think somebody has read one too many Stephen King books.”

“Maybe so. Lots of stories about crazy rich people, though.”

“Like Crazy Rich Asians?”

Lia goes quiet. “Fair enough,” she concedes and you snort. Lia exhales heavily. “Now what?”

“Now…” you start, sitting down against the winerack, making sure you are hidden from view from the stairs, “we wait.”

Your friend groans.

The clock ticks and minutes pass. You wonder if anyone else has been caught yet. It’s a big house and there’s only one seeker. You don’t think they could have found anyone so soon.

“I can’t do this,” Lia announces suddenly. She pushes herself off the ground and paces the room. “Like, if we’re going to be down here the whole time, I need my book before I descend into insanity.”

She walks along the walls, hands pressing against the brick, it almost looks like she’s hugging it. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to see if there’s another door here. Rich people’s houses always have secret doors.”

The accuracy of her statement seems a bit off and you say so. “Yeah, but not in the cellar—” A click. A narrow door opens slightly, triggered by the pressure Lia applied to it. It leads to a hallway that splits two ways, the right side should take you back to the main house. Huh. “I stand corrected.”

Lia nods determinedly. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

“Wait, Lia—”

“Relax, Y/N, I promise I’m not going to try and get caught on purpose. I’m just going to go grab my book and come back. In and out. Like a spy.”

You are apprehensive but give in eventually with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll be waiting.”

To her credit, Lia does peak her head out and look both ways before she slips out the room and to the right. You sigh. You don’t know how long you sit there by yourself before you start to get antsy. Lia should be back by now.

The door creaks open from above the stairs.

Your head snaps up, trying to see who it is from behind your hiding place. You peak your head around the wooden wine rack and make out a pair of legs from the top of the stairs. The person descends slowly.

You are going to be so pissed if you should have followed Lia outside.

It’s one of the boys from the party. Sunghoon.

Emerging from your hiding spot, you make your presence known. “Are you the seeker?” you ask suspiciously.

Sunghoon startles but regains his composure quickly. He shakes his head. “No, but they’re right outside so we should probably go.”

“What?”

“I saw them snooping around the living room and kitchen then saw this door and came to hide. Won’t be long before they get the same idea, so depending on how seriously you are taking this game, we should go.”

You hesitate, shaking your head. “I can’t, I’m waiting for—”

“Suit yourself.” Sunghoon has already pushed past you to the wall. “Is there another way out of here?”

You watch as he goes through the same process Lia did and think about how you can’t just leave your agreed meeting spot. But, if the seeker is right outside, you can’t just stay here to potentially be caught without her.

Getting rid of any doubt, you press against the same spot Lia did and watch as the secret door clicks open. Sunghoon merely raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

The two of you slip through the door, and shut it quickly behind you. Thinking of Lia, your initial plan is to walk towards where the rooms should be so you can meet up with her halfway, but Sunghoon points out that that’s probably where the seeker will be looking next and leads the two of you to the left, deeper into the house.

You hope Lia doesn’t come this way.

“Where were you hiding before this?” you whisper, the eerie silence of the house putting you on edge. The seeker could be anywhere.

“Behind the curtains in the living room.” You raise your eyebrows at that and Sunghoon sighs exasperated. “Don’t judge me, I wasn’t really trying.”

Out of everyone this evening, he did seem to be the least interested in playing the games. “What did the seeker look like?”

“All black cloak. Like, some Dungeons & Dragons shit. Didn’t see their face though.”

A cloak? Was their identity a secret, or something? Did it matter? “Who do you think it is?”

“Honestly, thought it was you for a while,” he admits and that gives you pause. “You were, like, way too oddly excited to play so I just figured.”

“That’s…actually pretty fair.”

Sunghoon chuckles mirthlessly. You reach the end of the hallway where it turns to the left abruptly. You both come to a stop. You don’t know what part of the house you are in, don’t know where turning the corner will lead, how far away it will take you from Lia.

The boy you’re with whispers, “I’ll check if the coast is clear,” and you nod. He inches closer to the corner, head sticking to inspect what is there. You watch with bated breath as he disappears from view.

There is a sharp intake of breath.

“Sunghoon?” you whisper, concerned. He doesn’t respond. You wonder what he sees, if it’s a dead end. Or the seeker.

Suddenly, he staggers back, hitting the wall behind him.

“Sunghoon, what…” your words die on your lips when your eyes trail down his body and find his hand gripping his side.

Shakily, he pulls his hand away. Your breath hitches.

Blood.

Sunghoon’s eyes meet yours, scared and blown wide. You try to move. To run or to help, you can’t tell, but your feet are frozen.

A shadow is cast over Sunghoon’s body. It grows larger. You don’t know how long you have been holding your breath. Something metallic glints in the light.

A knife. In blood.

The sickening realisation hits you like a punch in the gut. Sunghoon had been stabbed.

A cloaked figure emerges from around the corner. Head to toe shrouded in black fabric, Sunghoon’s assailant is, you realise with sinking feeling in your gut, the seeker.

They raise the knife again. You should look away. You don’t want to see this. Your eyes are locked onto Sunghoon’s. He’s crying.

At the sound of the weapon piercing the boy’s flesh, bile creeps up your throat. You will your body to move, your mouth to scream, but it feels like you aren’t in control anymore. Like you are floating above somewhere, staring at yourself, but can’t do anything.

They pull the knife out. “Gotcha.” That distorted voice, sinister in its inflection, turns your stomach over.

You turn on your heel. And run.

Sunghoon was out.

Sunghoon was dead.

#txt x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #yeonjun x reader #prism.nw #klibrary #choi soobin x reader #soobin imagines #soobin reactions #beomgyu imagines #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu reactions #choi yeonjun x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun reactions #txt scenarios #txt imagines #🔮 — cr ijyho.

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years ago

Text

Let The Devil In, Chapter 6 - Eddie Brock/Venom x F!Reader

Gif by @mistress-gif

Summary: You and Eddie head off to Kasady’s execution, and things go much differently to what you expected. And the rest of the night certainly doesn’t get any better.

Warnings: Swearing, prison, mention of death sentence/execution, mention of abuse, death of a parent

A/N: Back on the cliff-hangers 🥰

Words: 4.6k

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal @queenofthefaceless @gallowsjoker @kirsteng42 @rosiefridayrogersunday @salome-c

LTDI Taglist: @threeminutesoflife @torntaltos @potter-solomons @cc13723things @xxlumos

LTDI Masterlist | Masterlist

It’s not every day that you get to go to the execution of a serial killer.

It wasn’t exactly something that had been on your bucket list, either.

But it was just one of these things that came with the job, you supposed.

Eddie had called you this morning, telling you about the postcard he’d received. Or rather, the invitation. To Cletus Kasady’s death sentence.

Somehow, you’d both secured rights to speak to him before it happened, to take down his last words before he said goodbye.

But… you’d been thinking.

About how hard Eddie had worked. The fact he had found the location of the bodies - with Venom’s help of course. The words he’d written and the pain he had eased from the families who had fallen victim to Kasady’s terror.

And you’d decided. You were going to give him the story back.

You’d only written your introductory piece, having helped Eddie write up about the murders but his was his name on the main story… and it should stay that way.

It had cemented in your head after his call, and you had decided to tell him upon meeting him before you headed to the prison.

Now, what did one wear to an execution?

~~~

“You look ridiculously hot, you know that, right?” Eddie’s voice was a little gruff as he looked over at you, seated in the passenger seat of your Baby.

A grin curled your lips as you focused on the road, heading toward the prison, “Oh yeah? Tell me again and maybe I’ll believe you.” You chuckled softly, voice teasing.

Eddie laughed too, rolling his eyes playfully and he reached over, resting his hand on your thigh, “Ven agrees with me. He says you look edible, and not in the same way he wants to eat me.” He frowned a little when he repeated it, realising what Vee meant. “Rude.” He muttered it softly under his breath.

Oh, how you loved your boys.

You looked over at Eddie as you waited for a traffic light to change, and you dropped him a wink, “Well, you can both have me as a snack anytime you like.”

Eddie’s hazel eyes glimmered with dark excitement and delight, showing the exact direction his - and Venom’s - thoughts had gone to.

He opened those plush lips to speak, but you swiftly cut him off.

“Unfortunately, that’ll have to be later because we’re almost here.” You pulled away from the traffic lights, tapping your fingers to the radio, in a light, happy mood despite what you were about to witness. You supposed you should be more serious, but your good mood couldn’t be helped.

Look who was sitting next you, laughing and giving you bedroom eyes.

You’d been inseparable over the past couple of weeks and… it felt good.

Really good.

And you knew the way your heart was headed, even if it did terrify you. Did he feel the same? Were you imagining all of this?

Before you could develop into a full internal spiral, the sat nav beeper to inform you of the upcoming right turn, which would lead you to the prison.

As you turned off and drove down the quiet, barren road, Eddie chuckled at something.

You raised a brow, shooting him an incredulous look, “Vee giving you an inside joke?”

Eddie turned to meet your gaze, his plush lips pulling up into a grin and shook his head, “Don’t I take you on the most romantic dates?” He motioned to the prison looming up as you got toward the gates.

You gasped playfully, putting on a gushy voice, “Well I have never been somewhere quite as stunning as this, I must say. It’s simply amazing.”

Eddie beamed at you, before a guard came to each of your windows and double checked who you were.

Once cleared, you drive into the car park and pulled the Chevy into a space.

You gazed up at the concrete building after you both got out, shielding your eyes from the sunny glare, “I just don’t know how you can to this one, Eddie.”

He looked over at you, the sun bouncing off his hair and turning it golden, “Oh, sweetheart, it only goes up from here.”

~~~

Cletus Kasady was sitting in the corner of his cage, eating what was presumably his last meal.

As you and Eddie where escorted in, his head swivelled, tracking you both with that unnerving, unhinged gaze.

He seemed oddly at ease for a man who was about to die in front of the families he had torn apart.

You heard Eddie mumble under his breath, quieter than a whisper, “This is a me thing not a we thing.” Clearly telling his alien to rein it in.

“Oooh, happy day for you, Eddie Brock.” He cocked his head as he watched the object of his obsession grow closer, “What a scoop you had, huh? But now it’s the end of the magical…” He pondered his words, waving his fork in the air, “Misery tour.”

You joined Eddie’s side, letting your arm brush against his as a subtle little gesture to say you were there but this was his moment.

Cletus’ gaze shifted to you, that sick grin lifting his lips and he gasped softly, “Oh, and you bought the pretty one back to say goodbye to me.” He blew you a kiss, “Are you going to weep for me, my love?”

Ew.

“Tears of joy, Mr Kasady.” You returned his grin with a saccharine smile, dripping with sarcasm.

Cletus chuckled, near beaming at you, “I do wish we could have had longer to play together. But thanks to your boyfriend over here, we can’t.” He pouted at Eddie, as his grin faded, and a strange light entered his eyes, “You know, Eddie, I worry for your soul. How are you going to live with the weight of snuffing out a man’s life?”

You quirked an eyebrow, trying to figure out his angle, the game he was playing.

Eddie watched him quietly, then shrugged lightly, “I don’t know. I was uh, kinda hoping you could give me a couple pointers there.”

Kasady chuckled that childish giggle again, pointing at Eddie, “You’re a funny little guy, aren’t you?” He looked at you, “I bet he makes you laugh all the time, doesn’t he?”

You watched Eddie pull his recording device from his pocket, showing it to Cletus before leaning forward and setting it down on the bars.

Weird, surely Vee could remember everything he said? Maybe they were arguing again.

Without looking at Kasady, you answered the murderer in his cage, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Just what was he up to?

Cletus was back on his monologue, clearly gearing up for something, “Consequences.” He drew the word out, as if savouring it, “Every decision you ever make,” He pointed his fork at Eddie again, “Who do we leave behind? And how do we leave them?”

He paused, obviously for some kind of dramatic effect, “A connubial bed… empty? Waiting in the darkness for the rescuer that… never comes. Because of you.” He gave Eddie a certain look, a weighted one that set the hairs on the back of your neck rising. Like a cat eyeing up a mouse it wanted to toy with.

Eddie was still and silent beside you, a slight furrow between his brows like he too, was trying to figure out what the fuck Kasady was going on about. It made you wonder if Venom was talking to him.

Kasady continued, motioning once more with that fork like he was a preacher or evangelist holding the attention of many as he spewed his words, “You and I are the same, Eddie.” He nodded solemnly.

Despite his weird attention toward you, it was like you weren’t there. Whatever he was planning, it had sole focus on Eddie… And that was dangerous.

Of course, they could just be the ramblings of a murderer… But this murderer was unhinged, and very, very meticulous. Not to mention near obsessed with Eddie.

“No. No we’re not.” Eddie’s rough rumble broke the strange atmosphere, and he crossed his arms, still close to your side.

Cletus carried on as if Eddie hadn’t even spoken, “Twisted insides, mean daddies.” He pouted again, “You feel like home to me, Eddie. Like family and that is all I ever truly wanted in this world.” He sighed; brows lowered as if the memories were painful.

Now that was news to you. You knew that Eddie hadn’t gotten on with his father, but you didn’t know the true extent of it. He didn’t talk about it and you didn’t push him, the same as he didn’t push you about your mum.

A quick glance told you that though Eddie appeared relaxed, his shoulders had turned stiff. That although he was nodding along like he was humouring Cletus… The words were maybe starting to hit home. “Yeah well, killing your grandma and your mother sure is a funny way of showing it.” His voice was a tad lower, tighter. You’d only notice it if you knew him well, recognised his tells that showed his true emotions.

Cletus nodded, looking down like a child admitting they had done something wrong.

He was so fucking weird.

You looked around the chilly room, the guard slouched in a chair in the corner, waiting for Cletus to be done.

“Is there anything you want to unburden yourself with?” Eddie unfolded his arms, clearly as eager to get this done with as the rest of you, “You know, before you...” He trailed off, pointing to the room at the far end of the hall where Cletus’ execution could take place.

What else could he possibly have to say?

Cletus sucked his lower lip between his teeth, nodding again, “Yes. Yes, there is.”

Dumb question.

He rose from his stool, padding over to the bars in front of where you and Eddie stood behind the yellow line, “I have wishes, Eddie.” He brought his hands to his chest, and then spread them toward Eddie like an offering.

You rolled your eyes, shifting on your feet and muttered under your breath, “Oh joy. Anyone see Aladdin?”

Eddie’s lips twitched and he looked down at you, eyes twinkling despite the darker shade they had taken.

“Excuse me, Eddie. This is my time with you, not hers.” Cletus’ voice was sharper, waiting for Eddie to give him all the attention and he relaxed when Eddie had done so.

“I want to wish you… This heartbreak.” He practically snarled the last word through gritted teeth, the atmosphere changing into something that tasted like danger. “I wish for you to see out your days alone, just as you always have been.”

You frowned, back straightening with a lick of fury and you stepped forward just a tad, “Watch it, asshole.” You spat the words, not caring that the guard had sat up in his seat, more alert now.

Eddie gently tugged you back to his side, a faint tremor in his hands that told you Vee was equally as pissed, “Where are you going with this?” He shrugged; his voice nonchalant but you saw right through it.

“You are a cancer, to everyone who ever loved you, Eddie.” Cletus’ eyes and words held Eddie, trapping him as he spoke the cruel things you knew ran through Eddie’s mind in his darkest moments.

You looked at the guard, “We’re done here. Get him out, before I kill him myself.” You pointed at the monster in question, feeling the anger sear through your blood, along with a fierce need to protect Eddie from the words.

But he wasn’t done, “You deceived your trusting fiancé, made her lose everything.” Cletus finally looked back at you, his face twisting, “Why, I bet you’ve already done something catastrophic to this one. How long before she sees through your lies and learns what you truly are?”

Eddie let out a shaking breath, his face paling and every single muscle in his body was taut as a bowstring. It was either in defence… or restraint for his friend swarming inside him, no doubt spitting curses and death threats.

And you were right there with him. You’d flip a coin with Venom to decide who got to rip Kasady’s head off.

Cletus sighed, shaking his head in disgust, “Well, it’s no wonder Daddy could never love you, is it? You killed his wife, your mother, just by being born.” He hissed the last word, sealing the nail in his coffin and also pressing the trigger on a certain symbiote.

You didn’t have time to register the horror and guilt on Eddie’s face, nor the way your heart broke for him as the revelation, because Eddie was suddenly flying forward, past the yellow line and right up to the bars.

Cletus skittered back, and that’s when you saw the thick, black tendril spurting from Eddie’s chest and wrapping around Kasady’s throat in a chokehold.

“No!!! No, no, no, stop it!!” Eddie was helpless to stop Venom, too busy clinging to the bars to stop his face being jammed into the metal from the force of Venom’s assault.

“Shit.” You breathed the word, then ran forward too, trying to pull Eddie away from the bars, “Hey!! Knock it off!!” You were speaking to Venom, hoping he would listen to you like he usually did.

Or not, because the next second, Cletus was slammed into the bars, face to face with you both and he reached for Eddie’s hand, wrenching it free and he bit down harshly into Eddie’s skin.

Eddie cried out in pain, and the sudden shock and noise brought Venom to attention, and he shot back into his hosts body in order to heal the wound.

“Hey!! I told you to stay behind the line!” The guard was finally there, pulling you and Eddie back away from the cage sharply. “You’re done. Both of you.”

You quickly grabbed the recorder before rounding on him, knocking his hands away, “Oh now you’re helping!! Where were you before? Napping?” You snapped at him, sliding your hand around Eddie’s arm and looking at the wounded hand he was clutching at.

Cletus however was off again, staring at Eddie like he was… well, an alien. “What are you?” He whispered the words, blood on the corner of his lip, “I have tasted blood before, and that is not it.” He surged forward, clinging to the side of the cage as the useless guard started herding you, “Eddie Brock has a big SECRET!!” He started yelling, reaching through the bars, “His little girlfriend is on it too!!”

“Shut the hell up, Kasady.” The guard all but threw the pair of you outside the door, another officer coming forward to take you both out.

You shot a glance to the back of the officer’s head, and then slipped your arm through Eddie’s properly, “Are you okay?” You whispered it softly, searching his face with worried eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then you were at the front desk and being asked to sign out.

One of the other men on duty tilted his head, looking at Eddie, “Hey, aren’t you Eddie Brock?”

Eddie didn’t even look at him, inside slipping his good hand into yours and pulling you from the building, “I don’t know anymore.”

You followed him out into the fresh air, hurrying to catch up to his side just as he started talking again, “I don’t want another word from you. I don’t want to hear you, see you, or even feel you. Just don’t.”

Eddie was walking quickly to your car, and only let go of your hand when you reached the vehicle. His jaw was set rigid enough to cut diamonds, his brows lowered and eyes more a stormy brown than their usual green tone.

“Eddie…” You watched him over the roof of your car, trying to think best how to break him out of this shell.

He looked at you, but only for a brief moment, “I’m fine. Really. Let’s just go home.” He tried for a smile, but it failed on his lips, and he ducked down to get in the car before you could try again.

~~~

The sounds of the tv filled your apartment, acting as a background noise whilst you made dinner. The news was on, talking about some latest celebrity scandal that was sure to make the front-page news tomorrow.

Eddie was coming over soon, having stopped by his apartment on the way home from the prison to pick up some clothes and send off his article - so, you offered to make food for when he got here.

You’d tried again to get him to talk, and he all but begged you to believe that he was okay, so you relented. Having had a similar moment in the past, you knew best to leave it, let him come to speaking on his own terms. Sometimes he needed to be pushed, but other times it just made him retreat further into himself.

Besides, he no doubt wanted to confront and berate Vee about his actions – so it really was best to stay out of that shouting match.

It still made you smile, to think about how your relationship had changed its dynamic.

From verbally cutting each other one second and having hate sex the next… To waking up in each other’s arms and decided who was going to do dinner that night.

Maybe it always meant to be this way, always destined to develop into this unique relationship with your Eddie.

And his alien.

That thought had you chuckling softly, shaking your head as you chopped up the vegetables for your meal.

Things definitely had changed. And for the better.

You had a call on the way home from your mother’s nurse, and she told you how well your mum had been doing recently. She’d been well and stable enough to run the art class yesterday, and even asked about you. Apparently, she’d woken up and asked the nurse when that sweet girl would be coming to see her, the one that had the same colour hair and the same smile as her husband.

She was finally remembering you again. Sure, it wasn’t her remembering your name or that you were her daughter but… It was something. She recognised you and saw that link to you and family.

Maybe you should bring Eddie.

Would she like that? Like to meet him?

You pondered that thought for a moment, wondering if maybe it would grasp at some other memory she had. You’d previously told her about him and knew that she watched his show back when he still had it.

Perhaps seeing the pair of you together would trigger something?

It was certainly worth a shot.

“We interrupt this story to bring you some breaking news. We have just received word from police officers at San Quentin Prison that a high-level, extremely dangerous prisoner has escaped.”

What the fuck?

The knife slipped in your hand, missing your finger by mere millimetres as you spun round and ran to the tv.

There was no possible way. None. Surely.

Oh, but there was.

Next to the news anchors face, was the mug shot of Cletus Kasady.

“Holy shit.” You breathed the words, turning the volume up and you grasped the back of the sofa.

Bear lifted her head from the sofa, looking at you quizzically and then flopping it back down again.

“Officers say that Kasady somehow escaped his execution, killing many of the police officers on his way out. They are asking the public to stay off the streets tonight, and make sure they lock their doors and windows. If anyone has any information, please call the number on screen now.”

The sudden blaring noise of your ringtone made you jump about a foot in the air, making Bear bark at the same time.

You clutched your now racing heart, reaching down to pull the phone from the side of the sofa and also give Bear some soothing pats as she shot back up, “Easy…”

Thankfully, it was Eddie’s face on your home screen and not that of a murderer.

Not that he’d have your number anyway, nor would you have him in your contacts but still.

“Hey, Eddie. Did you-“

“Are you at home?” Eddie’s voice was frantic, slightly off-kilter. You couldn’t blame him, but he was usually pretty calm in these situations.

You turned the volume down on the tv, leaning against the sofa, “Yeah, I’m home. Are you okay? I know you were on your way here but maybe you should stay inside. I’d say we’re pretty high up on his list, wouldn’t you?” You ran a hand through your hair, wanting Eddie and Vee by your side where you could make sure they were safe, but equally not wanting them wandering the streets. “I’ll come to you.”

They could take Cletus, easily but that wasn’t the point.

“No, no. No I’m coming to you. Stay inside. And shut your curtains. He doesn’t know where either of us live, though he might have an upper hand in finding me at this point so I probably shouldn’t be near you, but I have to make sure you’re okay.” You could hear him move around his apartment, as well as the tone of voice which was rapidly losing its hold on calm.

Something was wrong.

Aside from the obvious, of course.

You frowned, looking toward the windows as if Cletus was hanging upside down in front of it like a killer Spider-Man. “Eddie, slow down. Breathe. Why shouldn’t you be near me? You haven’t done anything.”

Eddie laughed, but it was strained and panicked, “Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Uh… You remember when Venom attacked him at the prison?”

“Yes it’s kinda hard to forget, but if you’re worried about pissing him off, I hardly think that makes you more dangerous to me. You being by my side doesn’t make me any more or less of a target.” Where was he going with this?

“No, no. I know it’s not that. It’s just that…” He trailed off and realised what the problem was. He sounded… lost. Like he was out of sorts, couldn’t grasp what was happening.

Was this just to do with Cletus?

You were quiet for a second and then said softly, clearly, “Come here, Eddie. You will not make me anymore of a target. Us being in the same place only makes more sense, then he can’t use one of us to get to the other. So just... come here and be safe, okay? Nothing you do will hurt me.” You tried for humour now, “Besides, if he does come, Vee can just eat him.”

Then you heard Eddie swallow thickly. His voice hoarse, “Well, that’s the thing. Venom isn’t here.”

Huh?

You paused your pacing, frowning yet again, “Not here? What do you mean he’s not here?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say… When we got back earlier, we argued. Badly. And we fought… again.” That was nothing new, “I thought it’d be like before, but he really pissed me off. He blew the last time Cletus would be on record and he could have gotten you hurt. We… He’s gone. I set the fire alarm off, and he left. I don’t know where he is.” Eddie’s voice cracked a little at the end, and that’s when you knew that as much as he was angry at Venom… He was worried.

You were stunned.

They argued, pretty much most of the time and you knew Eddie was pissed at Vee but… for them to quite literally part ways…

“There’s a serial killer on the loose, possibly coming to kill me and my girlfriend and I’ve lost my alien.” Eddie laughed again, a higher and even more strained laugh and he sounded like he was about to descend into a panic attack.

Girlfriend?

Lost alien?

Murderer on the loose?

This was all building up really rather quickly. You resumed your pacing, brain still stuck on that word Eddie has used and your heart was swelling with joy despite the situation, “Okay. Okay. Breathe, just... take a moment and we’ll work through this, alright? Did you see where he-“

A knock at the door stopped you cold, freezing you halfway across your living room.

You stared at the door like it had teeth.

“Eddie, is that you?” The words were a soft whisper, just in case, you know, there was a murderer the other side of the door.

Bear immediately started growling, her ears pricking up in alert… and she hardly ever growled.

Eddie’s voice had sharpened, more alert, “No, that’s not me. I’ve only just left my apartment. Don’t answer it, okay? I’m on my way.”

His words were almost drowned out by another rapid knock, harder this time and more insistent.

Adrenaline snuck into your blood, and you tiptoed over to the kitchen, picking up the large knife you’d been using to cut up peppers. “You can’t come here, what if that’s Kasady out there? He’ll kill you, Eddie. Or eat you.”

“Ma’am, this is the FBI. Please open the door, we have a few questions.”

Oh for the love of God, you were going to have a panic attack yourself in a minute.

“Who was that? Is that the FBI? Don’t answer the door, they might be lying.” Eddie’s voice was uneven, like he was running now.

You made a noise of exasperation, “I can’t just ignore the door, Eddie, it’s the FBI!!” You tiptoed to the front door, peering through the peephole.

There were two officers there, dressed in FBI jackets and they were holding their badges up to the eye hole. They knew you were in.

You whispered down the phone, “I’ve seen their badges. I’m going to open the door; I can get rid of them. Or maybe they know about Kasady.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to make a noise, “No! Don’t, please don’t answer it. They might be trying to trick you out. Just please wait inside and I’ll get rid of them when I get there.” The panic in his voice tugged at your heartstrings, still not used to the worry.

But this was you. You weren’t afraid of many things anymore. And besides, this might give you a chance to help Eddie.

“Look, if they see you, they’ll think you have something to do with it. They’re still investigating you for all the Life Foundation stuff, right? Maybe I can help. Besides, I don’t think it’s that. They’re probably just wanting to know if Kasady told us anything about where he might be going. I’m opening the door.”

You didn’t hear what Eddie said next, as you unlocked the door and pull it open a little bit, enough to show your face, “Hi, can I help you?”

The first man showed you his badge more clearly then put it away, “We hope so, ma’am. I’m sure you’ve heard the news about Cletus Kasady.”

Relief flooded your system, and you made a mental note to say I told you so to Eddie layer. You nodded quickly, “Yeah, I just saw it. It’s terrible what happened to those officers.”

The agent nodded again, then motioned to the door, “That’s what we’re here for. If we could come in, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

You looked back into your apartment and then back at the two agents, “About Kasady?”

The second man stepped forward now, shaking his head, “No, ma’am.” He held up a picture.

A picture of someone you knew like the back of your hand.

“We’d like to ask you some questions about Eddie Brock.”

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#eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #eddie brock x reader x venom #eddie brock #venom #venom let there be carnage #lethal protector #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy #marvel #let the devil in #let the devil in series

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radioduo · 3 years ago

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roses and riots: chapter 1

i could count the stars (wait until the dawn

notes: apoc au ^-^ this has been in the works for a while, so hope u guys enjoy! thanks to @b1rdza for the title and the letting me plan things w them :}

tws: blood, injury, violence, talks of death and zombies

Ranboo stared at his phone, slightly cracked and looking worse for wear, reminiscing over the photo on his lock screen. A picture from two months ago of him, Tubbo, and Tommy beaming at the camera. Ranboo returned the smile. Probably a picture Wilbur took on their moving day.

Two months ago, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo began living together. Two months ago was the last time everything was normal.

Ranboo leaned against the wall of the now crumbling apartment and laid his head back against the foggy windows with a sigh. He could hear Tubbo in the other room quietly singing a cheerful tune and fiddling with some new gadget on his own. Tommy still wasn’t home from the scouting trip he had left for hours ago, and as the minutes ticked by, more and more anxiety gnawed at Ranboo's stomach.

Speak of the devil, Ranboo thought to himself as the communicator next to him began to buzz. It was Tommy, unsurprisingly. Ranboo gingerly set the phone down and picked up the other device. “Hello?”

“RANBOO, GET - krzzkr - HERE, THERE’S - skrzzkz - FUCKING HORDE HEADING OUR - krzzssz - HELP-”

Ranboo flinched and held the speaker away from his ear as he sprang to his feet. “Oh god, alright. Hold on, Tommy, I’m getting Tubbo and we’re going. Where are you?” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the musty red rucksack that hung next to the door.

“WEST- kzzszrt - NEAR THE DINER-”

“Just stay calm, Tommy, find a hiding place, you know the drill,” he knocked on Tubbo’s door urgently, but there was no response. "Are you k- whatever," Ranboo threw open the door, muttering to himself. Tubbo yelped in surprise as the door swung open, flinging his arm out and knocking his project onto the carpet. “We’ve gotta go,”

Tubbo took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, bossman?”

Ranboo began to explain, but Tommy seemed eager to take matters into his own hands.

“TUBBO, THEY’RE FUCKIN’ AFTER - skrzztz - YOUR HELP RIGHT NOW, GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE - kryzztz - TO GOD I WON’T FORGIVE YOU IF I DIE,” he yelled through the radio. Tommy was breathing heavily, and Ranboo and Tubbo could hear quick, heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement.

“Oh fuck, okay, we’re coming, Tommy!” Tubbo grabbed his yellow bag from the foot of his mattress, abandoning his gadget and nearly knocking over his trash can full of failed prototypes. “Where is he?” he asked Ranboo, straining as he tugged his shoes over his heels.

“West Elm, near the diner,” Ranboo said as he pulled his mask over his face, leading Tubbo into the kitchen and grabbing his crowbar from the counter. “We’re on our way, just stay hidden and stay put.” Ranboo ended the transmission before Tommy could keep shouting at him and pulled open the door. “Let’s go, Tubbo,”

Tubbo hoisted his bat over his shoulder and tugged his goggles over his eyes. Wordlessly, the duo slunk out from the crumbling apartment building and down the street.

Nothing new, Ranboo noticed as the two speed-walked around the dilapidated city. Broken glass lined the pavement in front of shopping outlets, rotting wooden planks covered doors and windows, and the smell of flesh and blood filled the air around them, pungent and nauseating. The acrid scent slithered through the mask over Ranboo's nose and snaked into his nostrils, and he fought back the urge to heave as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

Rapidly rounding a corner, Ranboo tore his eyes away from the city scenery, stifling a gasp of surprise as he and Tubbo found themselves face to face with a gathering of the undead.

With bulging eyes and mouths lined with yellowed, broken teeth, the pack shuffled down the debris-covered road in the opposite direction, still oblivious to Ranboo and Tubbo's appearance. They seemed too busy tracking something out of sight to pay attention to the smell of fresh, unspilled blood nearby. Unfortunately, Ranboo realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the thing they must have been searching for was Tommy, and to find him, he and Tubbo would have to make it through the horde of the starving dead.

Tubbo stared ahead at the mob, a sour expression painting his face. "Don't tell me-"

"We have to, Tubbo. Unless you want to leave Tommy to die over there."

"I'm gonna be honest bossman, that sounds pretty fuckin' appealing right now," Tubbo replied dryly.

"I really hope you're joking," Ranboo answered. "C'mon," he urged, gripping the crowbar in his gloved hands, and charged forward like a bull.

The zombies, luckily for Ranboo, moved slowly, giving him time to react between attacks. He swiped nimbly with his left hand, slamming the metal bar into the face of a corpse, taking its head off with a satisfying crunch. Ranboo heard a grunt next to his ear and rolled out of the way right as an undead creature swung at him, nearly grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He brought the crowbar down into the skull of his attacker and looked away as the creature made a strangled sound in the back of its throat. Bobbing and weaving through the sea of the undead, Ranboo slammed the crowbar into every shambling body he could reach, over and over again. He yelped as he suddenly felt something grab his arm, sending a wave of pain up his arm from the iron-like grip. He wrenched his hand away frantically and stabbed the crowbar into the zombie's eyes. Breathing heavily, he scrambled away from the horde and into the clear at last. Ranboo gripped his sore arm and anxiously looked over the sea of corpses. Tubbo hadn't come out of the mob yet, and Ranboo's stomach twisted with fear at the thought of something happening to him.

A loud smack came from somewhere inside the cluster of bodies, and at last, Tubbo appeared, waving his bloodstained baseball bat like a madman and shouting a string of curses at the undead hands grabbing at his clothes. He ran to Ranboo's side, gasping for air. "Don't ever fucking make me do that again, okay?"

Ranboo grinned, relieved that he seemed unharmed. "Alright, alright, whatever," he said, flicking a drop of blood from his face. "We have to keep moving or they'll catch up with us."

----------

Tubbo and Ranboo slid open the diner door silently, stepping over the upturned chairs and tables as they walked into the abandoned building. "Tommy?" Tubbo whispered. "Are you in here?"

"Tubbo?" A voice answered. A head of curly blond hair popped up from behind the counter, and an unmistakable look of relief swept over Tommy's face when he caught sight of the two. "Thank fuck," he muttered, breathing a sigh of relief and dragging himself to his feet, hauling his backpack with him. "I wasn't sure how much longer I'd last." Crawling out from behind the counter, Tommy pulled his green bandana down from over his mouth again and faced the duo. "How'd you get through that giant fuckin' mob back there?"

Ranboo and Tubbo held up their crowbar and bat, respectively. "We managed," Tubbo said with a shrug. "That's beside the point though, why have you been gone so long? You were supposed to be back, like, two hours ago!" The three inched towards the door as Tubbo talked, slipping back into the streets and booking it in the opposite direction they came from.

Tommy huffed, trying to keep up with his friends. "Other than those dickheads back there keeping me away, I stopped by Phil's place for a bit to get us some food," he explained through deep breaths. "We haven't been able to get out much, thought it'd help." He held up his lumpy bag, obviously full of cans and boxes.

"Tommy, you know carrying food long distances is dangerous," Ranboo huffed, pulling ahead of the group as they rounded a corner. "Those things can smell just about everything, what made you think that was even slightly a good idea?"

Tommy made an indignant scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Well, ex-CUSE me, Boob Boy, for wanting to help out you and Tubbo. That's my bad," he said, placing unnecessary emphasis on the last two words.

Ranboo rolled his eyes with faux annoyance as the three of them kept walking. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?"

"Not enough clearly," Tubbo answered, amusement obvious in his tone.

"Oh my god-" A hand flew over his mouth as Tommy suddenly took a sharp turn and flattened him against the bricks of a rundown building. Ranboo bit back a pained grunt as his aching arm hit the bricks. "I can hear those fuckers nearby," he removed his palm from Ranboo's masked mouth, and the three of them pressed their backs against the crumbling wall. "Is there another way we can take?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes darting back and forth as he strained his ears to listen for the familiar groans of the undead. "There are only a few that won't take us, like, two hours," he whispered. "Most roads loop around the city, and-"

"-and there's no way in hell that we'd make it back alive if we travel in the dark," Tubbo finished bleakly. He stared at the ground, lost in thought as though he were hoping the answer would write itself on the sidewalk. "So what now? Just stay here and wait until the morning? Surely not," he looked up at the other two. "I mean, that's a death wish right there,"

Ranboo and Tommy nodded silently. "I guess there's always Phil's place, but that's a couple dozen blocks down the road," Ranboo suggested, glancing up at the sky. It was only marginally darker than when they'd left, but Ranboo knew the light wouldn't last for much longer - especially not with the luck they'd been having. He absently rubbed his sore arm, careful to keep something from hitting it again. "We'd have to leave now to be there before dark,"

"Don't tell me we have to fuckin' walk even more," Tommy griped loudly. "I just got back from his place, are you sure there isn't a faster way home?"

"We can leave you here with the horde, if that's what you prefer," Tubbo retorted. Slinging his yellow bag over one arm and hoisting his worn baseball bat over the other, he dashed down the street, calling to Tommy over his shoulder, "Hurry up, dickhead!"

"Tubbo, wait-!" Tommy shouted back as he and Ranboo followed suit, jogging down the sidewalk behind Tubbo to the safety of their friend's home.

It was nearly dark by the time the three came to the pale blue house. It sat on the city outskirts, barely safer than the houses on the inside but at least ten times cozier. Tommy rapped on the door raucously, and Ranboo and Tubbo cringed as the sound echoed, definitely alerting the nearby zombies to their presence.

They didn't have time to worry about that, thankfully, as Phil greeted them at the door, looking relieved. "You guys scared the shit out of me," he breathed as he ushered the three teens inside. "You can't just be out wandering and knocking on strangers' doors,"

"Phil, if you were a stranger, this would be very awkward right now," Ranboo said, kicking his boots off and shoving them in the corner.

"I'm- oh my god, you know what I mean," he replied exasperatedly. "Be careful out there, is all. I don't know what I'd do if you guys got hurt."

Silence fell over the group as they heard the subtext of Phil's words. 'If you guys got hurt again.' Ranboo peered over at Tubbo, whose hand had subconsciously drifted up to trace the burn scars that outlined his face. Ranboo's own hand had floated up to touch his bruised arm carefully. He wouldn't tell Phil about it. Not yet.

Coughing, Ranboo broke the silence as he drew his hand away from his injury and undid the clasp on his cloak. "Welp, uh, I'm gonna sit down if anyone else wants to come," he invited, plopping the heavy fabric in a pile with the rest of his things and wandering into the living room.

The fireplace was burning, and Wilbur laid next to the orange flames, half-lidded eyes staring sleepily at the ceiling. He blinked and sat up as Ranboo entered the room, still alone as Tubbo and Tommy followed Phil into the kitchen, discussing something Ranboo couldn't quite hear. "Hey, Rhombus," Wilbur smiled, holding back a yawn. "How goes it?" His eyes darted briefly to the yellow sweater Ranboo wore.

Ranboo shrugged, removing his mask and catching the brief smile that flickered across Wilbur's face. "Could be better, I suppose," he replied.

"I think you said that last time," Wilbur noted.

"Yeah, well, it's been hard to be great recently," Ranboo said, barely audible.

Wilbur nodded sagely nonetheless, shuffling away from the fire to sit on the carpet in front of the couch. "You're not wrong," he agreed. There was a moment of silence as Wilbur looked up at Ranboo, who sat stiffly on the sofa, clutching his arm lightly and staring blankly into the fire. "You all good?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Ranboo answered, blinking himself out of his stupor and brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Just- pain is all. Nothing a little sleep can't fix," he insisted. Ranboo could see the doubt in Wilbur's eyes, and it made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure why. "I'm alright, seriously," he repeated. "I'd let you know if I wasn't, you know that."

"Right." Disbelief laced Wilbur's words, but he didn't pry, nor did Ranboo want to offer an explanation.

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn't get the chance as Tubbo peeped his head into the room. "Dinner's ready big man, if you're interested," he said, jabbing a thumb behind him towards the kitchen, the comforting smell of potato soup wafting through the house. "You too, Wilbur, I guess," he snickered.

Ignoring the lighthearted banter between the other two, Ranboo inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. It smelt like home, he thought, a small smile painting his face. Wordlessly, Ranboo padded through the doorway into the kitchen, where Techno, Tommy, and Phil sat around the table waiting.

"There you are," Techno greeted him, reaching for the soup spoon. "We were starvin' to death in here, c'mon man," he joked.

Ranboo huffed a laugh through his nose. "Sorry about that," he apologized, running a hand through his hair. "Been a long day." He caught Tubbo's eye, who agreed with a slight head nod.

"It's alright, mate," Phil assured him. He held the bowls as Techno ladled soup into them carefully. "We get it." Phil handed him a bowl, steaming and cozy, and Ranboo gratefully accepted. "Just hang out for a while, alright?"

The six of them sat around the small kitchen table, eating together and listening to the radio as songs old and new alike filled the air. Tubbo and Wilbur sang duets, and Techno and Tommy made increasingly strange parodies as Phil and Ranboo watched with amusement.

Tommy and Techno were mid-song about Phil when the music suddenly stopped, harsh static cutting through the joyful atmosphere like a knife.

"WE INTERRUPT YOUR PROGRAM FOR AN EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT," the prerecorded sample recited. "ATTENTION, ALL CITIZENS OF NEW LENSLING COUNTY: A MANDATORY EVACUATION IS BEGINNING TOMORROW AT 11 AM. ALL PERSONS LIVING IN THE CITY MUST RELOCATE BEFORE THE END OF THE WEEK."

The once bright mood at the dinner table quickly sank, dread and icy cold fear replacing the warm feeling of family and safety.

"What the fuck?" Tommy murmured, turning the radio volume up to the max.

"COUNTY OFFICIALS WILL BE INSPECTING HOMES TO ENSURE THAT EVERYONE HAS EVACUATED. SAFE CITIES ARE AS FOLLOWS: ATTSTONE, WORWICKE, LANGSTEDSHIRE, SHANTOWSEA, AND SOUTH BIRBED. FURTHER QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED AT-"

Wilbur turned off the radio with a harsh slam. "Great," he growled. "What the fuck do we do now? Surely they don't expect us to just be happy with this!"

"All our shit is still at home!" Tubbo added, agitated. "There's no way we have time to grab it tonight, and it'll take ages to get back to the apartment in the morning!" He grumbled. "This is bullshit!"

"Calm down, you two," Phil cut in, trying to curb the anger bubbling in the air. "We'll figure something out, okay?"

Tubbo and Wilbur had the same disgruntled look in their eyes, jaws set and eyes shadowed. "Fine," Tubbo muttered, standing up to look at Phil. "Tell us then, what's the plan? Do you even know what's going to happen to us?"

"Tubbo," Ranboo warned. "Calm down. We're all figuring it out as a group."

Tubbo folded his arms and sat heavily in his chair, still irritated.

Techno was already rifling through his things for a map of the county. "The safe zones were all cities nearby," he said, seemingly to himself. He rolled a thin map out over the table, careful to avoid the drops of soup. "Attstone, Worwicke, et cetera. The closest one to us would be-"

"South Birbed, innit?" Tommy finished, shoving his now-empty soup bowl out of the way to lean over the table. "It's 'bout a week-long trip on foot," he explained. "We could be there in no time if all of us leave first thing in the morning,"

"Hold on, Tommy," Techno stopped him as Tommy took a breath to say something else. "One of us needs to stay behind and let someone know where we're goin', right Phil?"

"They need to send a message to all the safe zones to tell 'em how many people to prepare for," Phil confirmed. "I'll stay behind, tell whoever may stop by that the six of us are heading south, yeah?"

Ranboo and the other four shared a look of hesitance, none of them quite sure how to respond. "I don't want to leave you behind, Phil," Ranboo admitted. "Are you 100 percent sure you'll be alright on your own?"

Phil waved a hand dismissively. "You don't have to worry about me, mate. I'll catch up with you all in no time."

Phil's promise sent a wave of relief around the room. Wilbur and Tubbo looked more at ease, and Ranboo, Techno, and Tommy all breathed a sigh. "We should probably pack up our shit, I guess." Tommy rose to his feet, stretching and yawning. "Early start tomorrow, aye?"

They all stood, some more hesitant than others, and dispersed to their respective sleeping quarters. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo trekked upstairs single file, carrying their bags, weapons, and everything in between into the large bedroom silently. It wasn't like they hadn't done this same thing before, but something about knowing it might be the last time for a while made the mood feel more somber than usual.

Tommy flopped onto the large, pillowy mattress with a sigh. "I can't believe we're being fuckin' kicked out," he muttered crossly, a change in mood from the upbeat leader persona he'd put on downstairs (probably to prove himself to the adults). "And to South Birbed of all places!"

Ranboo snorted, his eyes crinkling up with laughter. "What did South Birbed ever do to you?" He asked, watching as Tubbo crawled onto the bed next to Tommy.

"I dunno, it just seems like a shit city," Tommy shrugged.

Tubbo smacked him with a pillow, and Tommy yelped in protest, shouting a string of curse words at his assailer. "Mercy, mercy!" Tommy begged as he and Tubbo began a pillow fight.

Ranboo looked on with mild intrigue but didn't join the party. Instead, he slipped away from the other two into the bathroom and shut the door.

He pried his gloves off his hands and rinsed his face, desperate to clean the dirt and grime from his forehead and fingers. Ranboo stared at himself in the mirror, watching beads of water run down his face. He looked like a mess, he thought briefly, before drying the water with a towel. He winced, feeling a shock of pain flow up his arm as he blotted the water with the scratchy cloth. Deftly, he rolled up his sweater sleeve to examine his arm.

A little bit of broken skin, Ranboo noticed. He caught sight of a few small indents, which he assumed were from fingernails digging into his arm when the zombie had grabbed him. He made a mental note to keep checking the wound before it got infected and rolled his sleeve down again.

With a newly clear head, he reentered the bedroom quietly. Tommy and Tubbo had already claimed the bed, he noted, as the two laid on either half of the mattress, Tommy's head and Tubbo's feet on one end and the other way around at the foot of the bed. Ranboo sighed as he realized he'd have to sleep on the floor. Swiftly, he snagged a pillow from the bed, careful not to wake the already-snoring Tubbo, and dragged a throw blanket from a basket to sleep beneath. Begrudgingly, he laid on his makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling.

He had never noticed it before, but shining overhead was a galaxy of artificial stars, blinking and twinkling. The question of "why" briefly crossed Ranboo's mind as he stared at the bright little shapes above him. It made sense, he supposed, since the room belonged to Wilbur years before he, Tommy, or Tubbo ever stayed there. Still, he thought, it was surprising that Phil had kept them up there after all this time. Maybe he wanted to keep a little piece of the good times with him.

Ranboo felt a pit form in his stomach as he thought about the future (or possible lack thereof). The uncertainty made his stomach churn as he yawned, eyelids drooping. Thoughts of traveling and an image of the artificial galaxy were fresh in his mind as he rolled over that night, shutting his eyes and letting the darkness of sleep wash over him at last.

#ranboo #tubbo #tommyinnit #philza #wilbur soot #technoblade #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #blood tw #injury tw #violence tw #zombies cw #my writing

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simsadventures · 4 years ago

Text

Panopticon: Chapter 27: War Path

Alpha Steve x Omega Reader

Summary: Steve is livid and tries to find you but somebody keeps putting obstacles in his way. You, on the other hand, get to meet the devils and learn some harsh truths.

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics, angst, abduction, slight mentions of torture, life in captivity, lying, swearing, mentions of violence against women, shitty people in general, loads of feels, I would hope, mentions of suicide, mentions of death

Word Count: 3800

A/N: Du dun… Who is ready for some angst? Many of you weren’t happy that we’re taking this route, but it needed to happen because the world is full of assholes who try to make people unhappy. Anyway, so excited about this one, and I can’t wait for you to tell me what you thought. Love you all!! xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

“That won’t help to find my Omega, so no!” Steve yelled across the whole room, and even the experienced Alpha fighters gathered in the room couldn’t help but shudder at Steve’s authoritative voice. They were trying to help, coming up with new ideas to try and bring the Circle down, or at least make somebody from the inside communicate with them to tell Steve and his team the location of his Omega. But no idea was good enough for Steve.

It had been four days. Four days without his precious Omega, and Steve felt like he was slowly losing his mind. He desperately needed you next to him, just to feel your warm, soft skin pressed against his, or to see the light in your eyes whenever you looked at him. But he had nothing.

He often saw broken Alphas after all that went down on Earth a few years ago, and while he couldn’t really imagine what they must have been feeling at that time, walking like dead men, some of them on the brink of death because they just couldn’t handle their lives without their loved ones, Steve understood it all now.

He knew he had to concentrate because he felt you in his veins, felt that you were alright considering the circumstances and, most importantly, that you were still alive. That was the sole reason why he didn’t end it yet. But he was hanging on a thread because each day and night he had to spend without you, his mind was going just a little more insane. He was hearing your voice and this morning, he even saw you standing by the bed. He was elated, but when he blinked a few more times, he realised that it was his brain playing tricks on him and that none of what had happened was just a nightmare.

Moreover, he had to orchestrate a funeral for Peter and Gamora. The sadness over their loss was embedded deep in Steve’s soul, and he knew he would never get over it, even if he got you back. When he got you back, he scolded himself every time he thought of it, but it was to no avail. The desperation and pain seeped deep into his bones, and the once positive Alpha, who used to be full of life was just a walking shell of numbness.

Sam and Bucky tried to pick up the mood in the room now and then, but they knew all too well that there was nothing they could say or do to make the situation better. The only thing Steve really needed was to get you back, and they empathised with him. Moments after the realisation hit them that you were indeed gone, they rushed to their own huts to check on their own mates. Their bonds felt fine, but the fucked-up situation got into their heads, and they needed to see their loves for themselves. Both Meera and Tina were sitting comfortably in their houses, unaware of the terror going on just mere meters away from them. They all spent the afternoon scenting and crying, their hearts clenching for their friend who was lost in his thoughts and his pain.

But Steve tried to come up with a solution. He knew Rumlow would take you somewhere far, but not far enough not to brag about it. The circle was almost a day drive so Steve would have bet Rumlow’s hiding place was somewhere between his own house and the hell house they called the Omega haven. But that was still too much land to cover just by foot or by car, since there were so many abandoned houses and warehouses, not even talking about all the hidden places deep in the forests. So, just going somewhere blindly was not an option.

Then, he thought of using what was left of the functioning camera system between the city and his lands, trying to see if he could pinpoint at least the direction where Rumlow and his team went. But he came up with nothing since most of the cameras had been destroyed soon after the war had started.

Steve even thought of taking some military dogs and making them sniff your clothes to find you, but that would mean hundreds of kilometres to search, and that was just impossible. Every single thing Steve came up with was a nonsense, and the longer he couldn’t figure out how to find you, the more desperate and angry he had become. His people knew it was nothing personal, but his yelling and blaming was sometimes too difficult to bear for any of them. Steve knew he was being a dick, and he apologised every time his nerves got the better of him, but it was like he couldn’t do anything about it.

It was when Bucky spoke up with a guilty look that Steve finally got a good idea from somebody. Not that he particularly liked it, but it was something useful at last, and Steve was actually quite angry with himself for not thinking of it sooner. The idea was to call Peggy because she was always able to find Rumlow a little easier than the rest of the world. How that worked exactly Steve never asked, because Peggy was one of those who kept their work pretty shut, and she wouldn’t brag or even talk about it, so Steve had barely any idea of what Peggy really did. There used to be times when he minded when it drove him up the wall, but not anymore. He didn’t care how she did it, the only thing Steve needed was to get you back.

He called her almost immediately, listening to her smooth voice as she assured him that she would devote a majority of her time to help him because, after all, she still cared for him very much. Steve thanked her from the bottom of his heart and resolved to wait for her to come back to him since there was literally nothing else to do for him but to wallow in his pain.

Surprisingly, it only took a few hours for Peggy to reach out and tell Steve that she might have found him. His heart started beating like crazy as if feeling that he might be getting you in his arms sooner than he expected. Peggy told him that she got the memo that Rumlow was hiding in an old warehouse south of the manor, around 70 kms away, and Steve just growled, knowing he was kind of right in his assumptions. He quickly gathered his team, not really speaking much, but they all understood. This was a life or death mission because most of the team was sure Steve wouldn’t survive that if they didn’t find you.

Steve pretty much jumped out of a moving car when they neared the building, and he got to work immediately, going into the commander mode, assigning roles and talking strategy for when they would come in contact with Rumlow’s team. Everything was meticulously planned, and Steve had a good feeling about that. The only issue was that he couldn’t smell you. But he simply thought that he was still far enough to be able to do that and that they were probably keeping you in some shutoff room.

The closer to the building they got, however, the weirder the whole situation felt. No men were standing outside on the lookout, there were no specific smells to tell the team that there were indeed people hiding inside, and when they finally got in, they found the place completely empty.

They rummaged through all the rooms, even in the basement and on the roof, but the only thing they got was some cloth lightly smelling like Rumlow, but not enough to tell them how long ago he was at the warehouse. Steve screamed in frustration because there was no sign of you, not even a hint of your smell that he so helplessly craved.

Bucky and Sam shared distressed looks before they each grabbed Steve from one side and brought him back to the car, hollering at the whole team that the mission was over and that they needed to come back home. Steve didn’t speak the entire ride back, just staring out of the window, thinking of all the times you two would take such rides to and from the city, always discussing new books or just sharing stories from your youths. Steve now found that he took these moments for granted. He enjoyed them, sure, but not enough. There was the nagging voice telling him that he should have done more, that he ought to have taken you with him to that fucking meeting, and none of this would have happened.

“Stop it, punk. None of this is your fault so stop with the self-blaming and call Peggy to tell you what the fuck happened that her tip wasn’t true,” Bucky interjected Steve’s thoughts, and as many times before, Steve wondered whether Bucky could just read him like an open book or if he had a direct link to his brain. Steve shook his head and dialled the number.

“So, happily ever after?” Peggy said smugly, and if she stood anywhere near Steve, he swore he would have hit her.

“Nothing and nobody’s fucking happy, Peggy. Nobody was there except for some piece of cloth that was supposed to smell like Rumlow. Who the fuck gave you this tip? I need to find my Omega, and I don’t have the time to drive around the city and march into every single abandoned building just because you have a hunch. I need real information, Peggy, and if you can’t give that to me, then you’re just wasting my time,” Steve said more tiredly than anything else, but Peggy’s face contorted in annoyance on the other end of the line.

“I never waste your time, Stevie, you remember that. Look, I thought the info was top-notch, but I’ll keep looking. How about I come to your place, and we can think of a plan together?”

“Yeah, yeah whatever, it definitely can’t harm us. I’ll be expecting you,” Steve sighed and hung up, nodding at Sam who was watching him through the rearview mirror.

“Peggy said she��d come and help from the mansion. I mean, I’d rather have the whole fucking team together looking for Y/N, but I can’t fly everyone here from god-knows-where, so anyone who wants to join in is welcomed.”

Sam nodded but didn’t like it one bit. He understood that Steve was desperate, but Peggy was and had always been bad news, and Sam had a hard time trusting her even back in the days when they had to fight side to side. All the secrecy surrounding her just stank, and Sam was sure he’d keep an eye on her, just in case. He wanted everything to go over smoothly for Steve, and nobody needed a sneaky bitch who would throw them under a train the second she got a better deal from the opposing side.

You let your hand slide on the ground underneath you. It was rough with what felt like small rocks that were cutting you in the palm. You were seated, and your whole body hurt since you have been in this position for hours. Nobody talked to you since they killed your friends and abducted you. They just blindfolded you and tied you up, changing positions every few hours probably to disorient you since you doubted anybody really cared how comfortable you were. All you could do was rely on your senses and learn as much about your surroundings as you could. You weren’t even sure why you cared, but your brain couldn’t take thinking about anything related to Steve, so you busied it by making sure you knew everything you could.

You learned that there were three places they would keep you in. You presumed that they were all in one room, but they changed whether you were sitting or lying down. You weren’t even sure what time it was and slept when they put you laid you down. Nobody ever touched you inappropriately, and that’s how you assumed not one of those people was Rumlow.

The first place they would let you sit in was in an old crinkly chair made of rough wood as you had a few splinters from rubbing your hands against the arm-holders. It had four metal legs, and from the sounds, it made every time you shifted, you thought it was a rather old and overused piece of furniture.

The second place was where you were sitting now. It was by the wall, which was cold and smelt of moss, and you even though you sensed death a few times, you knew that was just your exhausted brain playing games with you. The ground was full of rocks and shards of glass, so it was your least favourite place to be of the three. The ground was colder than all the other areas, and every time they made you stand up, there was a wet patch where your ass touched the ground as the coldness accumulated against your hot body, making you wish you could just change. But your abductees would never answer to your pleas, so after what you assumed were a few days, you just gave up asking them altogether.

The third place was a makeshift bed, created out of a few pieces of wood pushed together and an old and smelly mattress. You tried to ignore all that the smell evoked in you, but you sometimes choked on your own saliva as you shifted and changed position, getting another whiff of what smelt like a hundred of butts and sweat. But it was a mattress, and you could get a few hours of sleep, so you couldn’t dwell on the details.

When you found out everything there was with your surroundings you tried to pay attention to your abductors. And while you couldn’t say precisely how many there were, you had a pretty good idea. As you were an Omega, blindfolded and cuffed, they always came alone, and you recognised each of the people by their steps. There were four of them, each of them having differences in their weight, the length of their steps and the carefulness with which they handled you. That’s how you came up with the number of four.

Number two was by far your favourite. They (you assumed it was a he but you couldn’t be sure) would always leave you alone even when you needed to use the bathroom. You knew they were in the room, but they had the decency to at least not physically touch you, and, in your mind, you created this picture that the person even turned around to leave you to do your business. They would also give you the biggest amount of water, seeing how you were parched because number four was a complete asshole and would always allow only a gulp before he drastically took the cup away from your mouth.

And that was your days, filled with diverting your brain from thinking about the graver questions, like where were you, would Steve ever find you, what did they want from you, etc. Every time any of those popped up in your head, you choked up, and had to start touching your surroundings or else you’d have gone insane by now.

It was when number three was supposed to come and let you sleep that you heard it. It was faint, but your ears perked up at anything that wasn’t your own breath or the sound of boots of your abductors hitting the ground. And this was neither. These were human voices talking about something behind the door. Your heart-rate picked up immediately because, while you hated the routine of four guards and three positions, you also knew that routine was good. Anything that was out of the routine could possibly mean death to you, and you tried to do anything to avoid that. The voices grew nearer, and you shuddered involuntarily, bracing yourself.

When the door opened, the cold air hit your face, and you hid it between your shoulder blades.

“Well, well, well, here is the famous Omega the world is searching for. You look so pathetic, it’s actually quite funny,” you heard a female voice say, and your brows knitted together. You heard it before, you just couldn’t place the voice for the life of you.

“Yeah, well, the sooner she stops pining for that pathetic excuse of an Alpha and becomes mine, she will look much better. I mean, not that anybody’s gonna see her since she is just an Omega pussy, but she is my Omega pussy, so,” the man trailed off, and you didn’t have to think to place this voice. This voice haunted your worst nightmares, so you were pretty familiar with it.

Rumlow

“Whatever, Rumlow. All we need is to get rid of her mating mark, and we’ll be good. Steve called me and found the warehouse where I sent him empty, and I, as a devoted friend, told him I’d help him from the mansion so I’ll have easy access to him and I will divert him from here if need be. You just need to do what you must so that I can have him back,” the woman spat, and it was as if a light bulb switched on. God, you felt stupid for not suspecting she had her ugly fingers in this. Fucking Peggy who obviously wanted Steve back even when she visited him all those months ago.

And while it was nice that Steve didn’t feel the same, this woman was clearly a maniac, and she wouldn’t stop at anything to get what she wanted.

But, there was one more thing that caught your attention. They wanted to get rid of your mating mark, and the thought paralysed your whole body. There were only a few ways to do that to any mated couple, and none of them was humane or accepted by most people. You’ve heard of Omegas trying to sever their bonds as they didn’t like who chose them, and so they cut a clean line across their mark, but even then the bond couldn’t be severed completely. There was also the option of just biting an Omega hard enough where their mates’ mark was, and trying to beat mark with a mark.

You also heard that true mates were inseparable, and while Bruce told you that you were true mates, you could never know for sure. The inseparableness of true mates could just as well be some old maid tales, it was one of the things your mother used to tell you, but you had no idea where the truth was.

The only thing you did know was that however they wanted to do it, you would go through hell, both physically and mentally, and that there was a more than likely chance that you would die in the process.

“You’re not afraid she’ll die on you?” Peggy asked more curious than concerned because, for her plan to work, your ties with Steve had to be cut. She would have preferred killing you since it was easier, quicker and with long-lasting results. But Rumlow had been obsessed with you ever since he lost the fight with Steve back at the Circle. When Peggy heard about it, she just scoffed and told him he was an idiot, because if he would have called her, she could have just snuck you out without anyone knowing and they wouldn’t have been in this mess.

“I mean, there’s always the possibility, but I’m not letting her run around with his mark. I wouldn’t like pounding a pussy marked by somebody else. Besides, she’s stronger than she looks, isn’t it right, pussycat?” Rumlow asked, for the first time addressing you. But you knew better than to talk, so you just remained quiet, and from the low hum coming from his mouth, you assumed it was a good decision.

“And what if that bullshit about true mates is real?”

“Oh, please, not you too. Nothing like true mates exists, Peggy, I told you. Some just smell nicer to particular individuals than others, that’s it. I don’t even know why we’re losing time talking about this. Go and do whatever you want with Steve and his estate and I’ll just do what I want with this one,” Rumlow rumbled, and the next thing you heard was the clicking of high-heels against the hard floor, leaving you alone in the room with the devil.

“Now, sweetheart, I think we should begin, hm?”

“Oh, Stevie, you don’t look good. Here, let me bring you to your bedroom so you can rest and the team and I will search for your mate in the meantime, hm?” Peggy suggested nicely, and Steve nodded, happy there was somebody who could possibly save you. But before she put her claws on his arm, Sam appeared out of nowhere and stopped her hand. She hissed like a cat and Sam gave her an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look.

“I think it would be better if you stayed down here, Peggy, as you said, you are such a valuable asset to this team that I wouldn’t want to you to waste your time by going with Steve here. I will accompany him to his bedroom so that he can get some sleep, and, meanwhile, you can work with Bucky,” Sam smirked but didn’t wait for her response as he led Steve towards the staircase and up to his bedroom. There was no fucking way in hell Sam would let Peggy be with Steve alone. And since he shared his worries with Bucky, there were two of them looking out for their best friend, which left Peggy in a tough position.

She watched Sam and Steve leave the room, and Bucky would laugh hadn’t it been such a delicate situation, because Peggy really looked like the Goddess of Revenge. That just further proved Sam’s theory about Peggy being fishy, to say the least, and Bucky was starting to question whether she didn’t have something to do with your disappearance.

Peggy saw right through them, and she smirked to herself. If they wanted to play games with her, so be it. She would get Steve alone and inject the serum in him she had been making for so long, and they would finally live happily ever after. Just like they were supposed to. All she needed was to stay close to Steve for a couple of days, get him alone enough times, and he would be all hers.

/ Next Chapter >

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