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totemsp2blog · 2 years ago

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Totem’s 2022 Backlog of shame Awards

Sometimes, I… wanna write about games. So here are some words about some games in an arbitrary fashion whose workings are known only to me.

I also play games, and then I don’t. These are their stories *dun dun*

“I paid my money” Award (also winner of the “Timesink stream jail” award)

Betrayal at Club Low

The Cosmo D experience.

Awarded for being purchased but I made the grave mistake of saving it as a stream game, because it was so much fun playing Tales from Off-Peak City blind, as well as other Cosmo D games on stream. The problem is… my streaming ‘hobby’ is dead in the water at the moment. As I’ve begun to refocus my social efforts away from the broad social internet at large (aka, social media in general), and into friend groups and regular hangout spots, it’s been making less and less sense for me to reach out to the internet void, and hope someone notices, which usually comes up empty. I don’t really have a presence or anything to sell, and honestly I think it’s way better this way. I mean, if you have friends, why wouldn’t you just chat to them instead of making short posts on to pop up on their timeline.

So, this award will be revoked once I reorganize my priorities and decided to just play it on my own or stream it directly to my discord friend group.

Besides, I never promised to stream it… that tweet doesn’t exist anymore never existed.

“I’m ancient now” Award

Cult of the Lamb

The government funded cult sim experience.

A game developed here in Melbourne, noteworthy for being funded by my state government, and thus has the ‘Dan Andrews seal of approval’.

It’s on the list because my taste in gaming has changed where action games don’t interest me as much as they used to. I wasn’t necessarily bad at the game, in fact I took to it quite well. I just stopped after a while because I’d simply had enough.

I even started my game over… for personal reasons… and that also might have something to do with it.

Who knew a certain action would permanently remove a follower from your Cult. I swear I would’ve torn that fucking rat’s heart back out and shoved his decap’d head in the composting box it I could’ve, for I am the god damn word!

*sigh* Did you know I once rolled back 30 minutes of progress in Subnautica because I ran my Seamoth into a Rabbit Ray?

“Master procrastinator” Award

Warframe: The New War (and subsequent updates)

The pre-Hydron experience.

Warframe had the potential of losing this award, but as you’ll soon find out, it was retained because I’m a fool… in fact, I was always a fool.

For the longest time, I thought the prerequisite for The New War quest was… well, how do I explain this to people who don’t play Warframe? It was a certain sword, and an equippable mech suit (no the Warframes don’t count as equippable mech suits… it’s complicated)

Anyway, I thought that for a long time, and even complained about it on the internet, only to get corrected and told “no, you don’t need the Paracesis, you get loaned one in the quest.”

“oh…”

So I didn’t have to do a dumb grind, and only had to do a much less dumb grind. With that in mind, my energy for the game came right back, fully intent on catching up a full year of content that I’d missed out on.

Only… for me to hop back in and start doing the exact same thing I’ve been doing in the game for the past collective year… grinding XP on Hydron… until I burnt out again. (oh, I also did a little resource collection to build a new pet, and then I took that pet to grind XP on Hydron.)

If you don’t know, Hydron is a location in the star chart that appears to be everyone’s favourite area to grind XP, or try out new gear while grinding XP for them. Reliably so, you can easily get a full party of pubs each mission. That’s all what I’ve been doing in Warframe for so long. Just hopping on a defense, testing weapons and frames, clicking on Grineer.

But what I should’ve been doing is tackling the requirements for this quest so I could enjoy new content and all I’ve been doing is playing a mission that has probably been in the game for almost a decade… because it’s a comfy place to meet up with 3 strangers and wreck house while playing with new toys, so that’s why it gets this award/excuse.

Runners up

Halo the Master Chief Collection

Pictured: Not MCC, also the Halo Infinite Beta Forge experience

Reminiscing about the old times. Haven’t finished it due to a bug with the music in The Maw. Very annoying. Would’ve gone on to play the rest of the master chief story afterwards… perhaps stopping at Halo 4.

Metroid Prime Trilogy (primehack mod)

The "Nintendo won't be happy about this" experience.

Speaking of Reminiscing about the old times, A way to play my favourite games of all time, with Keyboard and Mouse? And all the other features Dolphin provides? What am I waiting for? That’s a good question. I’m probably waiting for my current gaming obsessions to run dry before taking it on. It’s a good standby nevertheless!

Void Bastards

The Auspost experience.

This is a good game, featuring The Stanley Parable Narrator, which means I have a source of Kevan Brighting to tide me over while I wait 10 years to be able to play Ultra Deluxe again. This was a runner up for the “old bastard” award, because it deserves a mention, but I’ve put it down for similar reasons, though I haven’t suffered a severe loss to the extent that I did in Cult of the Lamb.

Deep Rock Galactic

The modded DRG experience.

This was a runner up for the “Procrastubator” award (ew). It too is a 4 player coop loota game with missions. But instead of weird space children telekinetically controlling people violently transformed into hunks of weird parasitic metal with the powers of the V O I D, it’s funny space dwarves digging a hole full of bugs. A great game, that’s fun with friends, that I’ve just burnt out on for the time being. I’ll be back for sure.

War for the Overworld

The 2010s unofficial-but-superior Dungeon Keeper experience.

I have but one more mission to beat in this game. Shamefully, this counts for more than one game in my collection, but this get’s a special mention because it’s a great Dungeon Keeper game that we should’ve gotten instead of that mobile shit pile EA put out. Well, now you can get this game and none of that money goes to EA, so it’s a win win!

Backlog of Shame Game of the Year Award

Death Stranding

The 'Bring your daughter to work' experience.

Content Warning: sad

When I finally got to see what the gameplay of this game was, I knew I’d get into it. And I did!

I got up to a point where I was using Excel to do my nerdy (autistic) thing of cost calculation, so I could quickly move the right amount of freight to build all the roads. And I was pretty thorough with areas before moving on. I may have put in roughly 50? or so hours before I moved on from the first area and as of now I have nearly 150 hours and I’ve only reached Heartman. And then I had enough for the time being.

Time passes…

Things change…

And now I have the Directors Cut.

And I want to play it… but I can’t.

It’s because the game makes me sad. Well, Sadder… I mean it was sad before, but now… it makes me really sad.

I should explain that it’s not the game that makes me sad (as much), but the use of licenced music. The tracks by Low Roar are hauntingly beautiful, and I had been enjoying them during my time playing and listening to them on my own… but I had been curious enough to read up on the songs, and the album they're from and find out what it's about. And right now, after things happening in my life, the subject matter is too sensitive for me to listen to them.

Some would say that embracing these feelings and exploring them through artistic mediums can be a good thing, but not when it starts being not so “being a downer”, more so “bad for my mental health” which may be a bit strong to say. I guess what I’m saying is it’s perfectly acceptable to give yourself some time away from subject matter you’re not prepared to deal with, especially when you should be taking extra care of yourself. Not just me, that counts for just about anyone I can think of. If you’re reading this, you count too!

I wanted to finish this game, to find out what in the goddamn is going on and what in the heck it’s all and going and why and… stuff. I was ready to hop back in when the DC dropped, but right now… it’s not the time.

Someday I will play it again, but that day is not in sight, and I don’t know when it’ll be.

Which is annoying since they just announced a sequel. Oh well, hopefully Kojima’s Xbox game isn’t so depressing.

Have a happy holidays, or at the very least, hang in there. It’s not the end.

Oh… and the...

“attention redirection” award

for game most responsible for putting a few games on this list is goes to my current obsession…

Space Engineers

The first space flight experience.

...thanks to the server I play on being back up and running. Plus runner ups for any games I’m playing with Server 9 in the interim.

LATE EDIT...

I have completely forgotten there was a game that absolutely should've made the list, a game so significant, that the endless praise I have heard from everyone in existence that knows of and has played it, was truly palpable. And it's a wonder how I completely forgot about it.

And so, I am giving the...

Backlog of Shame Lifetime achievement award

to...

Outer Wilds

The "Totem not played Outer Wilds because I just... I dunno..." experience.

I have no excuse for this one.

Maybe the explorative adventure game design is not my cup of tea... which doesn't make sense because I love Cosmo D games. But Cosmo D games typically give you a hand because they understand that you're ultimately here to look around. Perhaps I don't comprehend the difficulty of the game yet (not with just 2.9 hours).

Perhaps... I'm...

I'm...

still obsessed with Space Engineers. Hey, it's kinda like that. You take off in your space ship, lose control, and then you crash. I wish Space Engineers has a time rewind function... oh that's called backup saves.

I dunno... It's just not... taking me. It looks and seems really goddamn cool, but I don't know, it's just not drawing me in...

oh it is drawing me in...

oh god it's drawing me in too fast HELP M- ...

Totem’s 2022 Backlog of shame Awards

Sometimes, I… wanna write about games. So here are some words about...

#video games

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songmingisthighs · 3 years ago

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[19.06] mafia!hongjoong × reader

⇀ you were interested in hongjoong, a notorious leader of a very successful mafia organization. sadly he didn't see you that way. if only he knew the true you before making a rash judgement

⇁ tw : mafia life, angst, mentions of black market activities, death, violence, dark stuff. read at your own risk.

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author’s imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

The door to Hongjoong's office opened and in walked his right hand, with a teasing smirk on his face. Hongjoong looked up from the paperwork on his desk and looked up to the man with a raised eyebrow, "what are you smirking at?" he questioned.

Seonghwa nodded his head towards the door, "there's someone here for you," he said whilst holding onto his laughter. Hongjoong shifted his gaze from his friend to the door and then back to him again, "who?" "your girlfriend," Seonghwa teased.

Before Hongjoong could throw anything at him, though, Seonghwa had run off, laughing heartily.

Not long after, you came into his office with a wide smile. As per usual, you were dressed to impress, head to toe with a black and white vintage channel mini skirt and blazer, adorned with a channel necklace and earrings. As you walked in, Wooyoung, one of Hongjoong's trusted men, looked at your passing figure with mouth hanging low and a starstruck look on his face. But you didn't care, you only had eyes for Hongjoong.

It has been roughly five months since you started dropping into Hongjoong's office. Your dad, an equally highly successful head of the mafia from where you're from, wanted you to get married to expand his business and make more allies. He gave you several options but you were immediately intrigued by Hongjoong, one of the mafia heads he made a partnership with by providing him with weapons. The comprehensive file your dad gave you did Hongjoong no justice so you decided to get to know him for real.

Unluckily, Hongjoong is very secretive and protective of himself and his family (re: his brothers; his most trusted men in the mafia). He had been betrayed so many times before and his thirst for revenge both became his strength and downfall. While he managed to build a highly acclaimed mafia organization at such a young age, he closed off everyone who he deemed not worthy of his attention even after only seeing them for less than five minutes.

Sadly, that included you. You weren't the only one who got a comprehensive file on the other, he too had one of you. A straight-A student from Wharton with hobbies consisting of horseback riding and charity? He wondered whether you were preparing to take over your dad's mafia or to steal the Crown of England and be its ruler.

Hongjoong tried his best to hold in a groan of annoyance but even so, some still escaped him and you heard it. Though you were used to it so you just ignored him.

"Hi, Joong," you grinned widely at him, walking in and putting a medium-sized box of cake on his desk after closing his door. "Don't call me Joong," he grumbled.

In all honesty, your bubblegum personality sickened him. He knows for a fact that no one is that happy-go-lucky and excited and has rainbows shooting out of their asses 24/7. So there has to be something you were hiding from him.

You only chuckled at his response, "You're a sourpuss, you know that? You're gonna have wrinkles before you hit thirty if you keep frowning all the time like that," you said as you focused yourself on opening the cake box.

Inside it was the cake you made for him. All the times you visited him, you never made him something from scratch. You were trained to be the head of a mafia organization one day, not in the kitchen. So that cake was the very first thing you made and you were beyond proud of yourself.

"Look," Hongjoong exhaled sharply, starting to get annoyed even before you did anything, "You came at a bad time, I need to get a hundred thousand things done before tonight, in case you didn't realize, my organization is-" "in the brink of war with Stray Kids, I know, I've read the reports," you simply said, hands moving to cut the cake in front of you to hand to him.

"I have connections with the leader's soft spot, the foreigner one, I can make a deal that would help your case if you would jus-"

"NO!!!!" he yelled out, slamming his hands onto his desk, startling you so much that you accidentally dropped your knife and stepped back a little.

Maybe it was the stress of having to deal with things alone, or maybe it's just him finally snapping from overthinking about you, but one thing's for sure is that he had had enough. He needed to put you in your place.

"You may be your daddy's little princess back home, all dressed in white and pink and lace, showered with Channels, Tiffanys and your hoity-toity prestigious Wharton degree. But here, you're nothing, got me? You understood nothing about having to work your ass off to get the recognition and rewards you deserve, you had your daddy behind you this whole time and that's very convenient for you. But don't come here and act like you know shit, okay? Our worlds are different, you came from a cotton candy palace, I came from the ditch, your opinion means less than shit to me," he spat out so quickly, he didn't realize that your expression changed to something that he had never seen before.

Your eyes were blank and glazed, lips slightly quivering and chest heaving.

Hongjoong thought that he had really put you in your place and he was about to celebrate the fact that he might finally drove you away when you opened your mouth.

"Cotton candy palace? Not understanding having to work my ass off?" you choked out.

At first, Hongjoong thought you were gonna cry. But a sadistic, maniacal laugh resonated in the room from where you were doubled over, holding onto your stomach.

It was Hongjoong's turn to be stunned into silence.

"Oh my god, I thought you were smarter than that," you muttered as you calmed down, wiping tears from the corner of your eyes, "you think that this is who I am?" you asked with a raised eyebrow at him.

Hongjoong was confused about whether or not he should speak. It was the first time anyone had ever stunned Hongjoong and Hongjoong didn't know what to do.

"I was born from a girl who was en route to be sold in a human trafficking ring, I came out premature and was about to be sold to a satanic cult as their sacrifice but my 'dad' 'rescued' me. I was stored in a facility with thirty other children, we were trained to be assassins since before we could walk, brainwashed with ideals that ruined our brains. One by one, each year some of us were taken out if we show a lack of improvement or no promise," as you talked, you took off your earrings and necklace and put them on Hongjoong's desk.

While you ran a hand through your messy hair, you stared into him deeply, "I was seven when I first killed someone, my last competition. She was two years older than me and she was sold by her parents for coke money, or as the warden told us. We were reminded every day of how worthless we are so we wouldn't rebel and escape. But even in despair, I wanted something more. That's where daddy came in. He was impressed with me and he took me in as his daughter, telling people one of his whores were pregnant with me to assure my legitimacy. I was schooled in my own private red room. I had to fight for my right as a human being, I made deals with my dad to be able to go out with bodyguard escorts for only an hour every month,"

Hongjoong's eyes followed your hands that gripped onto the edge of your skirt, "did your little binder wrote that I went on my first official mission when I was just twelve? My dad cut the ballet lesson that I trade in for 120 hours of combat training short to gear me up, put me in a room of adult men and sent me off to plant an active bomb in 5 minutes in an air vent of the headquarters of his rival, crazy, right?" you chuckled humorlessly whilst ripping your skirt off to reveal your black shorts inside, a knife and a gun holstered on your thighs were revealed, making Hongjoond's eyes widened.

He never would have imagined someone like you to carry weapons under your very girly outfit. Or to even have such a traumatizing backstory.

"My whole appearance is compensation for my very dark upbringing, I wanted to hide it all. My dad told me I was stupid, that I belonged in the dark, dark world. But when I went to Wharton, I tried to change myself. I thought that I might be able to be the person I wanna be by marrying someone my dad approved so I don't have to take over wholly, I could just be the voice by the side, lending my skills and help the organization indirectly,"

You looked down at your heels clad feet for a second, letting your toes point and moving them from left to right to see what it looks like.

At this point, Hongjoong felt bad for having blown up at you. You had only wanted to spend time with him and even if he didn't want to see you, he could've said it nicely. Hongjoong never felt like this before, it was very weird for him.

He was about to walk over to you when you suddenly took your heels off in a flash and threw them both at Hongjoong so hard that it embedded deep into the wall on either side of his face.

Your usual smile was replaced with a frown, the eyes that usually twinkled showed nothing but darkness. He barely recognized you and he was on edge about it.

"You made your standing with me perfectly clear, Kim Hongjoong, while my dad is one to stop things before they become an issue, I like to see how things unravel," you smirked at him.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, not being able to process anything.

"It means that your partnership with my dad is off, good luck finding a new weapons supplier," you spat out before turning around to leave the room, leaving traces of yourself behind at his office.

Hongjoong wanted to call after you, try to make things better somehow. But his head still couldn't even wrap around the shocking information you had just revealed.

Not long after you left, Yeosang came in but stopped at the door, scanning the room that was littered with remnants of you. "What the fuck happened here? Did a hooker tried to kill you!?" he asked, still confused at the situation.

When Yeosang looked up, he saw Hongjoong in a way he had never seen him before.

Nervous.

"I-I- I think I just forged a war between us and the largest mafia weapons manufacturer on the eastern hemisphere," he uttered out.

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cayofdreams · 4 years ago

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I Can See It in Your Eyes

Summary: You’re a full-fledged cold-blooded villain, but Dabi suspects otherwise. And he knows just the way to get you to prove your loyalty…and your faith.

Words: 3.7k

Rating: 🌊 Explicit, Smut

Warnings: cursing, virginity (not very explicit), deep-throating, choking, heavy breath-play (receiving), asphyxiation, God complex, dark ending

Notes: Was supposed to just be a smutty angsty drabble to release some anger from the day. Oh well. Enjoy my rage~

You’d been a part of the League of Villains for the past 5 months now. It was a gradual process for your mind to go from being the ambitious, good-natured upcoming pro-hero, to a cold-hearted deviant that seemed to show no one an ounce of mercy.

And why should they deserve your mercy? It was their fault that you became who you were now.

You’d been kidnapped and kept as a ransom by the league, constantly tortured in hopes that the monetary demands would be filled. Their torture techniques becoming more sinister by the day.

But you put up with it, because you knew the light at the end of the tunnel was closer than it seemed.

Besides, it wasn’t even a lot of money. A measly $2.3 million dollars. Any rich pig could’ve came up with that to rescue such an admirable hero.

So you waited.

And waited.

Waiting for someone to answer the ransom to let you free, until one day Dabi came into the cell you were in, holding his phone. A dubious grin on his face, possibly signaling they had got the ransom they hoped for.

“Good news, little kitty. Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes looked up expectantly at his bright blue ones. If this was the news you’d been waiting for, you’d probably call them the most angelic eyes you’d ever seen despite his more devilish appearance.

Dabi chuckled at your childish expression and without saying another word bent down to your eye-level and played the news clip on his phone. You excitedly looked at the news clip, finally, FINALLY you would be sav-

“BREAKING NEWS: RANSOM WILL NOT BE PAID FOR THE RELEASE OF H/N, PERSONALLY KNOWN AS L/N F/N”

“…wha…?”

Dabi’s chuckle turned into a sinister cackle as he watched your hopeful eyes change almost on cue, into a pair of almond-shaped pool of despair and confusion.

“Aren’t you happy? You get to stay with us forever, now.”

“No…no. That can’t be right…” You looked at Dabi as you still tried to latch onto hope that he had digitally manipulated the clip. “Go to another news channel! Do it! Please!”

Amused by your agony, he let you watch his fingers tap around on the screen, showing you all the different news sites saying a different variation of the same thing. He clicked on another video clip.

It was your old classmate Midoriya standing at a podium in front was what seemed like hundreds of reporters. All shouting questions at him. Finally, he picked one reporter to answer to.

“Deku! What do you say to the people who are outraged at the rejection of submitting to the League of Villains’ ransom? Don’t you think H/N’s life is important?”

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the audience with determination.

“It was a hard decision. But we have an integrity to keep as heroes. We will not give into measly demands by the same villains who’d burn us down at any chance! We are heroes! And we’ll keep looking and fighting for the return of H/N the best way we know! With dignity! It’s what she would want!”

Your eyes dazed over in apathy as you watched the No. 1 hero ultimately send you to your death.

Dignity? Integrity? Ha. What bullshit. Bullshit that probably took on the appearance of beautiful flower, but still smelled of shit all the same. How dare he pretend like letting you stay in this hell-hole was the honorable thing to do.

Dabi took the phone away from your eyesight, smiling maniacally at your dying resolve.

“I told you many times over these past couple weeks, kitten, that your heroism is nothing but a façade.”

You stayed silent as every emotion you developed as a normal human being in a society, became figments of destroyed past.

“Will you kill me?” Your eyes continued to look forlornly at the cold cement floor, ignoring the rats that would run over top your feet.

“Oh no, kitten. That would be a waste of an asset.” He brushed his fingers over your now sickly-looking skin, grasping your jaw so he could admire your new callous face expression. “You’ll be joining us for real now. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

You didn’t reply as he let go of your face to let it hang dejectedly from your shoulders.

“I’ll just let you sit here and think about it. I’m sure you’ll come around.”

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

As you sat on the torn, dusty couch you scrolled through your phone looking at what people were talking about on forums and the like about the League of Villains. It seemed as time grew on, more and more people were joining the league’s movement…your movement.

Good.

It was about time people got a wake up call on what was really going on in their so-called “hero” society. And they didn’t even have to get tortured to see it. How could you have been so oblivious all this time? You always thought the League of Villains and their supporters were a cult. A demented cult.

But you felt more accomplished here than you ever did “above ground”. After-all you were the hottest topic that people talked when it came to villains. There were always two distinct opinions when it came to your ultimate aligning with the league.

Those who said you were still in need of rescue, plagued with Stockholm syndrome.

And those who said that if someone like you could side with such a group, the League of Villains must not have been as evil as heroes portrayed.

You’d probably care about the public’s opinion of you if you had the emotions to engage in such a controversy. It seemed all feelings of love, hatred, sadness, happiness, and every other useless emotion left you the day that you saw Midoriya in that news clip.

That was for the better. You could focus now, on the important things.

As you read various articles on your screen, you heard a creaking on the floorboards. When you looked over you saw your ally Dabi standing by the hallway.

“You’re up early, Dabi.”

“I could say the same to you, kitten.” He came over and sat by you on the couch. You’d grown used to his ghastly appearance, now admiring his scars from an aesthetic point of view.

You used to wonder what he thought of his scars. How he got them. But those feelings of curiosity would dissipate as the cold-bloodedness in you took over more and more.

“Anything new?”

“Other than our growing number of supporters, not much. Before long, heroes will be a thing of the past.”

He snickered at you. “You say that like you mean it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dabi moved closer to you, his cerulean meeting your e/c once again. “You think I don’t see it?”

You stayed quiet, wondering what he could possibly be accusing you of.

“I know you still check the news in hopes that your hero, Deku has discovered new leads on your location.”

You laughed at his absurdity. “You’re delusional, Dabi.” Your eyes went back to looking at your phone. “Perhaps you should go back to bed, you’re obviously still tired from your atrocities of the night before.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t think those atrocities are affecting my eyesight.”

When you looked back up at him, he had pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. A photograph to be exact. “What’s that?”

“You tell me, kitten.” He upheld the photo to your face and your eyes widened at the picture depicted.

It was an old photo of you and Midoriya after getting ice cream together. He had looked so cute with melted cream all over his cheeks so you snapped a photo of the both of you. It was a photo you kept in your costume all the time. Your old costume, that is.

“That proves nothing but the fact you ravaged my costume during my capture.”

“You’d have a point if I didn’t just find it under your mattress.” He crinkled the paper up in his hands. “You still think about your little crush?”

You squinted your eyes at him. How could he think that? You despised Midoriya and everything he ever stood for. If there was even a twinkling of emotion left in you, it would surely be hatred. “You’re pissing me off, now.”

“Oh so you do feel things? Then you won’t mind if I…” A flash of blue flame appeared on his hand, burning the crinkled paper in a matter of seconds. Unconsciously your eyebrows had lowered in a saddened expression.

“See there? I can see it in your eyes, kitten.”

Your face became deadpan again as you stood up from the couch. “If you’re going to continue with these erroneous allegations, I’ll be going for a walk.”

Before you could turn away, he grabbed you by the shoulder making you look back at him confusingly. His hand slowly moved up to your neck, fingers gripping tightly around your throat. The heat of his quirk slightly stinging your tender flesh, but you didn’t move.

“I’ll kill you, you know? Turn you into a little charred kitten.” He turned up the heat and you twinged at the increasing sting. “No one would be able to tell how pretty your face was. I’d make sure of it.”

You thought carefully on your next words. You trusted and gained the trust of everyone in the league, but that didn’t mean they weren’t deranged sociopaths. Your bond with them, while apparent, was still the weakest due to them knowing each other longer, and your lack of emotions making it difficult to form deeper relationships.

“What do you want, Dabi?” As you looked impassively into cerulean eyes, you felt his thumb move smoothly over your bottom lip before sticking it in between your lip and teeth, rubbing along your gums. A laugh escaped as you realized his intentions with you. “So this is what its about? Ridiculous.”

“I don’t think there’s anything ridiculous with confirming the loyalty of the maniacs I have to be around.” He took his other hand and slipped it under your skirt to grip the side of your panties before heating them to ash. “I want what I’ve been asking of you for a long time, kitten.”

He pressed his warm fingers around your vulva and slowly circled your folds. The heat adding an indescribable pleasure. A small moan escaped from your lips. “...If I do this with you, you’ll never mention my shitty past again.”

“Deal”

Immediately you pushed him off you before gripping him tightly by the collar of his shirt, dragging him down on the couch. You crouched down on the couch with him with your head by his crotch, roughly palming him over his pants. “I don’t plan on dragging this out, I have actual duties to attend to.”

“Then you better work hard, kitten” His freakishly villainous grin teased you, knowing this was your first time being intimate with someone before. He probably thought you were going to be some shy scared girl who didn’t know the first thing about sex. But you’d prove him wrong.

You took the zipper of his pants and briskly pulled it down. Pulling his pants and boxers down, you were presented with a perfectly intact, flaccid cock. He chuckled at your hesitation.

“I told you you’d have to work hard.”

Ignoring his comment, you took his cock in his hands before shoving it in your mouth. It was softer than your tongue, and a bit cool compared to the feelings of Dabi’s hands on you earlier. Perhaps he wanted to feel 100% of the warmth from your mouth.

As you began sucking, you felt your mouth feel fuller and fuller. A part of you feeling a bit accomplished at arousing your sinister ally, another apart a bit worried at how you were going to take any more of his cock in your mouth. You started to use your hands to stroke the part of his shaft that you couldn’t handle. Dabi glided his fingers through your hair before gripping your locks.

“You need some help with that, kitten?” His calm suggestion not matching the force of his hands on your head, forcing you to suddenly take all of his cock down your throat. You gagged and spat up whatever saliva you could to keep from choking. Your gargling noises arousing Dabi even more, making your throat feel even more constricted.

“Now, don’t worry. I’ll do the work since its your first time.” Still having your cock in your throat, he sat up so that one of his knees was between your thighs, digging into the couch, while his other leg stood on the floor for stabilization. The strong grip on your hair maneuvered you to sit on your ass as he slowly worked his cock in and out of your throat. “But next time, I’ll expect you to service me on your own.”

Before you could protest his suggestion of a second time, he thrusted his hips vigorously towards your face. You reached your hands up to grip the hem of his shirt trying to stabilize yourself, but it was impossible with how ruthless he was going. You started struggling to breathe and tried pulling on his shirt to get him to stop. But it was to no avail.

“Just breathe through your nose…and stick your tongue out..oh fuck yeah- that feels so good, kitten.” Dabi shoved your face into his hips so that your nose was firmly pressed against his pelvis and paused. “Look up at me.”

He could cum instantly from the look you were giving him right now. It wasn’t apathy. Nor seduction. It was the look you gave him when you were pleading for him to find a different news source. When you were still caged up and begging for the news to be a lie. He found amusement in your change to apathy, but deep inside he wanted to see those eyes again. Those eyes that looked at him like a God. Those e/c eyes that portrayed-

Desperation.

That’s right. He craved seeing the desperation in your eyes once more. And right now, he was bathing in it. You looked so fucking adorable like that. The cold, murderous Y/N choking on his cock, begging for air. He contemplated leaving you like this. Letting you suffocate on his cock. It’s the death a true slut like you deserved. But he wouldn’t be able to pet his little kitten anymore so he decided to let up.

With your hair imprisoned between his fingers, he jerked you away from his hips. You inhaled a strong amount of air, so much so you coughed at the copious amount of saliva that went down your wind pipe. But he shouldn’t let you get too comfortable, he needed his God complex to be fulfilled once more.

So before you could even get 3 full breaths in, Dabi quickly shoved his cock down your esophagus once more. Your desperation to breathe made the walls of your throat convulse rapidly around his cock. He moved your head vigorously back and forth down his length.

“Oh fuck, kitten...you look- you look so fucking good chocking on my cock like that...”

You whined at his voice, not exactly knowing what he said because you were too concerned with not dying the most embarrassing death.

The vibrations of your whine rumbled beautifully around his shaft.“You d-don’t actually wanna stop, do you? Y-you want to die on my cock don’t you, kitten.” He moved his hips at an insane amount of speed, now chasing his orgasm. “I’ll grant that to you…just hold on. Y-You can choke on all this fucking cum, Y/N!”

Before long you felt hot spurts of thick liquid running down your throat. You coughed viciously around his cock, trying not to choke on his seed. Your coughing making his cock twitch even more as he released his seed down your pulsating windpipe. You grabbed desperately at his shirt, trying to get him to spare you.

Once he was properly drained, he jerked your head off him with enough force for you to fall back on the couch. You violently tried to cough up whatever of his thick cum that you could. You’d probably feel lumps of it in your throat for days.

“*cough!* *cough!* D-dabi! You f-fucking *cough!* psychopath!” You looked angrily at him as your hands pressed tightly to your chest as you kept choking and gasping for air.

“I’m sorry, kitten. You just looked so cute with your throat gagging around my cock like that.” Dabi slopped back down on the couch. Now in better view of your body, he couldn’t help noticing your glistening pussy, shining with arousal. He cackled at your shameless masochism. “Apparently you agreed.”

“What- Hey, wait!” Dabi grabbed a hold of your thighs and pulled you so that your pussy was aligned with his cock. “Again?!”

“If there’s one thing that I can appreciate with my bloodline, kitten, it’s our insatiable urge to spill our fertile seed into available holes.” He rubbed his tip along your folds, gathering your wetness, before slapping it on your clit. The feeling making your pussy twitch on the head of his cock. You shut your eyes, not believing how much you craved for him to be inside you.

Dabi took your jaw into a tight grip and your face clenched at the pressure. “Open your eyes, Y/N”.

Slowly opening them, you peered into a gleaming light of blue. You never really took notice of his eyes before, but for some reason they were reminding you of your past. The nostalgia quickly vanished as quickly as they came as your desires overflooded your mind.

Why was he looking at you like this? Wasn’t he going to stick it in? You hated to admit that you started to get-

“That’s it, kitten…that’s the look I want.” He took other hand to slowly press the tip of his cock inside you. “You’re desperate for it aren’t you?”

You grabbed at his pants, pulling so that you could get him fill you up entirely . “Yeah..I am”.

Grinning at your lewd acceptance, he inserted the entirety of his cock inside you. The tightness of this being your pussy’s first cock made him feel even more in power. He was the only one that could make you so desperate. The only one that could give you what you needed. And he’d prove that to you right now.

Your moans at the feeling of Dabi inside you were cut short when he wrapped his hand around your throat. “Let’s keep playing, kitten.”

Your face went from being pleasured to startled as he tightened the grip at your throat. At the same time, he began to plunge deeply in and out your rigid walls. The heat from his hands stung at your throat and you became intoxicated with the mix of sensations. You didn’t know which feeling overpowered which between pleasure and pain, so you just focused on the azure of Dabi’s eyes and let your body do the thinking.

“I s-should’ve fucking claimed you- a long time ago, Y/N.” Dabi took his free hand down to your clit and made slow but heated circles around the bud. “I’m the only one who can get you so desperate-“. Your walls twitched as you tried to gasp for oxygen. Failing, as Dabi only continued to suffocate you beneath his heated palms. “And I’m the only one who can satisfy that desperation.” Your pussy hysterically quivered around Dabi as your lack of oxygen prevailed and your orgasm approached.

“I can feel you about to cum, Y/N.” His thrusts becoming frantic as he neared his second high. “Say my fucking name…call me your God.”

He needed to hear you say it. After-all he was the one who was clearly in control of your life and death. He was the one who captured you and gave you the bare minimum amount of food to keep you live. He was the one who convinced Shigaraki to not turn you into a grave of ashes when your precious heroes left you to die. And he was the one right now keeping you on the verge of the plane between this world and the spirit one.

He was your God.

Dabi slightly loosened the grip on your throat.

“G-god…D..abi-..sa-ma…”

He tightened around your throat again, satisfied at your new-found faith. You felt yourself practically about to drift out of consciousness, the once again suspension of your air supply having you see faint stars around Dabi’s head.

The tight pressure in your stomach became unbearable and your body was overwhelmed at the two opposing forces that claimed you. The life of an orgasm, and the death of asphyxiation. You supposed the orgasm would come first as you squirmed and contorted like a fish underneath Dabi’s hands. If this was how you’re gonna die, at least it was while chasing the most intense pleasure life had to offer to humans.

Your seemingly lifeless face paired with the lively palpitations of your pussy was sending Dabi over the edge. “Y/N…Shit! Y-your face says you’re dead…but y-your pussy is still fucking fighting…Fuck!” As he finally came for the second time, he released his milky fluids inside you. If you were conscious, you’d probably note how the cum spurting in your womb wasn’t as thick as the lumps that still nestled along the walls of your esophagus.

Finally releasing his hold on you, Dabi slumped on top of your motionless body.

“…Still breathing huh, kitten..”

Letting himself fall into a slumber, a whirlwind of thoughts encapsulated his mind.

He thought about how the allowing of your freedom to officially join the League of Villains might’ve been a mistake. You being free didn’t suit you.

No.

You’d go back in the cell. Where you’d pray to him to let you out…or to simply give you water.

Every time you’d be allowed the blessing of seeing his face, you’d be desperate for him to not leave.

To stay with you.

But he’d walk out your cell again for who knows how long…just to hear your desperate wails and begging as he locked the cell door again.

#dabi x reader #dabi #dabi smut #mha x reader #mha smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #my hero academia #my hero academia smut #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia smut #cayfanfic #cayofdreams

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betelguwuse · 2 years ago

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I just watched X and absolutely loved it. I didn’t completely get what they were trying to say about sex, it gave me some gross ~porn is empowering~ vibes but it did have some points about religious fundamentalism and repression. Anyway. The pimp dude was clearly the bad guy here. Well not The bad guy but. If he hadn’t 1) lied to the old ppl about how many people would be staying 2) shot porn on their property without their consent 3) became scum who exploits women for money in the first place, none of this would have happened. I mean the other men are complicit too. But that guy was just the worst. Also I don’t completely get the motive of the old ppl killing. Was it just because they found out about the porn? Cuz like they had that televangelist sommaybe religious reasons? I may not be the most well read Christian but I’m still pretty sure Jesus doesn’t like murder. Unless the televangelist was of some other niche sect or cult that does endorse killing idk. It was the 70s so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was cults. Idk. I still had a good time without really needing a motive but yknow. The gore was amazing, it took over half the film for anyone to actually die but the buildup was really cool and tense and actually had me invested in the characters and everything. The tiny little reveal about the mc at the end kinda came out of nowhere, I feel like they could’ve hinted at that aspect a teeny bit more, but it still does very much make sense. Maybe an internal look into her struggle beforehand would’ve been nice idk. I heard they’re making a prequel or something which I’m super excited for. I really hope they don’t lean into the ~porn is empowering~ bullshit. Like this girl has clearly been traumatized by her upbringing and is just further traumatizing herself by going in the complete opposite direction. These men are just using you baby. Get outta there.

Also I’m obsessed with brittany snow in this. I’ve only seen her in would you rather and a handful of other non horror stuff but man her role in this movie,, I’d trust her with my life, I also like how she’s the stereotypical ‘slut’ horror character but she still has a personality and she’s sweet and I’d just die for her ok, and she’s one of the last to die and her death isn’t gratuitous or sexualized or anything which is so 🙏 And the part where she’s singing while the old lady is being sad got me emo for some reason. Like damn I came here to be shocked by some gore not have an existential crisis about aging. A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.

#horror #movie review #feminism #aaaaaa

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rebelliouslala · 3 years ago

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4 Something

warnings- character death, language, cult like behavior, angst

word count- 1.7k

You had been introduced to everyone, but to be honest, you felt as if you could not memorize the men you had just met.

To be fair, there were 16 other men.

Selen was the eldest, and therefore the elder brother figure of the entire Pound. Mouse was the youngest. He was an “intern” at the Dream Gems. He sat next to Chenle, and whispered to him quietly in Korean. He looked so small in this gang. You assumed he had to join when he was possibly younger than you became a member in the Ripple.

Selen had made you meet the others, and even repeat their names. Victory sighed as he endured everyone hugging him and strangely calling him Orpheus. Selen, surprisingly, went quick. With each snap of his fingers, as if it were the 1920’s, he pointed and named.

Your head spun with the names; You only went by small descriptions to memorize each man. And even then, you had no idea. Osaka, or Herac was sitting next to a lean man, Zeus. This man was lanky, but smiled widely and laughed as he sang.

The one that Johnny sat next to, with his statuesque face was Aphrodite. He was breathtaking. Gogo- Hermes, was faced away from a very energetic boy, with feathery hair, Helios. You looked at another man, with a pinched nose, named Athene. Selen sat next to him. You stared at him, and he nodded at you silently.

And in this room, Johnny was not even referred to his name, his English nor Korean, but as Ares. You held his hand under the table.

“So, Eos has made this, Psy is their name, as a new spy. Now, Athene will make the plan.” Selen said loudly.

The man mentioned nodded, before he did a double take. “What? Hyung—?”

“Eos orders.”

Athene blinked, and he stood up, quietly kicking you.

“OW.” You stated with disgust, glaring up.

“Oh! Pardon me, would you mind punching Selen?” Athene said like a gent.

There was an ahem. The man who made the noise placed his hands under his chin. “Continue, Athene.” Aphrodite said with a coolness.

The other man sighed quietly, but he got out a scroll. It was curled, but he laid it out so everyone can see. Yuta -you didn’t even want to try to remember his name-, helped it keep it open with his elbow, and another boy who was introduced as Songbird, who smiled up at Athene.

Athene now read loudly, “My fellow Gods, demigods and mortals; we invite a new, fellow mortal by the name of Psy. They have a chance to take down our enemy. Because of this, all business is now closed. We will be quiet and we will,” Athene leaned closer, muttering to himself in Korean, “We will now not be active. Herac, Dolphin, Psy and Ares, shall all go to the West Side and take the corrupt Ripple down. Any news from our spies will be delivered by Songbird and Orpheus.” Athene sighed as he pulled away, “With Godspeed, Eos.”

You hid your smirk at his flat tone. Perhaps Eos was too much of a narcissist to even realize his team was much too sick of his dramatics.

Athene pulled the scroll back, and he blinked. “Any questions?”

“Yeah.” You crossed your arms, “Is Eos okay?”

Aphrodite scoffed and he looked at you through his lashes. The other men, including Selen, scoffed and harrumphed at your response.

“Well don’t look at me like I’m some sort of goon.” You stood up. “You all might’ve thought the same.”

“Eos,” said the young man you saw training earlier, you believe his name was Achilles, “Is a God among us. I am lucky to be seen as a demigod—,”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed Johnny’s shoulder, and whispered loudly, “What a cult, am I right?”

“Psy,” he whispered with guilt.

You turned, and sighed, holding the bridge of your nose as you looked upon everything. The shining waxed table. The white suits everyone wore. Their stares. How they all looked down.

“I’m going to take down the Ripple my way. Chenle—,”

“He is known as Dolphin!” Orpheus, started.

“Not another word out of your mouth.” You glared at him, before turning away, gently tapping Johnny.

He sounded worried. You’re already in enough shit. You should be dead. More than ever in this situation. With Eos. This is the worst scenario and your best friend didn’t know how to act. You held his hand tightly above the table and smiled.

“Let’s go. I will contact Ch- Dolphin, with updates. And or, Victory- Orpehus.” You giggled as Johnny stood up with you.

“Then Godspeed,” Helios said to you calmly.

“God damn,” you replied with a smirk, and pull your friend out as the others daggered your back with judgement.

And another, foreign dagger stared above the table, witnessing every single move you had just made.

The funeral was that. A funeral.

Nothing prepared you for the pain you felt staring at Yangyang’s body. His face was still, no smile, and he was so, so pale. Unlike the photo that was next to him. It was only from a few days ago. He was grinning. Laughing. It was with Mr. Money and Sushi, but they were edited out.

His real name was read out in multiple languages. From German, Chinese, Korean, English. It read the same. Liu “Dreamer” Yangyang. Friend. Son. Brother.

You gripped onto Johnny, and looked up at his eyes, trying to find his warmth. It had to be. It was supposed to be. Impossible. It had to be.

Johnny sighed quietly as his lips contorted, before he finally grabbed onto the words. “D-Do you remember how Dreamer always knew what you wanted for your birthday? And how he always shared with us the photos of Louis and Leon?”

A hot tear escaped your eye, as you hid in his huge chest and nodded. You nodded frantically as you began to sob. Johnny’s big hands held you, and he placed his chin on you, sighing quietly again.

The plan was ruined. You lost the man who should be here and hugging you and Johnny before you both went on a cruise to Korea, and then after that, the world.

You let go to breathe, biting the inside of your cheeks with anger. Your gaze turned to Victory’s tears, and Sushi looking at the youngest member’s body

His face reminded you, strongly of how you were young once. Running away and living with Johnny out on the streets of Baise. You had only one television, the news, and that broadcast that evening was of a grown woman crying, over and over in Taiwanese, “WHERE IS MY SON? WHO TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME?”

His eyes shared the same pain.

“Psy.” You turned as Mr. Money hugged you. Embraced you. He hid in you. “I-I can’t we could’ve lost you too. And John, we- fuck.”

Osaka was in the corner, looking down as he stared at the Ripple mourn.

Once Mr. Money had released himself, you stared at Jewel letting Smalls and Henry hug him tightly. Jewel despised any touching.

The fierce, cunning man, couldn’t even look what is inside the coffin. He only held the two now youngest members close to his heart.

Your hands gripped, nails digging to your palms. Now this was something you couldn’t take. The Pound may have you and Johnny’s lives on a string. But nothing could describe your frustration, to Sicheng. Victory. Whatever his name was.

To Yuta himself.

Osaka got up from his place on the wall, and he strutted himself to the coffin. He peaked over.

Today, the man wore not the white cult suit from the Pound, but a simple, and dull outfit. He took off his grey jacket, his white shirt bulging out oddly, as his black shoes, matching his black suit pants, had rubbed against the table that Dreamer was placed upon.

“He knew.”

Everyone turned to the man. Osaka took a katana from inside his shirt, and now the cloth hugged him. The weapon had a sky blue diamond handle. The blade itself was an opaque diamond. Osaka placed it in Dreamer’s hands.

Jewel stopped him, gripping it and he glared at him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I thought perhaps—,”

Jewel grabbed it with both hands, and he threw back into Osaka’s chest, stepping forward. “You don’t touch his body. You don’t look at it. What the fuck happened there.”

“John already explained,” Smalls tried to explain.

“No, bullshit. John is a nice guy. We don’t even fuckin’ know Osaka- in fact. It seems his Japanese is a little shaky.” Jewel pushed Osaka now, speaking in Japanese quickly, with poison. Your ears weren’t the best in the language, but he did say something along the lines of, “Speak now or hold your peace, bitch.”

Osaka took the blows from Jewel. But he looked up. “We were all ambushed by Dream Gems. You know that they work under the Pound. We believe Chenle—,”

“BBall.” Mr. Money held his cane and separated the men.

“Listen. I’m sorry. I wanted to pay my respects—,” Osaka tried to reason.

“YOU DONT DO SHIT HERE!” Jewel roared, his eyes glowing with anguish. “YOU GOT HIM KILLED!”

“He’s not dead.” You said.

Everyone turned.

“Really? He’s okay? Di-,” Sushi started.

“He’s in a very deep, deep coma.” You slowly take your hand back, and put it in your pockets.

Henry teared up, hugging Smalls, “G-Good.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. Yuta needs to be investigated. On our last and final mission all of the sudden it goes wrong?” Jewel said as he glared at Osaka from the side of his eye.

“Then let’s attack The Pound.”

Johnny held your arm and gently pressed four times.

What.

Are.

You.

Doing.

“We need to make the Pound pay for what they did. And if Osaka isn’t bad, he’ll help.” You look at Osaka. “Won’t you?”

Osaka’s cold face suddenly melted to the side as he leans on a hip and he raised a brow, his smirk curving out as he said, almost naturally, “Perhaps I will for ya, doll.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Who should go with us?”

“Gogo. He’s reliable, after all he’s known Sushi for a long time too, hasn’t he?”

The big man nodded. “Yeah.”

You look at everyone. You planned for a bigger plan. A bigger dramatic. But that’s the Pound’s job. Right now, a plan, quite without common sense, was forming.

And the goal is was for you, and Johnny to be safe.

“For the Dreamer.” You said firmly.

“For the end.” The Ripple echoed back.

#nct #nct 127 angst #nct imagines #nct 127 #yuta angst #johnny angst #wayv angst #dee writes #4 Something

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sockablock · 4 years ago

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Hi! All the political and ocean concerns in the M9 have me thinking about Astrid and Eodwulf and Sabien. Hmm I know this is a reaching prompt, but something about Caleb and Fjord and people that you used to know? Thanks for all your amazing work, and stay safe during these crazy times! 💜

The beach is mostly trashed by the end, so they spend an extra few days on Rumblecusp to help the villagers clean up.

Which isn’t so bad. The food is good, if...adversarial, and the people now formerly of the cult of Vokodo take to wine-making like, well, former cultists.

Beauregard apparently has opinions about their process, but it’s not like they can get Marrow Oak on a tropical island; and anyway, it hasn’t stopped her from drinking any.

It hasn’t stopped Fjord from pouring a cup either, which he sips as Caleb emerges from the gloom. Behind him, sounds of clean-up and commotion, the curling grey smoke of a bonfire reaching toward pinprick stars above.

“Did they kick you out too?” Fjord dips his head. “I always feel like Marius when they start the heavy lifting.”

“Jester said I was getting in her way,” Caleb sighs, and plops down onto the bench beside him. He’s close enough that Fjord can see the glow in his eyes. “I decided that was a good enough excuse to take a break.”

“Man, at least Yasha was polite about it,” Fjord commiserates. “All she had to do was throw the cart over her head, and I got the message pretty fast.”

Caleb answers with a muted laugh, and a lock of hair slips out from behind his ear. Fjord smiles too, and offers his cup.

“So it’s over now, huh?” he says as Caleb takes a sip. “Time to head back soon.”

“I suppose so,” Caleb nods. “It feels like only days since we arrived on the island.”

“It was a few days ago, wasn’t it? Er...you would know, I mean.”

“Yes. If you want to be technical, we arrived ten days ago.”

“And it’s only been, like, ten hours since the Traveler ‘ascended.’” Fjord makes the appropriate air quotes. “Did you see him at the celebration dinner afterward? I’m pretty sure he ate eighteen cupcakes. Maybe nineteen.”

“I can see where Jester learned it from. Although,” Caleb adds dryly, “they were not bad cupcakes. I am still impressed that Caduceus managed to make icing on a deserted island.”

“Vegan, too.”

“Yes. Will wonders never cease.”

Caleb passes the cup back and Fjord gently swirls the liquid inside, a violent mishmash of pinkish-purple that doesn’t seem to settle either way.

It’s cool in his hands. He looks up and takes a slow breath.

“Do you...that is...it seems a bit pointless to ask, since, well, it’s not like he’s your god—”

“Hm?”

Fjord considers the torchlight on the water. “Do you think we did the right thing?

Caleb is quiet for a while.

“I...do,” he says, eventually. “We...helped the Traveler accomplish what he wanted, and we gave the people a new—we gave them something. Perhaps their collective belief will be enough to scrape out a new deity entirely, if the Moonweaver decides to pass.”

“Can gods...do that?”

Caleb shrugs. “They are gods. What would we know?”

The waves whistle as they wash against the shore. Then Fjord says:

“But...what about Jester? I mean, I know he promised he’d still be around, and I’m pretty sure Beau would kill him if he wasn’t, but it still feels like an end, doesn’t it? Like the old days are over. There’s no going back.”

Caleb makes a faint humming sound. “The old days had been over for a while.”

“Right,” says Fjord, “but—”

“I understand.”

In the distance, someone tosses another log onto the bonfire. It’s probably Yasha. Cheers go up.

“A lot of things have been changing. Have changed already, for all of us, I think.”

Fjord looks over. “How do you mean?”

He is surprised when he finds Caleb staring back at him. The firelight glows on his skin.

“You are a prime example, no? Think of what has changed for you.”

“Er...”

“The boat,” Caleb clarifies. “The explosion. The sword, then losing the sword, then...well.” And he gestures to Fjord, going up and going down, landing firmly on his symbol to the Wildmother.

“Oh.” Fjord suddenly feels a bit embarrassed. “Well. Yes. But...I think I was overdue for some changes.”

“You don’t miss them, then?” Caleb asks. “The old days?”

Fjord shuffles a little on the bench. His feet leave a groove in the sand.

“Well,” he admits, “it’s not...not like I don’t. It’s just...they were long ago, now. I’m not sure I’m that person, anymore. I...definitely don’t think I want to be.”

Caleb’s glance shifts to the ground. “Yes,” he says. “That, I understand.”

Fjord passes him the cup again. He takes it.

In quiet sort of voice, he says, “You aren’t. For the record. I mean...I don’t think you’re like how you were...like before.”

Caleb looks at the wine. “You didn’t know me.”

“You’ve...filled in some of the details for us, and I have an active imagination. Besides, I’ve been around you for nearly a year now.”

Caleb drinks. It’s his longest swig yet. When he finishes, he exhales and wipes at his mouth.

“You have, haven’t you?”

He hands the drink back.

“Everyone has,” Fjord says.

It’s Caleb’s turn to watch the tide. The breeze moves his collar. Without his coat on, the wind ruffles his shirt.

“I believe...that is what changed me, in the end. If not for y—for everyone, I would not be who I am today.”

“Yeah. We’re all made by who we stick with, I think. In the past and the present. It’s all a matter of luck.”

“I don’t know if ‘luck’ is the word I would use.”

Fjord snorts. “I don’t know if I would, either.”

“Gods,” Caleb says suddenly, “that was—your situation—”

“It’s okay,” Fjord says. “It could’ve been worse. I could’ve been brainwashed by evil wizards who wanted to...what? Turn me into an assassin? Use me as a weapon? Force me to kill innocents?”

“It was a mixed bag. Maybe all of the above? But at least I had a loving family, first.”

From anyone else, it could’ve sounded cruel. Fjord has long ago gotten used to the weird way the Mighty Nein choose to express themselves.

“Do you miss those old days?”

Caleb’s smile comes back, but this time it’s a little stale.

“Sometimes...hah. Sometimes I even miss the days that came after. Not everything about Soltryce was so bad, you know. And even the...as you say, the ‘evil wizards,’ they were...at the time, despite it all, I enjoyed it.”

“At the time.”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

The smile flickers. “A mixed bag.”

Fjord lets the sickly sweet wine dance on his tongue.

“I have a feeling I know what you mean. I miss...I miss some parts, too. I miss some people, actually, or...I miss the way I used to know them.”

When Caleb is quiet, Fjord finds himself pressing on. He’s not sure if he even means to.

“I hated the orphanage,” he whispers. “I hated it. I hated everything about it, which just made...it just made...” he blinks, “it made me all the more grateful at least Sabian was on my side. I...I used to think he always would be. I always thought it would be me and him against the world, and then...then...gods, I’m sorry—”

“No,” Caleb shakes his head. “Don’t be. He was important to you.”

“Of course he was.” Fjord huffs. “He used to be my whole world. We did everything together. We even signed up together. And then...”

Caleb’s voice is hesitant, but he still asks, “What happened?”

Fjord laughs. “My world got bigger. I...once I met Vandren, got used to sailing, I...I don’t know. It could be selfish, but sometimes I wonder if Sabian resented the fact that he wasn’t the only person in my life anymore. Though I doubt my feelings are important enough for them to be the reason why he betrayed us.”

He all but spits the words out. It’s only then that that he realizes he’s been crying into the mug.

"Gods, I’m—”

He feels Caleb touch his shoulder. It’s still hesitant, but he does.

“It’s alright.”

“...and I’ve ruined the wine.”

“We can always get more.”

A pause.

“I...the worst part is not knowing. Not knowing, and...and not being able to understand. Why. Why did it happen? Was it always my fault? Was...was it always like that, and was I too blind to see? What if it was never even what I thought it was?”

“...yes.”

Fjord looks up.

“Did you ever think of talking to them again? Not...gods, not Tr...you know, him, but...maybe that classmate—”

Caleb sucks in a breath. Again, “Yes.”

“Did it...help?”

He lets go. “Er...to be honest? No.” Then he catches Fjord’s expression, tacks on hastily, “Er, in your situation, it could—”

Fjord bites into his laugh. “It had better. I’m paying good money to find him, actually.”

Caleb doesn’t ask for more details, which isn’t totally surprising. Apparently they’d had similar ideas anyway.

The tension drains away slowly, and Fjord finds it in himself to ask:

“Was she different?”

Caleb shrugs. “In many ways...yes and no. She had changed, but those changes had been in her always. I could see where they came from. I could see why they happened.”

“She was unlucky,” Fjord tries. “The people around her...”

“Yes. She never got the chance I did.”

“No,” Fjord nods. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t feel entitled to Caleb’s expression at that. He doesn’t look, instead stares at the water and counts the seconds as the waves skim by.

“Do you think that Sabian—”

“No.”

“Right.” He hears Caleb breathe out. “Probably not. If it, er, if it counts for anything, though, I am of the mind that...though I did not know you before, you...you are a good person now. Our past...experiences to the contrary, you are a person that I would want to be, Fjord.”

Fjord nearly spills his cup into the sand.

“You—what?”

Caleb, to his shock and delight, looks offended. His face reddens to match his hair.

“I just—well—yes,” Caleb gets out, “I just mean...I think you are a good person. You cannot—that cannot be so hard to believe, unless—I told you, didn’t I? That I forgive you for the sword incident—”

Fjord decides to come to his rescue. He puts the cup down and waves his hand. “Right, right, you did, you did.”

“In case you had forgotten. Your memory is...”

Fjord raises an eyebrow.

“Nevermind.” Caleb amends hastily. “My point is, if you are...worried about your past, and the people who have...who have shaped you to who you are, I just want you to know that I...the you that you are now, Fjord, is an admirable person.”

A pause. Then:

“Thanks, Caleb.”

Caleb leans back on the bench. “Of course.”

They sit there in the silence for a little longer, watching the moon pull slowly on the tide, tracing the shape of clouds on the night sky.

“I—yeurk. Oh, that’s bad.”

“Hm?”

“The wine, I definitely ruined it. I, ah, think we might need a new glass.”

A laugh.

“Come on. Let’s go get one, then.”

— — —

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mfingenius · 5 years ago

Text

The ‘Accio’ miracle

Trigger Warnings: very brief mention of self harm and addiction

Draco keeps secrets.

He’s always prided himself in it, knows there’s no one who’s better at it than him; he kept his father’s secrets, first, thirteen and feeling like he was being let into the world of the elite, where people knew things other witches and wizards didn’t. Then, he kept his mother’s secrets; the quiet contempt no one seemed to see, the anxiousness that ate at her day by day because of things Draco didn’t quite understand, things he wasn’t told, not yet, not even though his father had called him a man.

Third, he kept the Dark Lord’s secrets; he remembers the day they came into his home, the Dark Lord and his cult of followers, each crueler and more heartless than the last, and Draco had been fifteen and terrified, and he didn’t feel like a man, not at all, he’d felt like a child. He’d heard the things they planned, seen the things they did, and he’d kept his mouth shut. He thinks he’d died a little, then; the first time he’d heard someone scream under a Crucio was the first time he realized he knew nothing at all, that the glory and the knowledge he thought were his, what he thought the cause he was fighting for entailed, was all wrong.

He was all wrong.

He still said nothing.

Fourth, he keeps his own secrets; or he tries to, at least. When he’s sixteen and the name Harry James Potter appears across his ribcage in horrible handwriting, he stays locked in his bathroom for three hours, the world crashing down around him; it is the summer before sixth year, and he just – he just needs to make it to September first without anyone noticing, and that’s all. He’s off to Hogwarts, and he can fuck off and never come back. For now, however – for now, well, he’s trapped in a place that used to be his childhood home but is now unrecognizable, filled with people who will not hesitate to kill him – or worse, and Draco knows what they’re capable of, he does, he’s seen them – if they find out who his soulmate is.

In that moment, Draco hates Potter, truly and overwhelmingly hates him, because he’s not going to get out of here, he’s not going to survive this if anyone finds out. The older Death Eaters already hurt him for fun, and he’s done nothing. After this, they’re going to kill him.

So he does what he has to; he draws a Difindo across the name, over and over until it is unrecognizable, and the pain of it is agonizing, but he shoves a towel between his teeth and bears his way through it; it gives him time, an excuse not to come out of his rooms if anyone comes looking for him – they don’t - but when the skin heals, the name is right there, readable over the scars, and Draco has to sit and just breathe, because this can’t be happening.

After that, he does the next best thing; he wears layers upon layers, skin-tight shirts underneath loose robes so no one will notice, keeps the mark hidden, knows he only needs to get through the summer.

And he almost succeeds. The last day of July – Potter's birthday, Draco knows – the Dark Lord tells him he’s taking the Mark; it’s supposed to be an honor, Draco knows, he can see the pride in his father’s eyes, but the only thing he feels is dread.

He doesn’t want the Dark Mark.

“Shirt off,” the Dark Lord hisses, and Draco’s blood runs cold; he knows it is usual for people to take the Dark Mark shirtless; it’s a metaphor, he thinks, something about his mind and body belonging to the Dark Lord, but for him it’ll be his doom.

Slowly, very slowly, he begins unbuttoning his robes.

Seven years later

“Anything yet?” Ron asks, stepping into their office when two bags of Chinese food; there’s a muggle place two blocks away from the ministry that makes the best spring rolls in the world, and they always eat from there when they’re working on a tough case.

“No,” Harry says, gratefully taking the box that Ron offers him. “Fuck, this smells delicious.”

Ron nods. “Got extra spring rolls for you.”

Harry groans a muffled ‘thank you’, already devouring the fried rice; he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and he’s starving. He welcomes the taste of salty, fried food, and then looks back to the surveillance footage they’re watching. They’ve been investigating the death of a muggle military general, because he had no apparent cause of death to muggles – an Avada Kedavra - and because traces of magic were found at the scene.

“There he is, look at that.” Harry and Ron lean forward at the same time, eyes narrowing at the grainy footage; they'd ‘confiscated’ it from the Muggle Police – better to avoid unwanted questions when they saw it – but they’re used to how well one can see surveillance charms, so this is undoubtably a step down.

“What is he doing?” Harry asks, frowning; Edward Thomas can be seen drinking alone in the hotel bar; he’d be found in his hotel room, but they’ve already scanned the elevator and hall tapes and nothing has come up, so they’re working their way back.

He’s speaking to the man beside him, whose face they can’t see because his back is to the camera. Harry, however, can see Thomas’s face, and he looks – evidently interested. Harry thinks he might be flirting. The other man is evidently not interested, because he turns away, but Thomas reaches out to harshly grab the other man by the arm; the man steps back, and they struggle for a moment before he manages to break himself free, finally turning towards the camera to leave.

“Holy fucking shit,” Ron says, pausing the footage and placing his takeout box on the table, moving closer. “Is that Malfoy?”

Harry nods numbly.

“Holy shit,” he echoes, and continues to stare at the furious, cool face of his soulmate.

“I can stay on the case,” Harry insists. As a policy, the Ministry doesn’t allow an Auror to work any case where their soulmate is involved, but Harry thinks these are special circumstances.

No one’s seen Malfoy in years, for one. He went missing before their sixth year – two years of being a prisoner at the manor, Harry knows – and though he appeared briefly, it was only long enough for the healers at St. Mungo’s to take a look at him. He disappeared again afterwards, as soon as he was discharged, and hasn’t been seen or heard from in five years.

Secondly, they’d finished watching the surveillance footage, and Thomas had left for his room after talking to Malfoy, which means he was most likely the last person to see their murder victim alive.

“You cannot be objective about your soulmate, Potter,” Robards says.

Harry would’ve loved not to tell him about this new development in the case, but he’d walked in while Ron and Harry were discussing it, so they’d had to.

“Sir, Malfoy and I are hardly soulmates,” Harry argues. “We haven’t spoken in five years!”

Robards looks at him calculatingly; Harry is his best Auror, and him and Ron work best together. Taking him off the case is a bad decision and he knows it, but if he doesn’t and something goes wrong because of Harry being stupid about Malfoy, it’ll be on him.

“Fine,” he says, finally. “You can stay on the case. Find me Malfoy, find me our murderer, and you do not stay alone with him at any point. If I hear you’ve messed something up because you’ve gone and done something more reckless than usual, I swear I'll fire you, Potter, even if the Minister himself tells me not to.”

Harry nods.

Malfoy opens the door, takes a look at them, and tries to close it again. Harry slaps his hand against the door to stop him, and Malfoy sighs, rolling his eyes and opening the door again, resigned.

“Potter, Weasley. What are you doing here?”

“Edward Thomas was murdered three nights ago,” Harry says; he thinks one of them should have something more to say; they are soulmates, after all. He expected Malfoy to ask how they had found him, five years after leaving the Wizarding World without a trace. Harry sort of wants to know where Malfoy has been, wonders if he’s been here, in muggle St. Rémy de Provence, the entire time, but he is trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care about Malfoy. It's not working; he’s looking at him and there’s an itch just under his skin that he can’t quite get rid of. “And you were the last person to see him alive.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Malfoy says.

Ron shows him a picture of Thomas, and Malfoy’s eyebrow raises marginally.

“Oh,” Malfoy says. “Him.”

“Yes, him,” Ron says, unimpressed. “You are a witness in our murder investigation, Malfoy, and we’d like you to come into the Ministry for an interview.”

“No, thank you,” Malfoy says politely. “We’re in France, which means you have no jurisdiction. You can’t make me.”

“You’re an English wizard,” Harry says, irritated. Malfoy hasn’t changed one bit. “We could bring you in under-”

“Subsection 1359?” Malfoy finishes for him smugly. “That law only applies to active suspects, Potter, and, as you’ve told it, I’m not one.”

“We could make you one,” Harry says. It’s less than moral, and not something Harry would do, not really, but the arrogant look Malfoy keeps giving him is pissing him off. “We know you left the bar before he did, but you could’ve hired someone to kill him.”

Malfoy cocks an eyebrow. “Oh? With what money?”

“The Malfoy fortunes weren’t seized after the war,” Harry says.

“Right.” Malfoy nods. “Except I’m not a Malfoy anymore.”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, and then shuts it again. “What?”

Malfoy – or, well, not Malfoy – opens his hands in a wide gesture. “Emancipated myself from my parents as soon as my trial was over, Potter, and I haven’t done magic in years. I’m officially a muggle. I have a muggle birth certificate, a passport – I'm Monéguasque, by the way, and yes, I chose it just because I like the way it sounds – and even social security and a job. I’m a muggle.”

“What?” Harry demands, because he can’t quite wrap his head around it; Malfoy as a – as a non Malfoy? Malfoy as a muggle?

“Yes,” Malfoy says. “So you can leave me alone.”

And he closes the door on their face.

“Well,” Ron says, awkwardly. “That was – not good.”

“You don’t seem very surprised,” Harry says, mildly, when he and Ron – mostly Harry – have finished their rant about Malfoy.

“Well,” Hermione says, shifting on the sofa. “I knew all of this.”

“What?” Harry and Ron ask.

Hermione sighs and puts down the box of Greek takeout she’d been eating.

“He asked for my help, when the war ended,” she confesses. “I got him the muggle birth certificate, the passport, the school records, all of it. I had help, obviously. Luna was very helpful, unexpectedly. Turns out her father used to be a barrister, and she-”

“Why would you help him?” Harry asks. Then, “Why would he need help?”

“You’ve made him practically untouchable, I hope you know,” Ron says to his wife, kissing her cheek and reaching for another box of takeout. “It’s made our case a thousand times harder.”

“Thank you,” Hermione says, smugly. “That was the point.” She turns to Harry. “Harry, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but Draco spent two years as Voldemort’s prisoner because he is your soulmate. He lied for us in the manor. He – understandably, I might add – wanted a break from the wizarding world, he asked for my help, and I said yes. It was decent.”

Harry knows, logically, that she is right; that he shouldn’t be as angry as he is about finding out Malfoy has made a successful life for himself in France, and, if he’s honest, he’s not entirely sure why he’s angry.

Maybe – well, a tiny bit of Harry had been excited about knowing who his soulmate was since he was told about them when he was eleven, and, after getting through the initial shock of having Malfoy’s name on his ribcage, he’d hoped they could be – normal, for once.

He should’ve known better; nothing between them is ever simple.

After Malfoy had lied for him in the manor – and Harry knows Malfoy knows it was him, because they could’ve recognized each other blindfolded and with their hands tied simply by the feeling of it – Harry had been stupid enough to think that, since the war was over, now came the easy part.

The part he deserved.

And then Malfoy had disappeared without another word, and Harry had been left without a soulmate and with the entirety of the Wizarding World expecting him to know why his soulmate had left, where he’d gone to, and when he and Harry would get together.

It had been stressful.

“Why did you never mention it?” he asks, finally, and Hermione gives him a knowing look that Harry doesn’t quite understand.

“You would’ve looked for him.”

“I wouldn’t have!”

“Harry,” Hermione says sensibly. “The first year after the war – you were a mess.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not that it’s wrong! Or that it wasn’t understandable, or anything, it’s just-” she exhales, shaking her head, and continues quietly, sorrowful. “We all were. All of us, we were all – Malfoy was, too. You did not see him - I spent only a week visiting him in St. Mungo’s, and it was like he was still trapped in that house. I cannot imagine what it must’ve taken for him to move forward. If you’d gotten together then, you would’ve broken up.”

Harry clenches his jaw and looks away, but he knows she’s right; he barely remembers the year after the war, drowned in a haze of alcohol and sex and potions and clubs and anything that could make him feel even a little better for a second.

Hermione, though looking better from the outside, had been just as bad; she’d thrown herself into her work in a way that had meant she’d needed potions to keep up, and had had a brief addiction to a wizarding version of Adderall, five times as potent. She had spent almost an entire year struggling to stop after Ron and Harry had found out. There’s too much to fix, she’d said, frustrated. I can’t do it any other way.

Ron had been, surprisingly, the least self-destructive of them; he’d spent the first three months in bed, without moving at all, barely eating, and without speaking to anyone. He’d begun getting better after that – he’d seen a mind healer, and had later dragged Hermione and Harry with him, too – and now, thankfully, they’re all successful, functional people.

None of them forget, though.

Harry was surrounded by people who’d gone through what he did, by people who somewhat understood.

He couldn't imagine Malfoy having to live through it in the muggle world, with no one who could understand why he couldn’t sleep at night, why he got lost in his own head.

“I’m going to talk to him again,” he says stubbornly.

Hermione’s smile is wry. “I know you are.”

“Holy shit,” Malfoy jumps when he walks out of his apartment and finds Harry standing there, leaning against the wall. “Don’t you know how to knock, Potter?”

“Would you have opened the door?” Harry asks with a raised eyebrow.

Malfoy glares at him. “If someone won’t open the door for you, the polite thing to do is leave.”

Harry ignores him. “Are you a doctor?”

Malfoy is wearing lavender scrubs, with a navy blue Henley underneath thick white shoes.

“Nurse,” Malfoy corrects, and then seems surprised at himself for having answered. He crosses his arms across his chest defensively. “I’m a neonatal nurse at the hospital.”

“Is it far?”

Malfoy shakes his head mutely.

“I’ll walk you,” Harry offers. Malfoy looks surprised and more than a little bit suspicious, but he chews on his lower lip and nods. Harry lets Malfoy lead the way, and, together, silently, they walk towards the hospital where Malfoy works.

St. Remy de Provence is unexpectedly beautiful; it’s small, and much quieter than Harry’s used to – magical London is busy and loud on the best of days – but it’s cozy, and Malfoy looks truly peaceful.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Malfoy asks finally, quietly. “I’m not going to help you with your case.”

“I don’t have a case anymore.” Harry shrugs. “I was transferred.”

He’d gone to Robards after he’d seen Malfoy, and had admitted he couldn’t work the case. Robards had already another team waiting.

Malfoy gives a humorless smile. “Should I be expecting another Auror at my door soon, then?”

Harry shakes his head. “I told them you didn’t know anything.”

Malfoy blinks, stunned for a second, and then mutters a quiet ‘thank you’.

They continue walking in silence, and then Harry decides to simply say it.

“I want you to come back.” Malfoy immediately stiffens, and Harry can see he is going to refuse outright, which is why he continues quickly. “It doesn’t have to be right now. I don’t mean to pressure you, and I know you - I know you’ve been dealing with – well, everything, like the rest of us, but – it's not the same without you.”

He wishes he were lying, but he’s not; he’d been unable to sleep the night before, and had, very slowly, very painfully, realized that he’s actually missed Malfoy, all this time. Sixth year without him was worse than ever, and through being on the run, Harry had, secretly, wondered where he was, all the time. He'd checked every day, nearly every hour, his soulmark with Draco’s name in his handwriting, only to make sure that it was still inked black and not a faded grey, to know he wasn’t dead.

Seeing him at the manor – and that is not a memory Harry will ever forget. Seeing Bellatrix dragging him forward with a chain wrapped around his neck had sent blinding fury through Harry – had been a breath of fresh air and relief where there was none, if only for a few seconds. Losing him again so shortly after, when he’d disappeared after being discharged, had been unbearable, even on top of everything else.

“I can’t,” Malfoy whispers.

“What?”

“I can’t.” Malfoy clears his throat, looks away. “I meant it when I said I was a muggle, Potter. I – we're soulmates, and I’ve missed you for some – some reason-” he lets out a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head. “I can’t do magic.”

Harry cannot speak. Then, “What?”

“I can’t do magic anymore,” Malfoy says, louder. “When I was – there - my wand was taken away, and I spent - I spent two years without being able to even touch a wand, let alone do any magic, and – afterwards, I was so – so terrified of them I couldn’t bring myself to grab one.”

“Have you tried?”

Malfoy gives him a look. “Obviously. My therapist – she's a muggle, so I had to come up with some pretty creative metaphors, and I think she knows I'm lying to her – she suggested I try to get more comfortable to eventually start doing it again. I worked on it, and I’m not – afraid anymore, not really, I can be around wands, but - I can’t do magic. I’ve tried, even with the simplest of spells, and I can’t. She says – it's just trauma, I know that, but I can’t.”

Harry stays quiet; he cannot imagine not being able to do magic. It had been one of the few things that got him through everything after the war, and having it taken away – well, fuck.

“I’m sorry,” he says uselessly.

Malfoy gives a tense shrug. “I’ve gotten used to it. But I can’t go back.”

“I-”

“I have to go in.” Malfoy gestures to the big hospital on their right. “I’ll... see you later?”

Harry nods, and watches as Malfoy walks away.

“This is crossing so many lines,” Hermione had said, when Harry had told her of his plan.

Harry is aware he is crossing many, many lines, but he is now outside of Malfoy’s door, so he cannot back down.

He knocks, and, a few seconds later, the door opens; Malfoy seems to have just woken up – and it’s nearly four in the afternoon, but Harry doesn’t know what kind of shifts he works at the hospital, so he’s not judging him too much – and blinks owlishly at him for a few seconds before sliding his gaze to the person standing next to Harry.

“Potter,” he says, very slowly. “What have you done?”

“This is Healer Bo,” Harry says, placing his hand on Malfoy’s door to stop him from – predictably – slamming the door on their faces. Healer Bo is a little old man with dark, greying hair, shorter than both of them but also probably smarter than them combined. “I know you’ve said your therapist thinks it’s trauma, but what if it’s something different?”

“Potter.” And oh, okay, Malfoy is furious, as is evident by the quickly blooming color on his face. “I am not some victim you can focus your – your hero complex on. I told you those things to explain, not to have you turn me into some pet project!”

“That’s not what I'm doing!” Harry defends. “I’m only trying to help you-”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“Well, deal with it, you git, because we are soulmates and I want to help you, and I want you to come back, and I want you to be able to do magic because you deserve it!”

“So you just want me to uproot my entire life for you?” Malfoy demands. “Why don’t you come to the muggle world instead of setting me up with a healer appointment I didn’t ask for? He’s not going to be able to do anything!”

“How do you know that?” Harry pushes. “Your therapist is muggle, Malfoy-”

“Don’t call me that, I’m not-”

“Draco, you can’t have told her everything, so her diagnosis can’t be reliable-”

“Well, too bad! I’m not letting some random healer you’ve brought to my door run tests on me-”

“I’ve already run them,” Healer Bo says calmly. “Your magical core is damaged.”

Silence.

“What?” Draco asks, fragile.

“It could be trauma, as well, but it’s not only that,” Healer Bo explains. “Your magical core is damaged. I need you to come into my office so I can run some more tests.”

Harry spreads his hands in an ‘I told you so’ gesture, and Draco throws balled socks at him.

“What did he say?” Harry asks anxiously, standing up as soon as Malfoy comes out the door, Healer Bo following close behind him. “What did you say? What’s wrong?”

Healer Bo and Draco share a look.

“I told you he frets,” Draco tells him.

“You were right,” Healer Bo agrees solemnly, and before Harry can be properly offended, he continues. “Draco's magical core is damaged because of Crucio.”

“That can happen?” Harry asks, frowning.

“That’s what Crucio does,” Healer Bo says. “It cracks one’s magical core. It’s why it feels like everything is burning. If it’s done enough, the magical core can be damaged irreparably.”

Harry holds his breath. “Is - Draco’s-”

“No,” Healer Bo says; Draco can complain all he likes, but he’s beaming beside Healer Bo. “It’s not irreparably damaged. It will be a long process, however. You’ll both need to be patient.”

They both nod, quickly, and Harry asks, “Do I – should I do something?”

“Support your soulmate,” Healer Bo says simply. Draco’s cheeks turn red, but Harry nods seriously. He’ll do anything he can. “I’ve already given Draco the Potions he’ll need to be taking, and we will have to perform Healing spells once every two days. You can either come in here, or I can send one of my interns-”

“We’ll come in,” Harry says immediately; he assumes Bo’s interns are good – Bo is, after all, one of the highest praised healers in the world – but he wants Bo to do it. He won’t trust anyone else with his soulmate.

“Alright,” Bo says. “I’ll see you in two days.”

“What are you thinking about?” Harry had taken Draco out for a late lunch; they’re at the only restaurant reporters never find Harry, a tiny Indian takeout place. The lady who runs it loves Harry, so she never calls the reporters, and doesn’t allow anyone else to call them, either. He’d figured Draco wouldn’t want to be in a Prophet article on his first day back.

“A lot of things,” Draco admits. “The possibility of getting my magic back. The fact that I didn’t quit the hospital before we left, which means that technically I have a shift in twenty minutes, which I figure I’m not going to make. The fact that I have nowhere to live and no money to get a place to live-”

“Come live with me,” Harry blurts. He’s never had the best brain-to-mouth filter.

“What?”

“Live with me,” he repeats. “I’ve - a flat. I moved out of Grimmauld place, it was too – too many memories, but – we can live together, and – if you want to leave, later, I’ll let you, but – well, I'd like it if you stayed.”

Draco stares at him for a moment, and then looks away, a pink flush spreading across his cheeks. “Alright.”

Harry can’t help but grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The recovery of Draco’s magical core is, as the healer had said, slow. Healer Bo tells them that it really helps that they’re together, because being far from one’s soulmate can be greatly stressful, and Harry is glad to be doing what he can. Apart from that, they settle into Harry’s flat quite nicely.

Harry refuses to sleep on the couch – he was about to offer, but then Draco demanded it, so Harry would be damned before he gave up his bed – and Draco refuses to not sleep in the biggest bed available, so they share Harry’s bed, which Harry thinks should feel weird, but it doesn’t.

It feels... right. Like home, sort of.

Time passes much quicker than it used to, without Draco; Harry takes a year leave from the Aurors so he can dedicate, fully, to his soulmate. Draco gets reintegrated to the magical world slowly, and though he cannot do magic, he’s evidently glad to be back.

They even get pets – a fat kneazle that they call Morgana and a huge black crup that they call Godric – and pretty much build their life together. Draco opens a bakery – and really, of all things Harry imagined Draco doing, this was not one of them – and it turns out that Muggle treats are not widely known in the wizarding world, and they are widely liked, once Draco starts selling them. Because he runs the place, he only works during the morning, which means they get to spend their afternoons lounging together in their flat, watching the telly or teasing each other.

“Potter, I swear to Merlin,” Draco growls, glaring tightly at Harry, who’s holding his favorite mug as high as he can reach.

“I’ll give it to you,” Harry tells him. “As soon as you admit that you’re the one who got our reservation wrong.”

“I did not! You said seven!”

“I told you, a thousand times, that our reservation was at six!”

“No, you didn’t!”

Turns out, being soulmates didn’t really stop their fighting, but it’s different now. Harry is rarely truly angry while they argue, unlike before, and Draco is the same way.

“Yes, I did!”

“No you bloody didn’t!” Draco snaps. “Give me my mug back right now, or I’ll - I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Harry asks smugly. “What will you do to me, Draco?”

Draco glares at him, ears red in his anger, and then grabs Harry’s wand off the counter and yells, ‘Accio’.

The mug flies straight from Harry’s hand into Draco’s. They’re both so surprised it slips from his hands, shattering on the floor.

Neither of them care.

“Did I just-”

“Did you just-”

They look at each other for a moment, before they both break into the biggest grins imaginable. Harry laughs and pulls him in for a tight hug, lifting him and spinning around in their kitchen, miraculously not stepping on any shards of ceramic.

“You just did magic, Draco!” Harry practically yells, not putting him down. “Magic!”

“I did!” Draco’s ecstatic, over the moon, grin wider than Harry’s ever seen. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

And he grabs Harry’s face roughly and pulls him in for a deep kiss.

They both freeze momentarily, and Harry puts him down.

“I’m sorry,” Draco begins immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t - I shouldn’t have-”

Harry pulls him in for another kiss, deeper this time, and pulls him closer, grabbing his hips.

“Don’t apologize,” he pleads. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

“You have?” Draco sounds surprised.

“Yes,” Harry says, and he kisses him again. Draco wraps his arms around his neck, and Harry lifts him again, sitting him in their kitchen counter, and he can’t get enough, he can’t stop, he can’t.

When they both pull away to breathe – a long, long time later – Harry cannot stop grinning at him.

“I love you,” he says. “Soulmate.”

Draco’s grin is the only thing Harry wants to see for the rest of his life.

“I love you, too,” he says, rubbing their noses together sweetly. “Soulmate.”

And Harry kisses him again, and he thinks that if everything he had to go through was leading to this moment, he’d do it all again, a thousand times, however many times it was necessary, because this? This is everything.

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

Soulmate AU commissioned by @chinike

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Commissions

#drarry #fanfic #mine #commissions

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sepublic · 4 years ago

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Campfire, Canyon of the Golden Winged Snakes, Hey Ho Whoa!

AMELIA IS BACK BABY!!!

Let me tell you, when I first saw her, I had to do a double-take… Like the way the characters just so casually passed her, I blinked and was like- Wait, was what Amelia?!? And then I realized it was, and I just… WHAT!

I was a bit afraid we wouldn’t see her, but it seems that she’s our NEW fourth companion, to replace Tuba… RIP to Tuba, you had a good funeral, and given the trajectory this season is going as of now, we… Really won’t see you again, huh?

Screw you Simon.

We’ve gotten SO many fascinating revelations in these three episodes… I can’t say I’m surprised at all that Amelia, or at least the revelation of her, would return to help Grace (and maybe Simon) resolve her issues! That was a very neat twist with the massive pile of numbers actually indicating it was AMELIA and her monumental issues, not the Apex! Very clever of the writing team to have us heading towards her the entire time, though it makes me wonder when we’ll get back to the Apex given how we only have TWO episodes left…!

What’s interesting is that according to Amelia, there’s ‘corrupted code’ in some cars, and apparently this refers to any cars that SHE made while trying to figure out the perfect world? Amelia mentions ‘quarantining’ them, and One-One wants them gone as well… Given what Amelia says about ‘ejecting’ cars, does that mean they’re all transported to the very end of the Infinity Train, and just… thrown off?

Are there a bunch of cars strewn about somewhere in the wasteland, is there even an END to this Infinity Train??? Or are they all just lumped together and some sort of force-field is placed around them, or some other barrier, to keep the corrupt code from –presumably- infecting the other cars around them?

It is a bit weird to see One-One insist on getting rid of those cars, though… I hope the denizens inside are okay, especially those corgis! Given his lesson with Tulip about not blaming himself worked, I feel like this is contrary to what he’d learned? Or is he simply allowing those worlds to exist, and remain ‘weird’, while still fixing the corrupted code so it doesn’t spread and disrupt the world of other cars who have their own thing going on? Regardless, as Amelia said… it seems One-One is still working on his issue of viewing passengers as ‘numbers’ to fix, like the cogs of a machine! It seems he’s at least TRYING to be more personable, but, well…

It seems that Amelia is still working on that sound-motif she’s always had, which is pretty neat! She mentions a ‘pulse’, so I presume it’s sent out from the engine, and when it scans an ‘anomaly’ (AKA anything with corrupted code, including stuff and denizens from the unfinished cars) they’re ejected… Given Amelia mentioning having to quarantine Hazel soon, I imagine this pulse heads out every now and then? Shouldn’t one pulse alone have done the trick, or is there a certain range to them and Amelia has to travel through the cars and activate the pulse from her location, to allow maximum effect?

Anyhow, Amelia! You know, I mused that Episode 7 of this season would introduce the Book 4 protagonist, given how our previous Episode 7’s worked… Each one established the general idea/setting for our protagonist, as well as a formal introduction! The Chrome Car told us about Lake and her deal with wanting to be her own person, escaping the Flecs… The Mall Car established the Apex and properly introduced us to Simon and Grace…

So… maybe The Canyon of the Golden Winged Snakes Car re-introduces us to Amelia, while establishing the conflict of the next Book; Fixing the corrupted cars! This is just speculation on my part, of course…

Back to Amelia, I guess I shouldn’t be all-too surprised that she’s still kind of a jerk, what with the way she just… steamrolls over what Hazel has to say to ‘correct’ her with the proper facts, and whatnot! I’m a little glad, because it doesn’t completely forget that she still has a bigger number than Simon or Grace by FAR… But also upset, because c’mon Amelia, Hazel is a freaking kid! I know you’re trying to erase multiple decades’ of past sins and mistakes, but she doesn’t know!

I also like seeing her just trash-talk Simon and calling him a child, especially since we know that he and Grace are only eighteen thanks to the Reddit AMA by Owen Dennis… Even if Simon were physically older, mentally he really isn’t! Granted I guess I can’t blame him for THAT, though I can blame him for Tuba’s death…

I remember when the writers discussed juggling multiple characters, so after seeing Tuba die, I was wondering what was really the point… But I see now! It’s because they ALSO have to handle Amelia as well! And dang, she’s still remarkably callous… She doesn’t remember Grace at all and doesn’t even seem remotely interested… And upon hearing that a cult was started in her honor, she just does NOT care! It really shows that Amelia still has a LOT to work on, that just fixing the broken cars isn’t enough for her…

It was a bit weird to have our main trio just pass by this obvious, fellow passenger, and just totally ignore them… But given Grace’s rule about ‘not trusting adult passengers’, I guess I’m not surprised? I have to wonder when it was made, and how young she was when it was established; If Grace was a kid and that was part of her apprehension towards adults, and/or they were actually trying to get their numbers down, so she saw them as ‘deceitful’ or whatever! Coupled with adults being less likely to fall for the Apex’s propaganda, and it makes sense…

What’s really fascinating is that One-One doesn’t even know about the Apex, according to Amelia! Which, given the implied length of the Infinity Train, it really says a lot about how much stuff could’ve happened, completely independent from one another! It almost seems like fate that Simon and Grace encountered so many kids and brought them together… Whereas Tulip didn’t encounter ANY passengers, sans Amelia, on her journey!

(Well, there was that ONE dude in the next car over who immediately got sent back home. And she was only there for five months, but still!)

I feel this low-key ties back to what I discussed earlier, about One-One being an ‘ends justifies the means’ sort of person; That the situation with the denizens is less a matter of them dying, and more about what that says about the Apex passengers as people! Of course, he doesn’t even KNOW about them, which honestly blows my mind… He really IS disconnected, huh? I guess Tulip helped make a dent in his metal head, but there’s still a lot of work to go… You know, Amelia’s criticism of One-One seeing passengers as just ‘numbers’ reminds me of what some other fans brought up, on the idea of if whether or not issues can actually be quantified like that!

Given what Owen said about the train also being wrong sometimes, and I have to wonder if this will be resolved by the end of Book 3… or perhaps Book 4, assuming we get it! Yeah, most of the team has been laid off and the viewings are low, so SERIOUSLY- WATCH on HBO Max, spend actual money on this thing if you want it around because you’re LITERALLY paying for Book 4’s production by this point people! And spread the word!

Anyhow, looks like other fans were right- Hazel IS a failed creation of Amelia, in this case her attempt to recreate Alrick… Although she implies that Hazel is more than just a ‘clone’ of him, is this referring to Hazel being a little girl, or something else entirely? Is the implication that Hazel would’ve been her and Alrick’s child, because uh… Amelia and Alrick are white. She also mentions a ‘handkerchief’, so what’s THAT about…?! Did she just toss one aside and it glitched into Hazel…?

Hazel is taking this about as well as you’d expect a child, and I’m wondering if Grace suddenly turning around and calling her ‘null’, only to ask to stay overnight… Means that she has a plan to ditch Simon and hang out with Hazel and Amelia, for the rest of her life? Either way, Simon is apparently taking her ‘betrayal’ to heart… That, or he’s expressing genuine remorse at seeing what he did to Hazel, but probably not. Honestly, the way his character is going it seems like he may go off the deep end…

OR, maybe not! Because we get some more development on him and THE CAT… Samantha! That’s right, an actual name! I guess I’m not shocked that ‘Samantha’ managed to smuggle some tiny One-Ones out of the Tape Car, and even a miniature player as well! I have to wonder how she finds her stuff, honestly… Considering how vast the Infinity Train is, it’s not out of the question for people to go entire months without encountering others! It’s actually kind of a miracle of fate that The Cat has encountered so many passengers, over and over, across this show…! Given the possibility aired by Mace about some characters being ‘destined’ by the Infinity Train, and I’ve got to wonder…

It’s interesting that even when Simon is taking his rage out physically, he NEVER goes for The Cat… and she knows this, no less! Not once is she ever scared for her life, instead she’s more concerned for what this has to say about Simon! It’s complicated, all right, and apparently all we know for now is that The Cat accidentally left Simon behind, and ultimately stuck with her choice to prioritize herself! It’s interesting, the idea that even if Simon and The Cat have a better understanding as to why the other did what they did, they won’t ever really ‘forgive’ one another, or reconcile- Just go their separate paths, for now and likely eternity…

Simon is of course getting mad at Grace for not talking to him and is confused by her changing her mind! A confrontation between the two is inevitable in our last two episodes, and given how we haven’t seen Grace’s number at all… It’s probably low. I can see the two reuniting with the Apex at the end, only for Simon to invoke his larger number to turn them on Grace… Or try to head back to the Apex to do exactly that!

Still, given how the show is still making the point to delve into his perspective and trauma, and how he STILL won’t harm The Cat… I have to wonder if the season really will end with Grace leaving the Infinity Train, and Simon staying behind to fix his own issues? Of course, what about Hazel… We know she’s a denizen for sure so she can’t leave, right? Unless her fake number can fool One-One… Speaking of which, was Amelia’s number at 337 when she first arrived? Because that seems a bit small for someone who had otherwise hijacked the Infinity Train by then and was making unfinished worlds…

Back to Amelia, if Simon doesn’t help… I wonder if Book 3 will end with HER taking lead of the Apex and leading them down a new path? It’d be ironic given how she mentioned about not being great with kids, and tie back to her penance… Or, maybe Grace will continue to live with the Apex and help! Maybe Simon will join Amelia… Who knows? Personally I’m fixated on the fact that Amelia just UTTERLY outclasses Simon… I expressed previous appreciation at Tuba being able to defend herself, until you know what…

But given how Amelia is a lot more savvy, jaded, and cynical about this sort of situation; I think she’s probably safe for now! It’d feel a bit unresolved for Simon to get HER killed off too…

Overall, a fascinating turn of events, and I can get a good sense of why the episodes were clustered the way they were together, to be released separately! Each does its own little arc… The first one establishing the mood and having Tuba, only for her to die! Then the next one involving Amelia and the fall-out of the Hazel revelation… And the last two episodes will be THE finale, just like it’s traditionally been in the past! I can’t wait to see what happens next…

#infinity train #infinity train spoilers #spoilers #infinity train book 3 spoilers #infinity train season 3 #infinity train book 3 #infinity train grace #grace monroe #infinity train amelia #infinity train simon #simon laurent #infinity train hazel #analysis #speculation

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chyrstis · 4 years ago

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WIP Thursday

Now that things have stabilized a tiny bit (or at least some of the stress has), I really wanted to see about taking part as a bit of a treat to myself, especially since @starsandskies was kind enough to send a tag my way yesterday (thank you! <3) I’m also really hoping to be more present as I start to figure out the right kind of work/life/fun balance I want to nail here.

Tagging: @writerofblocks @cobb-vanthss @amistrio @shallow-gravy @kerryseurodyne @jackiesarch @painterofhorizons @ma-sulevin @foofygoldfish @teamhawkeye @guileandgall @redroci @geronimo-11 @proudspires @faithchel @risenlucifer @tomexraider @unlikelynick @fluttyseed @sneaky-apostate @baeogorath @fadedjacket @princess-underthemountain @strafethesesinners @lilwritingraven @sapphicvalhallas @ofravensandgenesis and anyone else that’s interested, this is totally a free tag!

First, Hana’s no good very bad day continues in the Trap fic though future days are certainly going to give her a run for her money

---

“Good. This moment won’t happen again. Decision made?”

He nodded. That’s when he dragged her up, his grip tight on her upper arm, and Hana tried to find her footing fast. Needed it in case another opening came even with the two watching her, but nearly lost it when he made her face the door and pushed.

The woman easily caught her, standing her up straight as she gave her a quick once-over. Then slapped a bag over her head, tying it tight.

This was bad. Well and truly beyond fucked as Hana sucked in a breath, and jerked away at the first touch to her shoulder. The grip that closed around her arm was a vice as she was guided forward, however, and there was no dragging her feet here as she was pushed out of the room.

Voices came from her left. One to two as she moved across the floor, paired with laughter.

Sinner. Look at you!

Did they know who she was? They had to have known, seeing as she’d cycled through as many red flannel shirts as she could get her hands on, and never bothered to change that up once. If someone had a punch - or heaven forbid, a knife - she’d never be able to dodge it like this, and idly wondered if anyone was nursing a grudge strong enough to risk it.

Then she heard names. The man’s - Ben, Benji, both were used liberally - and the woman, which sounded like an Essie or Esther, almost. But they didn’t slow down. Just kept her moving, even when mention of the Herald sent a chill running down her spine.

“So much for running! Wait’ll John gets his hands on you, and tears you wide open-”

She twisted in the VIP’s grip to headbutt the heckler and actually made contact. Felt something crack and give, and that was satisfying. Even if it stung like a motherfucker, and she was nearly knocked flat for it. Still, the woman holding her kept her up. Even when Hana snarled and tried to fight it.

That got a laugh. More than one as the voices came closer now, bearing in on her.

---

Next, a little Faith and John conversation that I’d really like to add more to soon, maybe? This hit while I was fighting off a cold and failing, and I really couldn’t complain about a potential shot at some interaction between these two.

---

“She's warm. You should hear her laugh.”

“Laugh?”

John watched Faith smile as she remembered it. Saw that fondness settle over her as she tilted her head towards him, and extended her open palm.

“She worries a lot. Many do, but I could see that weight fade from her. How much happier she was, lighter, and the minute it happened, I didn't need to take her hand. She reached for it.”

John stared her outstretched hand down, and watched her fingers slowly close around air, nothing more.

“We all know that the bliss shows you what you want to see,” he replied, going back to his drink. “Are you sure you weren't suffering from a little wishful thinking yourself, dear sister?”

Faith frowned. “…Only a hair, but is it so awful to want that too? Peace for her and for us? If only you could only see how beautiful she was. Maybe next time I can show you?”

The glass stressed under his fingertips as he set it down with a clatter. “She'd be no better than a drunken idiot,” John snapped. “I want her lucid. Aware. To make choices for herself, and the more you expose her to it, the less she'll be able to come back from it. You know that.

“Joseph wants someone to reach her. To reach all of them. If your way doesn't work, mine might. It doesn't matter who gets to her first as long as she comes to us.”

“Willingly.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. She’ll choose,” Faith said, smiling once again. “She’ll make that choice and decide just who to give that smile to.”

---

And a little No Cult AU, b/c I’m missing it dearly. There’s a little tacked onto here from the previous section I posted a while back, but it’s really too much fun for me to want to chop it up any further.

---

“What are you-” Sighing deeply, John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Charlemagne, I can count the number of people I know on one hand that regularly deal in flammable items and explosives. People that I know personally, and would borderline even consider allowing within a foot of these things, given their past history.”

“Well, you’ve seriously gotta give me their info, ‘cause I could’ve sworn I had a handle on all of that shit in the county, and yeah, I don’t got a business card, or a phone number to call, but moving in when they know someone else’s got that down? That goes against common courtesy, man. Like, we’re breaking potential pyro bro codes left and right. You don’t just-”

“You! You are the person I know!” John shot, throwing both hands up as he gestured towards him. “You would be the one I’d hire! How you could even think otherwise is beyond me!”

The sound of a throat being cleared made both of their heads snap towards the front, and Sharky nearly did a double-take when it became clear who it was.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Joseph asked, looking between them.

“Joseph.” John paled, but slapped a smile onto his face in record time as he stood up straighter. “We weren’t-it’s fine. You weren’t interrupting anything, just business.”

The guy really had to be some kind of bible-based ninja or something, because he wasn’t standing right at the door, but within a few feet of the table they were by. Meaning he’d opened the door, closed it, walked well within viewing distance of either of them, listening as Sharky had struggled to put two and two together to make five, and John had all but-

Wait, hold up.

His thoughts skidded to a halt.

John wanted to hire him? Him, outside of this, whatever this was?

Looking his way, Sharky didn’t even give a damn that his mouth was hanging open, because holy shit, he’d said those exact words, and hadn’t taken them back or corrected them.

John was focused entirely on Joseph at this point, hands moving as he explained away, and didn’t dismiss him even at that point. Just kept on talking. So, Sharky kept on staring at him all while he kicked that fact around back and forth, and felt a smile start to creep onto his face.

#don't mind me #posting this probably way too late but it feels good to have something down and to post here again #and if I can sneak in some more work on any of these between slides this weekend I'll be absolutely thrilled

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neo-shitty · 3 years ago

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toffee!

ah yeah, i think quarentine has given people some opportunity to actually just sit with the person they are, rather than be rushing around for the person they want to become. its good you got smth good out of isolation! ah thats great! hope you had fun and ur partner in crime speeds back home so you can get out more hehe.

ah yeah ty, good suggestions.

hmm good point, i was sort of putting it separate to the whole not-sexualising thing, but yeah. mmm yeah i totally agree, some of the enhypen fics/imagines *shudder* and even reading innie stuff is just a bit *icky* cos everyone still thinks of him as our agi ppang. yeah def would be good but sadly this just seems to be the world we live in. :(

ah yes the holy masterlist (not sarc) i have actually read in the rain and gladius maximus before, but ill go look for in class! oooh thats good! character development lol. hmmmm yes champagne problems was the angst to end all angst, that shit hurt. it was actually one of the first of your fics i read and i recall almost crying over the whole thing, it was so heartbreaking, i can see how it almost made you want to drop angst. good that youve allowed yourself some lee-way tho :)

hehe thats so cool. okay here we go, ill try not to be mortally offended (/hj)

cheese - yes same, i liked it but that was all there was, it wasnt a super standout track. it was rlly underwhelming for me but some of the hook is super catchy so there is Redemption (tm) in store for cheese maybe

thunderous - mmm, yeah at first i totally agreed, i think they suffer from too much good music syndrome, that all their other tracks are such fucking bops its hard to stay at that level of perfection. the choreo was beautiful tho and tbh, the track has grown on me since ive been watching all the vids abt it. its my brothers favourite track

domino - YES GODAMMIT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE TITLE TRACK. the raps, the vocals, the vibes, the fucking domino sound in the back? i would have streamed that shit on repeat. but tbh, as good as it is, it doesnt have that sort of grandness/oomph that skz seems to like in their title tracks so i can see why they chose thunderous (tho domino would have been so good) *sigh*

ssick - yeah same, not my fave track by a long mile, the crowd cheering was a ?strange? choice and the chorus was a bit bare/empty, plus like i mentioned earlier, it was kinda funny to me for some reason but ill still play it if im playing thru the whole album

the view - ahh one of those not like other girls (/j) i honestly think its just a good party song, just a bop to play in the background when nobodys rlly paying much attention. its pretty generic pop music but catchy

sorry, i love you - hehe yeah i thought it was going to be sadder as well, but i rlly loved the fact that they all just got to sing, which almost never happens, i dont think ive heard felix sing for a long time, so i enjoyed it. wasnt rlly a standout track but i just casually like it. looking forward to the fic haha

silent cry - this song i swear, some bits are rlly good and then others are just? why?? it does sound like a dance song tho idk. definitely not one of my faves either

secret secret - YES its so good! its such a chill song and i love their vocals in it. the combination of lo-fi/fake strings backup stuff and their heavenly vocals just makes it *chefs kiss* im listening to it rn and just... its so beautiful. it gives me pumped up another day vibes ya know? like my pace is edgy get cool, this one is energetic another day i feel like. overall i love it

STAR LOST - ah thats so cool! i didnt know that! on first listen this song had a similar vibe to secret secret but then the beat came in and ahh its such a good song. i can totally imagine them putting this song to a concert footage vid, this song is so sweet.

red lights - LMAO YES ITS SO AWKWARD WHY DOES IT GO ON FOR SO LONG ah thats good! yeah good point, its quite intense hehe. but that is my fave trope and this is lowkey my favourite track on the album so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ just the combination of hyunjins and chans voices, the backing music, the lyrics ahh red lights my beloved

surfin’ - yes lmao its always a shock, i feel like they should have put gone away in between them, but its such a fun cute song, i cant get rlly mad. yeah, as an aussie i think im contractually obligated to like beaches lol. sand im not such a fan of, but my familys rlly into fishing and my brother loves bodyboarding so we stay at a beach house at least twice a year and we live like 5 mins from 3 different beaches (hehe all aussie cities are on the coast lol) so thats cool. do you like beaches?

gone away - ah gone away my beloved, i love this song sm, its just so pure and showcases their vocals and lyrics so well. yes the pitch change is very out of the blue, i feel liek they went directly from seungmins soft vocals to hans powerful ones which was an interesting choice, but hey, im not complaining

wolfgang - YES IKR ah im so happy he got to be included in that era and song. yeah its such a full on song i cant rlly listen to it if im in a quiet mood but its very motivating :)

hehe mood, i hope they do! ahhh no rest, but at least you wont have to pull a blink and wait a year for any word from the group lol. im not rlly into nct but im excited for them! ah hopefully youll be able to sneak some rest into that chaotic schedule, with enhypen (idk if u stan but yeah) squeezed into it haha

<3 w.a. 🐺

i wheezed at partner in crime, it reminded me of smth. i have a lee know fic in the drafts that i wrote 'in honor' of him (and his departure-ish). i'll tag you when i finish it, if you want. it's a rather hilarious one.

oh my god. based on my experience on the collabs i've joined before, writing explicit shit for '01 & '02 is not accepted (nct's maknaes) but with enha's hyung line '01 & '02 somehow it's okay? i do a double take every time i see fics like those i mean, technically, it's legal but still what the fuck. maybe it's just not for me at the moment. not at us venting our frustration about this. it's just something that's so accepted here that i am (in all honesty) slightly uncomfortable about. but oh well. that's kpop writerblr for you.

man i could've linked all the fics in the ask instead so you wouldn't have to go looking for them! i think i saw you like in class the other day (the fic i renamed into sharp-tongued, god it took me a while to remember the new title). describing champagne problems as an angst to end all angst is one way to put what i was feeling back in december. it just hurt to write and admit?? if that ever happened to me i would prolly cry :d

okay back to the album talk! i love how you answered with more thoughts. i love exchanges like these! i am a victim of the cheese hook and it's now one of my favorite tracks in the album. PLS, TOO MUCH GOOD MUSIC SYNDROME. that's on our self-producing kings 😌💅 also, your brother has taste! as i am typing this, domino's currently playing in my head and i realized that too, that it doesn't have that 'vibe' of a skz title track. honestly, this could be a title track of another group. ssick is starting to grown on me because i found the beats cool kdjsk not the not like other girls 😭 the view is the generic pop that i don't like but i get why a lot of people enjoy it. sorry i love you scratches a certain itch that i find myself singing the first few lines every time i remember it. i too would want to hear felix sing more!

> a mini junction on the album talk bc i got side tracked. on that topic, i want skz to switch positions at some point like i know those allrounders are capable of doing so. specifically, i want to hear seungmin rap!!!! (yk in the recent weekly idol he talked faster than changbin in a challenge and changbin is like the fastest rapper in kpop that's active atm if im not mistaken. my dandy boy has some potential and i want it UNLEASHED.)

back to album talk. silent cry is basically sad music to twerk to. secret secret is definitely one of my favorite tracks :( i loved how you compared the tracks HAJSAH i burst out laughing bc yk what, you're right! i want to make a star lost edit of skz but i simply do not have the time i want to cry. i love the song so much. ok, my dreaded track, red lights. idt i have played the track since we last talked. my friend sent me the lyrics tho and i'm itching to write a twisted au out of it. idk if you're comfortable with yandere but somewhere along those themes. the obsessive type of love that's sweet at first but turns rotten. IMAGINE IF THEY PUT GONE AWAY BETWEEN ASHJA it's like going from 50 shades to the notebook.

i was about to ask if you lived near the coast and you literally mentions it here god im so stupid. yes i LOOOOOOOOOVE beaches so much. living in an archipelago is fun :( i live in a part of the country that's more island than city so every time i want some vitamin sea it's accessible. i heard the waves in australia are great :( anYWHOOO gone away :(( every time it plays im compelled to skip it because it makes me sAD AND NOWADAYS I DONT HAVE THE TIME TO BE SAD. contrary to you, i dislike my quiet moods because i tend to overthink a lot.

i have this little analogy about how there are stays that enjoy songs the generic pop + mellow songs and then there are other stays that enjoy the noisy tracks. in my mind, it's like a perfect balance that makes me feel like all the tracks are loved in the end. just by different people.

PULL A BLINK. bro i fucking hate yg entertainment. they have the biggest kpop girl group LOCKED in their basement when they could be (and i mean this in the most business-like way not morally) milking money of the quad. they're yg's biggest hope at not being bankrupt atm so it's a damn fucking mystery to me as to how they aren't doing anything. (jk i just realized lisa solo album soon, but i still need a ot4 cb hELLO)

i stopped looking forward to the teasers. rest > kpop boys. i don't want to sound like a cult member but have you tried checking out nct? are they just not your thing? (i get it tho, that's one hard group to get into). and yes i do stan enhypen!

wow i love how long these asks are! they're like online penpals. but i also want to ask about you! how have you been lately? are you feeling okay both mentally and physically? how's the weather there? do you have anything that you want to talk about? maybe an interesting book you read? feel free to bring up anything you want to share! i'm getting conscious about talking about myself HAJHSJ

and yet another long answer B) i am sooo sorry T___T should these ask exchanges feel draining to you, feel free to stop sending them in AAAA

#toff.asks #wild anon 🐺

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derangedhyena-zoids · 4 years ago

Text

I guess now that I featured The Kids in something I can elaborate on them and everything related slightly without seeming completely insane. BIG HEADCANON BLATHER TIME: Raven and Ryss had 2 kids, both boys.

Ryss wasn’t a terribly good mother. She loved her kids but was a little panicked about them at all times, and didn’t really like the distraction they were. Specula was a good mother and did the majority of keeping them out of trouble.

They were also psychic as fuck, but that didn’t show up until they were hitting puberty. I’m sure that was an entire Time.

Ryss literally didn’t think she could get pregnant by Raven. She based this off of both what she’d been taught by Hiltz (humans=/=Zoidians) and the fact that Fiona had never been pregnant despite sleeping with Van for years*. So, once Ryss figured out she was pregnant**, telling Raven was a bit of an event because Raven was under the impression that such a thing wasn’t possible. He also had little interest in being a parent. Ryss also had no idea what pregnancy even entailed for a Zoidian, and neither did Fiona. Again, all she knew was what she’d learned from Hiltz, and it wasn’t as if he went out of his way to teach her the finer points of anything. (Knowledge is power after all, and he wanted wanted to hold as much power over her as possible. What she didn’t know to begin with, she couldn’t know was being withheld. All she knew from Hiltz on the topic was Zoidian pregnancies are of a greater duration than human pregnancies - mainly because he’d irritably snapped about how ‘the vermin’ reproduce faster.) Raven’s main reluctance about parenting had to do with... you know, his massive unresolved parental trauma. Which after some extreme stress he and Ryss managed to work through, largely because they had a lot in common in this department. Afterwards Raven warmed up to the idea of being a father, and was... well, Okay.jpg at it. Let’s just say he had Shadow helping Specula with the kids a lot. ...the kids were raised by Organoids. SO.

An attempt was made to keep track of Ryss and her offspring, especially after Raven’s death and she began to make herself scarce. But nobody expected the kids to be psychic af, and they quickly sussed out that something was up and followed their mom’s lead, making themselves and their families impossible to find. ....

The Guardian Force pretty quickly lost tabs on them, but did know what to “look for”, so to speak.

However, this attempt was never linked up with the information the Empire had on Ryss, mainly because too much time had passed and no one knew to bridge the info.

Anyways. All three Zoidians were aware there were differences between themselves and humans, Hiltz more than most. Hiltz was the only one of them that had an adult level of knowledge from Zoidian times. Fiona and Ryss were literal children and were only ever, at best, taught the very basics about things. Part and parcel of subscribing wholesale to the we’re-the-best group’s newsletter, Hiltz also a keen interest in biology/related, obviously interested in scholars of that group’s discussion on what amounted to Zoidian eugenics. ‘we’re the best, and here’s why.’ Hiltz didn’t even remotely consider that humans and Zoidians could hybridize, nor was he interested in finding out. (though he had well-established to Prozen and the Imperial scientists his “ownership” of Ryss and the fact she was not to be messed with, I’m sure he had to mindfuck and/or sic Ambient on a swath of folks to get them to stop bothering him about jizzing in a cup.)***

Joke’s on him because he fathered *at least* these three:

while living in the small colony with the scholar.

because he, Hiltz, the weird guy, was hot, amazing in bed, and quite DTF. scholar: ... Hiltz: (ツ) scholar: ... Hiltz: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ scholar: ...sure, whatever, what could it hurt anyways ^^^THESE FOLKS HAD A TIME. Unlike with Ryss’s kids, who at least had a slight understanding they were different and some guidance on the situation, any and all of Hiltz’s offspring HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON. And not that any of the fertility restrictions were enacted at this point in time (there’s wars, you live in the wild west, please have kids), but the addition of Zoidian into the mix fucks the inbuilt population-control-genetic-engineering-bullshit straight up, which resulted later in a lot of confusing surprises for people annnnnd is part of why miscarriages became common later down the line.

Nobody expected the spanish inquisition weird side-species fuckery. Nobody even knows to look! By NC0 times there’s just starting to be coherent, unified inquiry into the various vanilla-human mutations running around.

WHOOPS THO: Backdraft & Co have been at this shit for a while and already know a lot about this. Because they have a hard-on for the Empire and a lot of OG Backdraft are basically really rich, bitter offspring from Imperial families who think they’re better in just about every way. Including genetically. When Backdraft became predominantly a moneymaking, black-market, illegal-battling underground enterprise, a rift began and never stopped growing. Backdraft has a strong preference for recruiting folks of Guylos descent (hi, Bit), but in recent memory had stopped turning people away for not being so. Because money. It did kinda... go in peoples’ file though. In the game of historical telephone, Ryss (and Raven’s) bloodline were more or less demoted to the same: ‘from Guylos.’ Alteil was in range of figuring a few important things out. Unfortunately, HE DED. His successor with this information is Layon. Surely nothing can go wrong there. ANYWAYS. A massive and valid concern Ryss had was what would happen with hybrid offspring, since to her knowledge her kid would be the first. Hiltz’s were already adults, they were fine. They were better than fine, they just needed a lot more water and salt than everyone else. So, as we all know, Hiltz uh, actually succeeded in removing a sizable chunk of the human population on Zi. Once everyone had scraped semi-functional society back together, the powers that-were-to-be basically prioritized secure settlements and making everyone feel safe so... you know, they’d have kids. Important for the whole rebuilding society thing. The Zoidian offspring became slightly more statistically relevant during this time, because them and potentially even their kids had all been scared shitless and fled into the hills from the Death Stinger bullshit long before anyone else had. Once there they were good at Not Dying In General, because they had a variety of inexplicable abilities and were just WELL I’M A FREAK BUT I’M ALIVE SO, YOU KNOW, WE’RE COOL.

Greater than zero chance that someone started a cult. Very, very obviously: these folks knew to keep to themselves. Though the original offspring and their mother had NO idea what was going on, over time any kids at least had fair warning, and knew to keep oddity to themselves. When the most blatant expressions of things were bred out, only the subtle but strongly expressed items remained, discussion of familial strangeness subsided. Then you’re left with people like Brad who can basically see in the dark, but thinks everyone can see in the dark, it’s no big deal right? RELATED, BUT NOT: This is technically a spoiler, but not really, because I’m not sure this actually “plays into the plot” so much as it is just “a fact of the plot” annnnnd I sort of want/need to explain this a little because it’s related to all of this. In this hc, the Zoid Eve is a metaphorical hyper-simplification of ‘resources.’

Back in Zoidian times, some scholars - namely those aligned with the group(s) Hiltz was eventually born into - theorized that the Zoid Eve’s power was not an infinite resource as many believed, but actually an incredibly finite one. Not in the sense of it being used up, but the sense of “there are only ‘100′ of these, there will only ever be ‘100′ of these, we cannot add to or take away from this” (sidenote: I subscribe to the idea that the Zoid Eve was some kind of supernaturally-occurring power source that the Zoidians shaped into what everyone now calls the Zoid Eve. They did this so long ago that its origins became unclear; beliefs from various groups ran the gamut from “LITERALLY GOD” to “it was built by us”) The power of it gave life and longevity not only to all Zoids but them too. And it seemed that the more individuals there were, the smaller the “slice of the pie” they received. They began to project apocalyptic futures in which the “slices” were so small that death ran rampant, and Big War would be inevitable. Obviously, nobody wanted this. But unfortunately the group who theorized this also started a huge, lengthy campaign to reduce the population, which - after many years, a lot of societal sabotage and and many smaller conflicts between groups - eventually culminated in ongoing, wholesale slaughter, which led to the big Zoidian-apocalypse nonsense that we’re all familiar with. Cool story bro, right? Well, y’see, those ancient scholars weren’t wrong, though. To an extent that’s actually what led to the hyper-concentration of strength in the DSaurer/DScorpion battle, and why Zero and One are functionally god-tier Organoids. But what this means in modern times, is that the remaining Zoidians - and to a proportionately-relevant extent, the hybrid offspring - are the only remaining folks (besides the Organoids and Zoids) benefiting from the pie anymore. Ryss is the last Zoidian; she’s basically non-aging at this point.

First-gen hybrids? Aging at a complete snail’s pace. Second gen? Still having a very strange time. So on and so forth... Can they die? Absolutely, but it’s pretty hard to kill them. Basically only complete destruction of vital parts works. Does this also apply to Organoids and Zoids? Absolutely. “then why’s Fiona dead” Because the double-bond with Zeke seriously fucked her up. Van dragged her down, hard. “but-” Zeke could’ve pulled away from her at any time and she would’ve lived. Been a nutcase probably, but lived. She suspected it, Zeke was outright in denial; she never called him on it because she cared about him too much and didn’t want him blaming himself for whatever happened. This is what Ryss suspected/understood as well, and likewise didn’t want to break Zeke. “wait, what about zeke?” HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM IN CLOSING: I don’t have names for any of the offspring discussed here, but I have thought about the appearances/other stuff. Obviously. I’ve never specified how many original offspring(s) were running around. But it couldn’t have been too many. So anyone in NC0 times related to either Ryss or Hiltz can trace back to ^^^the folks pictured above, most likely. I actually have no idea how to properly calculate the amount of population vs how much impact a handful of reproducing individuals would have over x generations. So please excuse vagueness there, as I’m both open to adjusting that number when/if it becomes feasible to do so, and also don’t think it’s terribly necessary to have this information nailed down because let’s be real nobody cares and that’s a lot of work. Also as I’ve mentioned before, there’s several serious confounding factors here: -these people can LIVE A LONG TIME. The original hybrids and their kids ARE POTENTIALLY STILL ALIVE. They mature relatively rapidly, but then coast into a very slow aging process. That means that - especially the males - could still technically be producing offspring. -that makes my head hurt and makes figuring out lineages stupid nightmare mode. so don’t expect me to actually do that because I’m not sure how to. The main Facts(tm) you need are: Sara is 4th gen. Vega is 5th gen x2. Brad is 5th gen. Stoller is 7th gen.

that’s the important part, okay. (*’s from earlier: ) *tl;dr the bizarre situation they’d inadvertently created with Zeke wreaked havoc on Fiona’s ability to reproduce. Conversely, Raven and Ryss *almost* had a ‘proper’ setup, so Ryss was fine. Nobody knew this. **Ryss figured this out with Fiona’s help - and who did they both go to, to ask in confidence?

Yep. ”isn’t he-” YEP. ***The Empire knows next to nothing about Hiltz. The Republic, however has AN OBSCENE AMOUNT of information about him. Difficulty level? The data was both classified, and never really tied back to him. Because Hiltz murdered the scholar and burned down his house/lab, the connecting information was all lost. The scholar had moved the material to his house in secret, due to fears of an Imperial spy in their research facility - he was telling Hiltz the truth. The most that the Empire ever learned at that time was that the Republic had “captured” a Zoidian (Hiltz), and that was about it. This drove the fervor which led to them grabbing at the Republic’s continued excavations - eg what happened with Shadow, and presumably them attacking (and IMO, overpowering) the Republic group that’d also seized Ryss. Before Hiltz became involved, Imperial scientists gleaned a lot about Ryss, but as I’ve mentioned before, she wasn’t treated anywhere nearly as poorly as Hiltz had been. She also had Specula, which helped a lot. So, the Empire knew nothing of Hiltz, but a lot about Ryss. Thanks to Alteil and his predecessor’s longstanding obsession with the Imperial military, Backdraft has almost all of the Imperial military’s data from the past few centuries. Ergo...

#headcanon #long post #spoilers kinda?#in this house everything is a MESS

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quant-um-fizzx · 5 years ago

Text

Relenting

Synopsis: James Barnes had always been sweet, until he wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, your mutual attraction took a turn. Now, you can’t tell if he’s playing with you or playing you. Then, fate forces some honesty.

Warnings: Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader. Smut, Dub-Con (Sex Pollen, my friends), Language, (some) Angst, elements of stalking & emotional manipulation. Explicit, rough sex, slight anal play. Literally the most dirty talk I’ve ever written.

Word Count: 5900

If you’ve come here expecting the comedy erotica or angst I write elsewhere, this is not for you.

This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s writing challenge from the prompt: “Just a little more, baby.” (How we got here from there, I’ll never know.)

I’ve labeled this Dark!Bucky, but he’s probably more gray than dark. But not the soft, uses-all-the-bath-salts-when-you’re-out-of-town Bucky I’d consider more canon.

*****

No one can pinpoint when, nobody’s ready to say it out loud, but Barnes came back different. Off.

Wrong.

Might’ve been that mission in the Midwest (of all places to find that kind of cult) or when someone got it in their fool head to send him to verify exactly what the stone status was on Vormir. Your money’s on the veiled gateway rift that sucked him in but spit two out; he’d beaten his wild-eyed spare and flung it back into the void the moment it’d lunged for you.

Chances are it’s not a solitary event, but the culmination of everything. One could hardly blame him if it were.

Whatever, whenever, he’s not the same. Speech now often sly, maneuvering. Manners slipping into predatory where they’d always been soft.

Sometimes, you think you’re imagining it - cold glint like metal chips in ice eyes - that maybe you only see him differently because of failed romance.

Now, he delights in flustering you. Taunting and near cruel one moment. Playful, protective the next. Makes it nearly impossible to get a read on him.

You find, in spite of your better judgement, uncertainty is its own kind of clever seduction.

“Hey, I know this isn’t really my business, but whatever happened there?” Bruce inclines his head toward where Barnes stalks by outside the lab windows. His second pass since you started to prepping vials for transport. Dark, rough strides. He slips out of view and the lab seems colder. Sleek, sterile. Your mind conjures up memories of sandalwood on fleece, in stark contrast to the lab’s xylene and bitter almond air. “Everyone thought you two were a good match.”

You smile, wistful. Mourning. “I had hoped so, too. But,” you sigh, “what makes good theory does not necessarily work in practical execution.”

Banner tsks. “Shame. Ever since you came on board, you both used to get along so well. Even now, he still looks at you like you ought to be picking out curtains.”

You scoff. “‘Used to get along’ until he...never mind. Whatever Sergeant Barnes might really want, it’s not that. And definitely not that with me.” He’d made that perfectly clear.

Suddenly, as if he’d heard you - but he shouldn't have, couldn’t have - Barnes pauses outside. His glance locks on your eyes. You fumble and clink the glass against the tray’s edge.

Bruce shakes his head, gently using a tremendously large, green hand to steady the tongs you hold. “Careful there. Breaking that in here? Could’ve been ugly.”

“Doctor Banner,” you say, placing the final vial in its slot and trying to shift your attention from the man outside, “your report indicated that universal precautions were sufficient for international transport of these ‘classified contagion’ samples. As I have committed to hand-carrying them, despite possessing insufficient clearance to be privileged with details, if it would be best to utilize hazmat gear and airborne pathogen protocols, not only would I appreciate a full disclosure I would consider it your due diligence to do so.”

He nods. “You’re right. You’re right. It’s really an unknown at this point. I’m just being cautious. Using any iteration of the Hulk as a guinea pig is a scenario I strive to avoid.”

“Fair enough.” You click the lid closed, the half dozen tubes of churning red haze goo nestled securely inside. “Do I wait there for test results?”

“Nah,” Bruce says, already on the way back to his microscope. “Thorough runs could take longer than we can spare you here.”

Smiling, you return your lab coat to it’s hook, smooth your hair, and give the station a once-over, making sure everything has been completed properly. This also serves as a welcome delay to going out those doors and encountering the long-haired enigma who has plagued your thoughts for longer than you care to admit.

“On second thought,” Banner says, peering up over the eyepiece. “She could have a prelim synthesis to send back in no time. Their tech is so different.”

Taking a deep breath, you gather your gear and subtly check if Barnes is still nearby. Being off-kilter around him, while handling what you suspect is more dangerous than Bruce is letting on, is the last thing you need.

Being around Barnes doesn’t feel cordial the way it used to. Warm banter that had felt safe.

You can’t get a read on him, aren’t sure how you feel around him, about him.

You don’t love him. Probably easily could.

You might fear him. Probably, definitely should.

You do...care.

Lately, day in, day out, he’s there. Stalking along the periphery, a shuck peering out from woodlands.

He’s charming, affable enough for everyone else’s comfort. He used to be with you, too.

Even in a crowded room, he - sullen growl of a man - used to seem alone. The kind of alone that oozes off a person, rolls out from his shoulders. Used to it. Accustomed to it.

Trust only it.

When you first tried - heart in your throat and skin gooseflesh - when you first stepped up to that guy, part matinee idol, part drive-in backseat rogue, he’d turned in on himself. Tried to force his large frame to disappear. Behind his barriers, he’d just watched you. Wary. Accessing.

But the next time he’d been holding the wall up, ale bottle in loose metal grip, you didn’t have to look for an opening. He’d lifted his chin and inclined his head toward chairs.

After that, the pair of you could be found engaged in long, private conversations. Content to let whatever ruckus go on around you. Foreheads nearly touching. Fingers not-so-casually brushing together. Your stomach flutters at the memory.

Now, his attention makes the hair on your neck stand up at least as much as it travels down your belly, between your thighs. Puts you on edge, mouse batted between paws.

When you exit the lab, he’s waiting. Leans his back against a column, arms folded. Legs crossed at the ankles, pants taunt were they wrap around his thighs. His eyes flick to you, his only perceived movement. “Whatcha got there, Red?” He draws each word out as if puffing smoke.

Your eyes go wide before you can stop them. Left corner of his mouth ticks up, goal met.

The nickname startles you for a moment. It always does. He dusts the name off, digs it out once in awhile, just when you’ve almost forgotten. When you’ve let your mind scab over that single, awkward date. Forgotten how once upon a time, even his team thought you’d “be good together” and made that final push to fix you up.

It had been right after the rift clone incident. If you’d not been so caught up in him - that red warmth that unfurled in your chest - you should’ve known. Paid attention to his shift, his change. The tragedy of it all.

You’d worn a crimson silk column dress, French twist, Replique dotted on pulse points.

He’d worn black jeans and blood-dirt under his nails.

Peering at you over his menu, he’d dropped it down and motioned between you both. “You took this seriously, huh?”

Only just enough to have waxed everything reasonably prudent.

Crestfallen, your shoulders dropped. Clearly, you thought, you’d misread the prior conversations, his lingering looks, mistakenly thought he returned your interest.

Cheeks on fire, you’d started to fold your napkin and push your chair back. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. I won’t take up any more of your time. You may return to the Olympic-level brooding of which you are so fond and I will retire for the evening.”

He’d thrown his head back, barked what might’ve been a laugh. “You’ll ‘retire for the evening?’“ Shook his head. “Red, you’re too much.” He grabbed a waiter - not ours, but Barnes didn’t let that stop him - “Bring us that special and a bottle of whatever makes uptight dames spread their legs these days.”

You sat still, mouth open, staring at your fork.

He reached out, took your hand in his. Seemed to apologize with his eyes. They held yours, sky fading into sapphire. Held you without touching you.

You look up behind lashes. “Dinner is just...we can have a good time. Talk.”

“Yeah, let’s have the Blue Plate. See how it goes.,” he said.

Then, the air had shifted, when he seemed...vulnerable...he pulled away.

By the end of the night, the pulse pounds in your ears. You’d talked and laughed and when he walked you home, you knew you’d invite him in. You’d always known.

He’d walked you to your door, eight-to-ten now-uncharacteristically chivalrous inches between your bodies on the way up the steps. Single bulb buzzing overhead. The key had proven elusive. Always on its ring and placed in the back pocket of your purse, your shaking fingers had let it slip down somewhere in your bag.

He stepped in closer behind you, looking over your shoulder, breath passing over the shell of your ear. “You need a hand there?”

You jolted up straight, back bumping into his chest. “Thank you,” your voice cracked, “but I think I can manage unlocking my own stupid door.” You inhaled sharply through your nose. “Excuse me,” you said, sounding mousy even to your own ears. “I didn't mean for that to sound so rude.”

“You didn’t, hmm?” He hums, breath slipping down your neck and he wrapped his right hand low around your waist.

“No,” you swallowed hard. Your skin on fire under his palm.

“So, you’re saying you would like a hand...” He whispered, smoothing cool fingers down along the space between your hip and thigh.

Limbs shaking, desire and curiosity and confusion swirling in your veins. You tried to find your voice, leaned against his chest’s blister strum. Shuddered as another warm breath huffed over your skin.

“Y-yes.”

He spun you and you found your back suddenly against the cold, wooden door. His face hovered, lips barely an inch above your own.

“As much as I think you think you want this.” He traced your collarbone, eyes burrowing into yours. “As much as I enjoy hearing your heart race.” His finger dipped inside your neckline, under the edge of your bra, skimming pebbled flesh. You shuddered, worried some neighbor might be looking, but unable to tear your gaze away from his.

“Today’s your lucky day, Red. I am gonna leave ya jus’ the way I found ya.” He pressed himself against you, thigh wedged between yours. “‘Cause, if I stay here on this porch one more minute, with you an’ your wide eyes, smelling like sins you don’t begin to understand…” Stubble grazed your cheek. He hummed, words hot and heavy in your ear. “I think I’d ruin you.”

You wanted to grab his hand and hold it there. To ask him in and show what he did to you, to prove to him...to yourself...that this could be good. Special. Right.

“You wouldn’t ruin me. I - I trust you, ” you squeaked, instead. Tentatively closed that fractional space, brushed your lips against his.

He didn’t let it become a kiss. “You misunderstand me.” He moved back a bit, pulled his arm free and ran knuckles down between you, tracing your chest and then grabbing tightly around your waist. Pushed you, a quick snap, deeper into the door.

“I want to.”

Then, he’d bound off the porch and down the steps before the night air had even cooled your skin. Calling out behind him as he cut across the grass, “You aren’t ready, little girl.”

His words play back every night as you fall into fitful sleep.

Now, he looks at you knowingly. Like he knows where your mind was, that shared flickering old film reel memory.

You hold up the vials and manage a small laugh. It’s short. Belies your nerves.

“Oh, I - I have some things to deliver to Shuri. To Shuri’s lab.”

“Shuri’s lab.” He says, mouth moving as if rolling around an invisible hay straw. He still leans, unblinking, trained on you.

A moment of silence as he considers you. Electricity buzzes across your skin. Words rush out of you to fill the void. “Shuri’s lab. In Wakanda. Shuri’s lab.”

His eyes crinkle, pleased as you stumble over your words. “Yeah, I’m familiar.”

Of course he is. You’re supposed to be smarter than this.

Across the hanger, Clint performs his pre-flight checklist.

“Change of plans,” he calls out, back still turned to you. “Laura’s got me roped into filming a play tonight.”

“Okay,” you say, unable to fault her for wanting to keep Clint as retired as possible. “I need to put these samples back on ice then.” You start to head back when a shadow emerges from inside the jet.

Clint says, dryly, “You’re going. Looks like I'm still the only one around here who doesn’t have a Wakanda stamp on my passport.”

Barnes peers down from the quinjet ramp, takes the checklist, and winks. Your stomach drops.

Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Say ‘hi’ to those damn goats for me.”

Once inside the jet, Barnes gestures toward the insulated box you carry. “That it there? What did Barton call it? Funky Cold Medina?”

Of course. Yes, naturally. That’s exactly what it would be. Aphrodisiac Pheromones. Sex Pollen.

The mystery of why evil organizations frequently leave a cache of screw-or-die juice sitting around abandoned complexes for wandering bands of Do-Gooders to uncover is as baffling as why they consider rampant libido to be a great offensive strategy in the first place.

Nodding curtly, acting unruffled by the news, you brush past him and secure it in the cooler.

The plane is at cruising altitude before either of you speak again.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to Wakanda?” You venture, throat tight.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, never looking away from the sky, then answers, “Haven’t been back since Strange showed up.” He pauses, then continues, “Used to have a nice place there. Best view. Sunsets over still water.” Leans slightly out of his seat in your direction. “I think I wanna take you there.”

A smile comes over you, wide and almost hurting your cheeks. This glimpse of how he’d been, hope tingles along your arms.

“I’d love that.” And you would. Have him let you in, return to where he’d been and who he was.

“Sure thing,” he says, voice lilting out on a devil smirk. “I could take you there. It’s...secluded. Make you scream.”

“Why do you do that?” The tingles take on a different tenor.

“Do what?” He sounds believably innocent in the way a prostitute dresses up like a nun.

You fidget, nails scratching a foreign itch on your palms, and chastise yourself, reminded again why it’s better when you don’t get your hopes up. Don’t act on your urge to spend time with him. Your once almost more-than-friend...your wishful thinking...seems gone for good. Now, when he comes around, it feels like finding yourself suddenly teetering on a high ledge when you’d expected grass between your toes.

“Why must you be so...so, crude?”

“It is. I am. That’s the point though, isn’t it? You like it,” he says matter-of-factly, looking you up and down, “Hell, you crave it. And that’s what’s got you confused, all tied up in knots.” He turns in his chair, arms bent and leaning on his knees, casual, is if he was discussing new coffee in the common room or a cell phone plan. “Because you’re stuck thinking the goal is a fella wife-ing you up,” he snorts.

“Hell, Red, you’re still stuck thinking you want a guy grunting on top of you Tuesdays from 9 to 9:10 with a meatloaf pan soaking in the sink.” He shakes his head. ”You have hangs-ups and I’m not gonna play along with them like that boring ass agent you wasted time on.”

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop trying to scare me.”

He blows out a lungful of air. “It doesn’t scare you. That I could just take it. That I could have you - have you in all the ways that you won’t let yourself think you want. The thoughts you kill before you can admit them in the back of that beautiful mind of yours. I could have you every one of those ways. But, that’s not how I want it. Not how I want you. What scares you,” he says, leaning in. “What scares you is, that I won’t. I won’t let you keep fooling yourself about what you really want.

“You know, deep down you know, that’s not how it’s gonna happen. You gotta admit what you need.”

He inches a little closer. “You’re gonna have to beg.”

Your heart stops, eyes unblinking. “You’re wrong.”

“No,’ he says, returning to the controls and beginning your descent. “No, you’re wrong - and I’m a different kind of wrong. I’m so wrong that I’m the only thing right.”

Your head pounds. Stomach lurches as the plane breaks beneath the clouds. “You used to be my friend,” you half-mumble, staring down at your knees. “Sweetheart,” he punches the word out, saccharine-sweet, “I was never meant to be your friend.”

Silence stretches out for several more minutes. Only the engine’s hum, lull and dense, barely bats at the thoughts raging in your mind. Barnes’ words, his presence, suffocates you. Even strapped securely in his pilot seat, it feels like he’s crushing your lungs.

The plane lands in an outlying region.

“I should be back by four,” you spit, container swinging wildly from your fist. The walk is probably twenty minutes from here and you relish the idea of having the quiet to process things.

“Orders are I make sure you’re safe.” He falls in step.

You spin and push a single finger into his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Your services are not needed, Barnes.”

“Don’t be like that,” he snaps, serious. “Just because you’re pissed at me for saying shit you don’t wanna hear, don’t put yourself in danger.”

“Danger? I think I’m infinitely safer out here. It’s Wakanda, the most advanced place on the planet!” You sweep your arms wide toward the city in the distance, towers like exclamation points jutting out of fields. “I’ll be fine. Besides, the plane could have flown directly to the palace but you’re the one who elected to land way out here.”

He pushes his hair out of his face, holding it up and off his neck. You notice the curve, the warm, inviting color of his skin. He looks out toward the trees, calm as anything, like your outburst never happened. “Guess I can check out the old stomping ground.”

Fighting the urge to flip him off, you march down the ramp, leaving him standing there. “By all means. Go have congress with a goat for all I care.”

Mid afternoon, as soon as you break the tree line on your return, he emerges from the woods. Appears freshly bathed in the river, mane wet and loose, shirt clinging to his frame.

“After you,” he smiles, wolfish, and bows exaggeratedly, inviting you to go first up the ramp.

Your eyes narrow, but you climb inside anyway.

Suddenly, coming around from behind you, his hand reaches for the biohazard bag containing the single tube Shuri had sent back.

“What are you doing?” You snatch the bag away, crushing it to your body.

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Begging your pardon. Just trying to be a gentleman and carry your bag.”

“Knock it off, Barnes. If you’ve got a predilection for hearing every woman throw themselves at your feet, you can satiate it someplace else.”

“Oh, I can. Just don’t wanna.” His eyes narrow on the bag and he wrenches it out of your grasp, tosses it unceremoniously into the cooler and slams the door

You watch the cooler as if the door might burst open and the horny wrath of Hell take flight about the cabin. When it remains undisturbed until Barnes completes the pre flight rituals, you finally allow yourself to breathe a little deeper and turn away from it.

“And you wound me,” he croons, spinning his seat into position. “It’s not every woman.”

You roll your eyes, strap in, and swear you’re never giving him the satisfaction of hearing you speak again.

That resolve, among other things, breaks over the Atlantic.

The air fills, flowery. Like a florist’s shoppe - oh. Oh, god no - so many scents it feels fake. Cloying and sweet.

“Wha-What is- we need to land!”

He holds his hand up toward the windshield, water as far as the eye can see. “No problem. Just shout ‘ahoy’ when you spot some dirt.”

You fling aside the belt and run toward the cooler. Viscous sludge flows slick as mercury on the floor around it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Barnes yells from the cockpit.

You start rummaging through cabinets, looking for something, anything. “Maybe I can dilute it, cut the effects.” You open the cooler and pull the bag out. It’s ruptured, the vial broken and plastic cut, or eaten away by the chemical, it’s hard to tell at this point.

“By touching it?!” He punches in codes hard enough the key clanks echo. “Stop, just - just wait. Wait two seconds until I can find out what’s what.”

You fling the near empty bag at the back of the plane. “You! You did this on purpose!” The plastic thumps, hollow against the metal door. A roaring, mute thing.

Barnes shakes his head once, hisses between clenched teeth, “You’re the one who smashed it against their chest.”

Then, he cleanly switches tone - deep and clear - speaking into his earpiece. “Banner. Yeah, we have a situation here.

“The package Shuri sent back has been compromised. We’re mid flight, no safe place to put her down. Need to mitigate effects. Please advise.” He pauses, presumably listening to Bruce, then purses his lips. “Nothing? Banner, are you sure?” Turns again, gives you a gauging look.

This can’t be happening. Can’t. You start to shake, knees going out from under you.

He keeps his eyes on you, touches the earpiece. “Nothing. Understood. Barnes out.” Then rips it off and throws it hard enough to shatter.

A thousand thoughts swirl at once. Is it really going to work? How long do you have? What if you go at it like rabbits who just got out of prison and then have to face him day-after-day? What if it works on you both but he resists?

Preemptive humiliation, clawing feral behind your ribs, the terror of possibly being rejected if you, if you...finally admit...

Then, Barnes is there, crouched down beside you, offers you his hand. You wave it away.

“Doll,” he says, soft, like one might coax a fawn to take berries. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sniffling, you shake your head.

“C’mon,” he says softer yet and backing up, giving you space. “Get out of that. Come, sit.”

You look down and realize the liquid is seeping toward you. Some on your leg. Scrambling past him you make it to the other side of the cabin and slump back down to the floor. He moves away from the spill, but keeps his distance, placing himself on the other side of the aisle.

“Why?” Betrayal pours out of you.

He sits down on the floor opposite you. Legs bent and knees up, hands clasped and hanging between. “You gotta believe me, the very last thing I want is something happening between us that’s not real.”

You stare at him. He seems so genuine in this moment. But, you force focus, because this is how he always is, right before he pulls the rug out from under you.

When you don’t reply, he breaks the silence again. “Besides, maybe it doesn’t even work. Hasn’t kicked in already. That’s a good sign. I’ve been around that type of shit before,” he pauses, looking off to the right, unfocused on something that isn’t really there, remembering some horror you don’t want to contemplate. “It’s not always so bad.” He shrugs, picks a string off his pants. “Even if it is, if it is...bad, I know I can hold off.”

You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is soft and his words are kind and he reminds you so much of the man you fell...the man you...

dammit.

He gets up slowly. Checks the autopilot. Eases back down where he was. Boots scuffing out in front of him along the metal floor.

“Did you mean what you said?” You venture. He just raises his eyebrows. “When you said you wanted something real with me-with us?” You elaborate, barely audible.

He clears his throat, rearranges himself on the floor. Stares off at nothing. “Why else would I hold off all this time? At first, sure, I thought you were interesting enough. Probably good for letting off steam.” He looks to you for a moment, then away again. “Then, you just sorta snuck in. Took over. You and your little button up sweaters.” Gives a little chuckle. “Fucking seduced me with your cardigans and ‘Nova’ recaps.”

Mulling it over, you start to ask, “Then, why do you-”

“You know why.”

He blows out a lungful of air. “Because I’m not settling for half-ass. Never had much. But they always find a way to take even more.”

So torn up in your own stupid fears - selfish, petty girl - you never thought about his lot in this. A sob punches out of you. Made and unmade. So many times. Here’s another time, one more damned time, he faces control of himself being torn away.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into your hand. Eventually, he swipes a tear from your face.

He scoots back away. But his touch...lingers. He watches you trace where he’d been, little lightning strikes that turn and shift, then burn. Burns past your skin, thrums in your veins.

“It’s happening.”

“Nah, Doll. We’re halfway home, we’re not gonna do anything we don’t want to do.”

His voice, coffee rich and smoke, settles in your belly. Your hips clench, rock. You think, this must be the cusp, there’s more to come, but you want to tell him, show him...feel him before you’re so far gone it’s a blur.

Hazy want swirls around him, poppies and violets and jet fuel in the air. Your hand sneaks up under your shirt, the rough outline of it juts out over your breast. He’s sitting up now. Licks his lips.

“I can’t - noooo,” you say, breathless. It’s scorching now. Boiling, latent want bubbling up. You pull your shirt off, burning.

“I can’t wait,” you plead. He looks so good, always looks so damned good. “I don’t want to wait.”

His back goes straight. Muscles tense. Ready to pounce.

“Not like this.” His breath has picked up. “Not if you think you can tell yourself later that it was chemicals talking.”

“You want real, Barnes? I’ll give you real,” you purr. Stretch out lythe before him. It’s not so bad, but you know it will be. “I do want this. I want you. Always have.”

He smiles, crooked, but doesn’t move. “That’s nice. Real nice to hear.” Watches your hand go under your clothes, between your legs. “That’s not enough. I could’ve had you back then. Back on your porch. Had you a couple times. Taken the edge off. Maybe gotten it outta our systems. But,” he stops for a moment, seeming to reconsider when you moan as you slip between your folds. He palms the hard length of him. “that’s not enough. I want all of you.”

Electric yearning rolls your shoulders, pressure between your legs frustrating. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” He shifts again, watching you, sweat forming on his brow. Fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t want to date you, Red. Don’t wanna be your boyfriend or any fucking trivial thing like marriage.” Stares you down, blue boring into your soul. “I want more than that meaningless shit.”

Your mind is nothing but the want of him - broad shoulders, his gravel-tired voice, the thick of him.

Skin on fire with tremors. “Anything you want, Bucky. Everything. Please. I just, just-” you moan, a twisted mess on the floor before him. Voice a shuddered breath. “You’re right. I want you everywhere. Mark me up. Show me - show me you own me.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Then, he’s there. Hands holding your jaw, angling you open, tongue a deep slide. He breaks free, swallows your breaths, presses his head to yours.

He’s out of his clothes while you fumble with what’s left of your own. They start to rip. “Shush. Let me.” Deftly, he undoes them, sets you free. “You need to wear these later. No one gets to see but me.” His eyes sparkle mischief until the thin sky edge gives way to black.

Cool fingers slide inside you. One, then two. Curl and pump, wet and obscene. Moments and, you’re there. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna come.”

He doesn't let up. “Yeah you are. Give it to me.” Your head falls forward, clinging, hanging on through a silent scream, wet rushes past his wrist.

“My turn,” he snarls. Towers over your, pushes a finger past your lips, hooks it around you cheek, and pulls you to his cock. Pressure and he angles your face up, finger replaced by thumbs at each side pulling your mouth wide - drool pooling - and pushes the tip onto your tongue.

You give a tentative lick. Try to work the girth of him while he holds you open. “Look at me,” he says, hair a veil framing his face. “You can do better than that. Don’t hold back.”

You keep your eyes on him, nudge his hands away, work him halfway down, salty musk on the back of your tongue.

“This ain’t about you being passive, Sugar. Come on. Show me what I do to you. Fucking treat me right,” he growls, grabs your head and shoves as you gag. “I didn’t spend months coming in my own hand, thinking about you, biding my time - waiting to do this right - for you to barely-”

Fast, determined, almost angry, you swallow him down as far as possible, eyes wet and blurred. Find the spot behind him, between his legs, warm, heavy, and rub in tight ovals. “Fuuuck - yesssss.” He twists your hair in his hands - holding you in your place.

“That’s it. Oh god, Sugar, you didn’t just come up with that. What else you got hiding, waiting to show me? So fuckin -“ he shudders as you massage him more, pinky brushing farther back.

He laughs, surprised. “Dirty girl.” He pulls out, then wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing himself there as he pushes back in. “You got the sweetest goddamn throat.” Thrusts while you run your circuits until he empties himself, head thrown back and thighs straining.

He moves faster than should be humanly possible, unfurls his jacket over the floor grid, and pulls you over it. Wads his shirt under your knees.

“Floor’s hard,” he says, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I only want you feelin’ me.”

“Spread.” He smacks your ass with a sting.

You obey, arch your back, offer yourself. He dives in with his mouth, tongue in deep. When he starts to thumb your clit, constellations bursting behind your eyes, you stop him. “In me. I want to come with you inside me. Only with you inside me.”

He smiles, face slick with you. Straightens, grabs your hips and pulls you to him as he starts his slide in.

You mewl, palms flat and fingers splayed. Try to relax through the stretch and drag, strain to take the rest of him.

He runs his hand over your spine. “Just a little more, baby,” he coos. “Fuck. Look at you. Takin’ me so good.

“You’re mine. The moment I heard your heart race, you were mine. When I made you wait, you were still mine. When I told you to beg for it and you did, you were mine. When I told you to spread your legs and you did it, you were mine.” He makes a final push, fully seated, sharp spark at your end. Holds you there, pulsing. Then, pulls out long, begins again.

It’s everything you ever wanted. He was so right. So, so right and you can’t believe you waited for so long and you really need to thank Shuri for not inventing vibranium test tubes.

“When that bastard wearing my face looked at you, looked at you like he had the right, that’s when-” He moans long and low, makes a particularly full stroke, air sucking through his teeth.

“That’s when I knew. No other man could have you. Even if that man was me.”

His hands dig into your hips. Anchoring you. He holds you open, watching. Cold thumb follows the line down the center of you. Stops above where you meet. Pad runs over where you’re tight and untested.

“Pleeeease,” you keen. You need him. Need him everywhere.

His hips falter, finesse sacrificed to curious need.

“Has anyone been in here before?”

“No,” you mewl, debauched, wanton.

His pace picks up. Harder, slamming, sting against cervix. “I need in there. Fuck. Sugar, let me in.”

Beyond words, you tilt your hips and push back, forcing him in knuckle deep.

“Only me,” he roars. “Promise me. Swear.” He angles over you, spreads you out, chest crushing to the floor. His free hand finds your neck. Pins your down. Breath harsh beside your ear.

“You. Only you.” You come, crying and clenching around him in all the places he is within.

He pulls out. Kisses your face as he lifts you, turns you to him.

He settles between your waiting thighs - surrounds, nuzzles in, taking in your scent - until there’s nothing you can see, or feel, think, that isn’t him.

Then he stills. Then watches. Then breathes.

Brushes his warm hand along the curve of your face. Presses a kiss, pillow soft. Weight pinning you down. He pushes fully back in, his head breaking skyward as you take him.

Hips rolling full - the drag and curve brings him to your chest. His tongue slips along you breast, seeks and teases. Licks and pulls you in.

His hands wrap around your thighs, anchors you, opens you up. Kisses deep and pushes in, until you’ve run out of you and he’s run out of him.

“Fuuuck, you feel so good. I knew you would. Thought about you every fu- every fucking day.”

He stops for a moment, beaming down at you. You realize you were the one talking.

“That’s my girl.”

Then, he’s moves, ruts, whispers faint praise into your skin. Low. Can’t quite hear.

And you want to hear.

You want to taste his secrets and feel his sounds and listen to his mouth on you.

You push up into him, hard, matching him. You explode again, suddenly.

“Fuuuuck. He swells. Rhythm falters. Marks your walls.

After, you tuck into his side, both of you curled up on the floor. His face is finally relaxed, serene. You press your lips above his heart.

“Bucky, I want you to know, I wanted this, I will always want this. I am yours. It wasn’t just the chemicals.”

He kisses the sweat and tears from your face. Tucks your hair behind your ear. “I know, Red, I know,” he says, eyes sparkling, voice sincere, “Bruce said there was ‘nothing’ to worry about. That wasn’t the pollen - that was just the antidote.”

#dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!fic

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 4 years ago

Photo

We are in an interesting point in time when the three major Spidey love interests each have solo books.

Amazing Mary Jane by Leah Williams, which is currently up to issue #6

Gwen Stacy by Christos Gage, which is currently up to issue #2

And Black Cat by Jed MacKay, which is currently up to issue #10

In the case of Gwen Stacy it could be argued she in fact has two titles if we include Ghost-Spider by Seanen Maguire, which is currently up to issue #9

I’ve finally caught up with all 4 titles so I thought I’d sort of evaluate them.

In terms of artwork all the titles have decent-great art. Gwen Stacy is the clear winner here but she’s only had two issues so there hasn’t yet been time for new artists to do fill-in issues or pages. Black Cat’s art was serviceable at best at first but between the annual and the artist on the latest storyline it’s stepped up big time. In ontrast I feel Ghost-Spider’s art is perhaps the weakest exempting Black Cat’s initial artist. I can rarely call out art as good or bad so this is 100% subjective. But for my money Todd Nauck’s work is my absolute favourite closely followed by Carlos Gomez on AMJ. Cover art is a whole other kettle of fish. Black Cat and Gwen Stacy win this for me because Adam Hughs is a god-tier artist and J. Scott Campbell is a guilty pleasure for me.

In terms of writing things are far more clear cut.

Black Cat is by leagues and bounds the best title. Once it warmed up in the first 5 issues it’s slapped hard. It’s characterization of Felicia is superb. She’s fun, flirty, confident, but fully capable of making mistakes. She’s well rounded when all is said and done. Maybe she could be moreso, but it’s absolutely a-okay for now. The book’s concept is fun and has a real direction that allows for variety in the storytelling. We can be at the Baxter Building, the Sanctum Sanctorum or Madirpoor and it will never feel jarring. And honestly Felicia was long overdue a spin-off. She is simply the most obvious character to be spun-off from Spider-Man.

In second place I’d put Gwen Stacy and no one is more surprised by that than me. The plotting of the book has thus far been good exempting one kind of major detail. It uses continuity well and does add detail to Gwen and George Stacy and gives us a rare chance to glimpse Jean DeWolff back in action. It’s so far proved to be an intriguing police/crime story. Where it falters is in it’s characterization and it’s relevance. I know I just said the book adds detail to Gwen and George but let me explain what I mean. This book doesn’t go into Gwen’s head, it fills in details we didn’t know about her. How and when did she meet Harry and Norman Osborn? When did her Dad get injured? Who was her boyfriend in high school? When did her mother die? Oh and I guess she cooked for her Dad which I always presumed but I guess it’s nice to have that confirmed.

And whilst it’s…nice I suppose to find this stuff out…it just doesn’t matter. At all. Whilst not as problematic, this book has one of the major problems Sins Past had. Sins Past actually made Gwen Stacy a better character retroactively (and also kind of a worse character but that’s another discussion). But there was simply no point in doing that. She was dead. She wasn’t coming back. Nobody wanted her to come back. Her role was defined through the fact that she died and would always be like that so long as she remained dead. Sins Past in developing Gwen retroactively at least had a little bearing upon the then-present stories.

Gwen’s affair in theory could’ve been an emotional scar for Peter to bear and add an extra layer to his duels with the Goblin. Not that we needed anymore of those, but theoretically it could’ve served that purpose. This absolutely doesn’t. It doesn’t matter what Gwen was like before she met Peter because Peter himself never knew her back then. Fleshing out MJ in this manner or Mysterio or even the Shocker would hold relevance because those characters appear alive in the present, they interact with Spider-Man. Similarly Untold Tales of Spider-Man gave Peter more villains he could duel in the future, plug in plot holes of his continuous narrative and flesh him out a bit more. That matters because again…he’s not dead. Even fleshing out Uncle Ben could possibly have a purpose as he’s Peter’s role model and enduring motivation. Peter strives to be Ben as a man so knowing who Ben Parker the man was can add substance to those moments. But knowing when George Stacy injured his leg or that Gwen ran for class President just doesn’t. It retroactively adds slightly more substance to like 3 issues from 1971. Maybe that’d be an okay back-up story…but a solo-title dedicated to that shit? It’s just pointless, there is no creatively justifiable reason for it to exist.

And that’s before you get to the problem of characterization. As I expected, Gage’s Gwen is total revisionism of the character. Maybe no one is explicitly putting her on a pedestal but literally the only people who don’t think she’s wholly likable are two creepy football players and the explicit villains of the story. Gwen herself beyond this is flawless. Even things we might argue as flaws (her endangering of herself and her friends) is never framed as a flaw, but instead a mark of her bravery and her desire to seek out justice.

It doesn’t help that this is a comic obviously made by and for the Cult of Gwen that never needed to be fed anything else at this point. Their precious Martyr Princess is the star of her own title, she is the super hero in it, the guy she died to motivate instead died to motivate her. Then that version got to appear in 2 cartoons and a movie. THEY WON already, what more do they really need? So whilst the plot is good, the characterization has problems and just on principle the book shouldn’t exist.

Ghost-Spider is similar yet different, ironically mirroring the protagonists of the titles. Ghost-Spider in concept was always very strong. I never disagreed with the title existing. It’s just that Latour and Maguire’s execution is problem riddled. Continuity and characterization is borked. And the current status quo moronic. Gwen visits 616 for school…why? How is that relevant? How is anything she learns going to qualify her for a job in her universe. Even if the skills are practical there would never be any proof of her qualifications, no records. And that’s not even considering how a character who doesn’t goddam live in 616 is embroiled in a 616 event crossover.

Finally there is Amazing Mary Jane. I’ve spoken far too much about this title. I never had a problem with this as a mini-series…but as an ongoing it removes MJ from Peter’s narrative which is asinine. Why remove the best supporting character from Peter’s story? It’s not like she didn’t have subplots of her own when that wasn’t the case. So on principle this shouldn’t have been an ongoing. And in terms of execution…holy shit.

It’s aggressively bad. The plot is nonsense. The characterization is inconsistent within itself let alone when you consider the history of the characters. The best way I can sum this up is that issue #6 is about MJ going into witness protection because she’s a valuable witness to a murder case…where the guy wore a mask…so she couldn’t ID him no matter what…And the guy knows that.

It’s just so bad I want this book to be put out of it’s misery.

What upsets me most is that Marvel CLEARLY put more effort into Gwen’s solo than MJ’s or Felicia’s. The superior characters get less effort (and one of them gets a far worse title) than the worse character who instead gets more effort and 2 titles just to herself.

Can you see why I hate the cult of Gwen?

#Gwen Stacy #Ghost-Spider #Spider-Gwen #Spider-Man #Amazing Mary Jane #The Amazing Mary jane #Black Cat #The Black Cat #Felicia Hardy #Peter Parker #mjwatsonedit #Mary Jane Watson Parker #Mary Jane Watson #MJ Watson

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mrsbhandari · 4 years ago

Text

Shutter - Part 1

a/n: HI penny here!! so i’ve been writing a lil sumn sumn for @lxdy-starfury‘s wonderful modern blades au, and as i am nearing 7000 words (and am not nearly finished, whew), my lovely best friend told me that it would be good to start posting it piece by piece. so i hereby present part 1 of this au!! it’s not exactly like her manyyyyy AMAZING detailed hc for modern!tyril, this fic is heavily inspired by her hc and GORGEOUS artworks. i hope you enjoy it!!

warnings: none!!

word count: 2k.

summary: It begins with a photo shoot and an interview.

Tagging @anotherbeingsworld ❤❤

“You shouldn’t be excited for this.”

“You have a shoot with a hot billionaire, and I have the privilege of going along and meeting him?!” Nia squealed, nearly spilling her coffee onto the sidewalk.

“He’s going to end up being a pompous ass.” Naexi took a sip of her own coffee, savoring the bitterness of it and cradling it close to her body to ward away the cold. “They always are.”

“You’re too cynical. I mean listen to how he sounds in this interview!” From her bag, Nia whips out a recent copy of Forbes, flipping it open to a page marked with a pastel post-it note.

“You have his interview tabbed?” she asked, but Nia had already begun reading.

“‘I believe there is no secret to success. Everything needed for success is provided given you use the tools to your advantage. I would not have gotten as far as I have today without my drive to help those in need-’”

Naexi straightened her back and deepened her voice, mocking the billionaire. “However, my daddy’s money also definitely helped. ‘Tis unfortunate that no one is born with my trust fund, hm?” Nia let loose a few giggles and turned her attention to the next page, which featured Tyril standing in gray slacks and a black sweater, hands in his pockets in an effortlessly casual pose. He had long hair that was tied back, some front pieces falling over the frames of his glasses. Barely sparing a glance at the page, Naexi rolled her eyes. “You’re too obsessed with him.”

“Who isn’t?”

“Me.” They finally reached the small New York townhouse being used for the shoot. Letting Nia walk first through the doors, Naexi drank the rest of her coffee and tossed it into a bin outside the building before following her friend inside.

Tyril shifted in his fancy shoes, nervously taking his hands out of his pockets and putting them back in. It was early in the morning, around six, but he felt wide awake. He was always nervous for these sorts of things; getting his picture taken, people prying into his private life. Yet, he still had to put on an air of normalcy and professionalism. He couldn’t help but feel like he was in the way, since he arrived thirty minutes before he was supposed to.

“The photographer’s here, so we’re close to starting.” Tyril jumped as a makeup artist gently led him to a chair and began breaking out her tools.

“You ready, Ty?”

“Only if you stop calling me that, Immy.” Tyril locked eyes with Imtura, his security detail, in the mirror. She was scowling, but he knew there was no real malice behind it. “I’m...ready as I’ll ever be for these things.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and checked his emails for what seemed to be the hundredth time that morning. He was so engrossed that he didn’t hear the frantic whispers of two girls close by to the chair until Imtura spoke.

“Sorry, ladies, but who are you?”

“The photographer, and this is my assistant for the shoot.” A tall girl approached the chair and gestured to her friend, who was bright red and looking at Tyril with wide eyes. Putting on a polite smile, he gave a nod to Imtura and focused on them both.

“Hello.”

“Wow, it’s really you! I mean, of course it’s you, I just didn’t expect you to be so...real! Do you know what I mean?” The assistant rambled, looking expectantly at Tyril.

“I...can’t say I do. I apologize.” He glanced towards the photographer, who seemed to be studying him with a bored expression. She didn’t stop when he locked eyes with her, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable under her gaze. “It’s nice meeting you both.” He leaned forward slightly in his chair, hoping they understood his hint.

“Oh! I’m Nia, Nia Ellarious. This is Naexi Carsys.” The photographer gave a small wave before walking away to the large sheet of paper he was supposed to be photographed in front of. “She’s...mysterious,” Nia explained.

“It’s quite alright, you can say she doesn’t like me.” Tyril’s lips turned up ever so slightly, his eyes following Naexi’s form as she set up her camera and helped move the chair into the frame. She was pretty in an effortless way, as cliche as it sounds. Her eyebrows furrowed as she fiddled with her camera, mouth set in a tight line as she took a few trial shots and messed with the settings after each one. Nia silently watched how the gears in his head seemed to turn as he looked at her, akin to someone looking for a specific piece to a puzzle.

“For starters, just sit normally in the chair, to make sure the settings and lights are right for you,” Naexi instructed, looking through the viewfinder and humming at what she saw. Tyril sat stiffly, unsure of what to do with his hands or his face.

“Like this?” He placed his hands on his knees and offered a boring face to the camera.

“Yeah…” she replied, distracted by turning and pressing little knobs and buttons on her instrument. He found himself watching her fingers and a fleeting thought of how soft her hands looked was pushed out of his brain as quickly as it had come. “Okay, loosen up a little.” Tyril glanced down at his body in confusion.

“How so?” His shoulders were tense and his lips were pursed, the exact opposite of what she wanted from him.

“What do you mean, just…” She let the camera fall against her chest and made a show of holding her arm up and dropping it. “Loose.”

“I--” He peered at everyone watching him and then back at Naexi, who cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. Without a word, she pulled up another chair and sat next to him.

“I know you’ve done photoshoots before, but did Forbes not tell you to loosen up a little?” He shook his head. “Okay, guess it’s up to me then.” He tried not to flush at her obvious exasperation with him.

“I apologize, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having my picture taken. I much prefer to be behind the scenes.”

“Too bad you’re the face of the company. Now, look at how you’re sitting.” She gestured to his shoulders and posture, tense and rigid. “Don’t slouch, but let out some of that tension. Lean back in the chair.” She copied him, then laid back onto the chair, draping her hands in her lap. He imitated her, earning a small nod of approval. “There you go. Now, as I take pictures, make small adjustments to where your hands are, where your feet are, things like that. Don’t be afraid to move around.”

“Yes, thank you.” She stood and removed the chair and Tyril found himself at an odd loss. He suddenly noticed that there was an absence in the air next to him, no longer occupied by the smell of her lotion or the gentle swishing of her baggy pants. His heart had soared when she had given him that little ounce of praise and now, he found himself desperate for her to repeat that for him, but he didn’t know why. It bothered him to no end.

“Lean forward and clasp your hands for me.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands. “Good.” The corners of his mouth turned up.

“Mr. Starfury, you’ve certainly been making waves for yourself in many spheres.”

“Please, call me Tyril. And...I suppose. My family certainly does have their dealings in many different games, to put it lightly.”

“Yes, your family has a range spanning across so many different industries. Where exactly do you fit in?"

"Well, I run most of my family's research facilities, focusing on scientific research into soil acidity and agriculture."

"Don't worry, we didn't only bring you here to talk business. A lot of people know you as somewhat of a fashion icon. To what do you attribute your style?"

Tyril let out a laugh, polite and respectful and just the right volume. "I like to look professional, but I would have to shine a spotlight on the numerous stylists my father has employed, ever intent on ensuring I uphold my air of authority through my attire. I'd be an utter mess without them."

"What's an embarrassing moment for you?"

Tyril blinked at the sudden switch of subjects. "Well, one time during a presentation, I tripped on a wire onstage in front of hundreds of people. I fell flat on my face, and even broke my glasses. It was the most humiliating moment of my life."

"Wow, that's so….human."

"It happens to all of us, I believe. People like to forget that those they put on a pedestal can still fall."

"You're a very private person, as well."

"I am."

"Have you heard some of the rumors surrounding you?"

"I've heard that I grew up in a cult, that I'm secretly a vampire… Each one I've heard is more interesting than the last." He waved his hand dismissively and laughed again. “My favorite is that I’m secretly an elf.”

“Do you just let them roll off your back?”

“What else can I do, really? Plus, they’re not particularly harmful. It’s better for me to focus on running the company rather than any publicity I have.”

“Let’s switch gears a little bit. You’re a man of high education, correct?”

“I suppose...I went to Oxford and have a PhD in physics.”

“And you’re twenty-five?”

Tyril smiles, knowing where this was going. “Yes, I am.”

“If you don’t mind me being so vague, how exactly do you do it? Getting such a high degree so young and then running a company on top of it...must’ve been difficult.”

Tyril stopped for a second. “Coffee. Lots of coffee. I also have many helpers who the company would fall apart without.” He stopped again, seemingly to carefully craft his next words on his tongue. “I won’t lie and say that it was easy, however I also won’t say that it was as difficult as it could’ve been. I had the best tutors and a lot of money from my family to help open doors that others couldn’t find the key for, which is why I try and give back as much as I can to those less fortunate than I.”

“Is that the main focus of your research facilities?”

“Yes, we focus on testing soil in areas hit by devastation across the world. Our main goal is to provide relief for those unable to rely on the very ground on which they stand. Many of these areas use farming as their main source of food, water, and money, so when disasters, natural or otherwise, occur, it can be truly catastrophic to these small communities. We call it the Undermount Project.”

“How philanthropic of you.”

Tyril waved a hand again. “I could always be doing more, and I try to as much as I can.”

“And for the final question that everyone is dying to know...are you single?”

Tyril froze. “I...unfortunately don’t have time for love. So, yes, I am, uh, single.”

“Well, that concludes it! Naexi, did you get some good shots?” The interviewer stood and clapped his hands, retrieving the microphone from Tyril’s shirt.

“When he wasn’t nervously glancing at the camera, yeah.” She flipped through the camera, missing the flush that entered Tyril’s cheeks. He never considered himself a person to impress others, yet…

Why does he feel the need to impress her?

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