#SO EXCELLENT AND CRUEL OF YOU TO SEND THIS ONE OH MY GOD!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lennjamin-o7 · 1 year ago

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To Be Truly Free

Chapter 3

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Silence.

“Oh? And why do you say that, Sir Wil?” The High Priest watched him with narrowed eyes, wound tight as a spring. Sir Wil shrugged his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels.

“Well, it's like you said. I’m not from Scywar. And I don’t really know much about the culture or all the… let’s say intricacies that go into the worship of the Blood God," Sir Wil’s coat twirled as he spun around, strolling back toward Hallowlance. All of the Blessed eyed him as he passed. "So, instead of basing it on my values, it makes sense to base it on yours."

"You value loyalty and piety enough to be upset with me when I'm flippant about it," Sir Wil held up a single finger. "And the only words that came out of this one's mouth were both of those things."

He stopped in front of Hallowlance, Sir Wil’s looked down his nose at him with a sly smile. Hallowlance seemed confused, but stood straighter at Sir Wil's words.

"You said he was almost unmatched in most weaponry, even if others are better. So, well-rounded as far as that goes," Sir Wil held up another finger. Then another. "The King remembered his name, meaning he stuck out to His Highness, if only subconsciously. And I would wager that the subconscious of the Conduit of the Blood God is probably important. You said he was a talented leader, as well. And lastly-"

Sir Wil's smile was sharp and cruel as he clapped his hands together.

"If he is from a priest's family, that means he has no connection to any nobility that might try to sway him to their side, no secular ties to tug on," Sir Wil tilted his head. "Meaning those who speak for the Blood God are the only ones who hold sway on his opinion. Wouldn't you agree, Hallowlance?"

Hallowlance jumped at being suddenly addressed, but answered quickly.

"All of my devotion is to the Blood God and those who serve him," Hallowlance said vehemently. He kneeled toward the King in one fluid motion. "I am only his to command. Nothing could sway my heart."

Sir Wil gestured down at the kneeling man with both hands as if to say 'tada'. The King and the High Priest shared a look, before both grinned.

“Also, the red hair is a bonus,” Sir Wil tacked on, “Such a pretty color of red, just like blood. I think it’s a very fitting image.”

"I feel as if a veil has been removed from my eyes, Sir Wil,” King Dante smirked.” Truly, it was by the Blood God's will that you were led to this court. L’Manburg is all the poorer for having lost you.”

“You honor me, Your Highness,” Sir Wil replied with a slightly strained smile. “I’m only doing my best to serve my King.”

King Dante laughed boisterously, striding forward to clap Sir Wil on the shoulder. The taller man’s eye twitched at the touch.

“A valuable advisor indeed. Do you agree now, High Priest Jericho?” The King turned toward the High Priest.

“He…has his merits,” The High Priest sniffed.

“He does indeed. Rise, Hallowlance,” King Dante gestured for Hallowlance to stand, and the young man jumped to his feet. The King studied Hallowlance’s fervent expression. “Hallowlance, it has been revealed that you are the true Child that was Foretold, the Blessing Promised to us. Do you accept your sacred provenance to protect our country and crush the very hearts of the vampires that threaten us?”

“I will strive to destroy them until my very last breath, Your Highness,” With how breathless Hallowlance sounded, Technoblade wondered if he was closer to his last breath than not. But with all the hot air in his head, Technoblade doubted it.

“Excellent,” The King beamed as he faced the High Priest. “You may send the rest of the Blessed back to the cloister. We should discuss how we wish to proceed with spreading the news and how we wish to introduce Hallowlance to society. We need to grasp this opportunity quickly.”

The High Priest nodded and opened his mouth to speak. Technoblade shifted, anticipating the orders to leave.

“One moment, You Highness,” Sir Wil cut in. Technoblade glanced up to see the man staring at him. “There is no need to send them back so quickly.”

“We need time to prepare and plan, Sir Wil. And we shouldn’t keep the Blessed out of the cloister longer than necessary. The High Priest was correct about preventing corruption among their ranks,” The King gestured for the High Priest to continue, turning his back towards Sir Wil. Technoblade felt Priest Jereth tap his shoulder and he turned to follow.

“While Hallowlance may be the child in your prophecy, these will surely be important,” Sir Wil gestured toward the Blessed, though this did not stop their retret. Only Hallowlance and a couple of priests stayed where they were. The King stiffened.

“All the Blessed will play their parts, Sir Wil. It is as our god wills,” The High Priest responded as he assessed Hallowlance, stroking his chin in thought. The golden doors to the throne room were opened once more.

“Yes, but we should also discuss what we think those parts should be, right? They are already here, we should discuss all of the merits of how to proceed,” Sir Wil insisted, leaning forward to try and catch the King’s attention.

“That is…true,” The King said slowly.

“What is important is how to proceed with Hallowlance. For everything else, we have time,” Technoblade heard the High Priest argue as he walked through the doors. He glanced back out of the corner of his eye, seeing Sir Wil staring. A deep frown pinched his eyebrows into a v-shape before he turned to the King once more. The doors closed and Technoblade continued onward, half-expecting them to be called back any second.

The ride back to the cloister was filled with grumbling and curses from the Blessed ones, except for Technoblade who relaxed into his seat with relief. No longer anxious about possible missteps with the King of the nation. That he knew of. He really hoped he didn’t make some grave mistake that warranted punishment. A killer headache was building behind his eyes and he massaged his temples hoping to relieve it. He just wanted to lay down and rest, but he knew that was unlikely. Once he returned to the cloister, the priests were sure to have something planned for him.

It takes a lot to maintain an army. Soldiers are the least of it. It takes medics, armorers, weapon-smiths, cooks, launderers, carpenters, and so many other positions. All the Blessed were taught to fight, as it was their duty. But those with talent in certain fields were ushered into learning a trade as well, while those deemed useless were given the lowest possible positions. But even on the days Technoblade wasn’t expected to sweat and bleed on a training field, he was expected to provide labor of some sort. Because who else would? The priests would never dream to sully their hands with hard work. And they had to be cautious about outside help, as outside influence could corrupt the Blessed Ones.

So when Technoblade stepped out of the carriage, he wasn’t surprised by the priest with a list.

“Technoblade,” the priest wrinkled his nose as he searched the paper. Technoblade didn’t know this one. He was younger, newer. Whatever, he can be Jerry too.“The hostler requires more hands. Go to the stables.”

Well that was…better news than he was expecting. Technoblade didn’t wait around for the priests to change their minds or realize their mistake as he headed toward the stables. He smelled the horses and manure long before he reached the wall the barn stood beside, far away from the Priest’s living quarters. Around a dozen teenagers dressed in white milled about, their clothes getting stained with filth as they worked. Two priests stood as far away from the opening of the barn as possible, covering their noses with embroidered handkerchiefs. Technoblade didn’t hesitate as he walked inside the barn.

The hostler was easy to spot. A bear of a man, he stood just a little shorter than Technoblade. Well toned arms proved his years of labor, and the messy white hair and bushy eyebrows made him look constantly grumpy. He was one of a handful of people allowed within the Cloister, as taking care of the Church’s cavalry was a necessity and required an experienced hand, a job not to be trusted to mere teenagers. Doubled with the fact that the man used to be a soldier, he had trained most of the children to ride. The hostler looked up from where he was tossing hay into one of the stalls and broke into a grin.

Technoblade returned it with a smile of his own.

“Technoblade! Good to see you, kid,” The hostler crowed, his voice a gruff baritone. “I didn’t think they would ever let me have you again. It’s been months. I’ve been requesting your help specifically.”

“Not technically a kid anymore, Steve,” Technoblade grinned, completely at ease for once. He briefly remembered a certain blond protesting against being called a kid, before deciding wholeheartedly that it was different when he said it.

“Nineteen is still pretty much a kid, when you get to my age,” The hostler, Steve, replied. He rubbed at his back dramatically. “Speaking of age, can you give me a hand with this stall? My poor back isn’t what it used to be.”

Technoblade snorted, knowing the older man didn’t actually need the help. Steve was as healthy as the horses he cared for. But he grabbed a pitchfork regardless.

They worked in companionable silence, methodically working through cleaning out the different stalls. Occasionally Steve straightened to give directions to one of the younger kids, voice firm, but not unkind. Technoblade discarded the slightly fancier white cloak and rolled up his sleeves to keep them out of the way. He pretended not to notice Steve’s glances at the bruises on his arms, and the metal band on his wrist.

“One of the little ‘uns said you got tied up to a post yesterday. What was that all about?” Steve ventured. Technoblade grunted noncommittally. Steve frowned. “You know you don’t need to be going and causing trouble, Technoblade. They’ve made that very clear.”

“Yeah, I know,” Technoblade groaned as he rubbed hair out of his face. “I am very much aware of that, actually.”

Steve grunted in acknowledgment. He leaned against his pitchfork, as Technoblade continued to work.

“They sent a few of you off this morning. That was odd. Anything I should know about that?”

Technoblade said nothing, moving the manure out of the stall. He patted a horse on the nose as a kid, maybe ten years old, led it by.

“Fair enough,” Steve said after a long pause. He shuffled the pitchfork in his hands. “Did you get anything to eat before they shipped you off to who knows where?”

“I’m fine, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”

“That is not a yes,” Steven huffed.

“It’s fiiiine,” Technoblade drawled. Steve scoffed.

“As many big words as you know, I don’t think you actually know what ‘fine’ means,” Steve quipped. Technoblade snorted and grinned at the man. Steve rolled his eyes fondly, but it was overshadowed by a look of regret. “And living in this place, I can’t exactly blame you. Come on. The stalls are pretty much done, anyways.”

Technoblade followed Steve out of the stall and put the tools back in place, stopping only briefly to wash his hands and face. He had sweated quite a bit, more than he usually would have cleaning a few stalls. The cool water felt wonderful on his skin, helping to ease his headache.

He caught the bag thrown at him by reflex, startled by the weight. He looked up to see Steve, who was pointing at the burlap sack.

“Sorry I can’t get you more than that,” Technoblade opened the bag to look inside. It was filled with carrots and apples. “They don’t exactly keep a ton of human food in the stables. But it’s better than nothing.”

“Steve,” Technoblade pulled out a carrot and gestured with it, “These are as good as gold. Thanks.”

Steve waved off his thanks.

“It’s nothing, kid. The least I can do is feed a starving child,” The hostler grumped, frown deepening. “Also, are you feeling alright? You’re looking a little pink there.”

Technoblade gave him a deadpan stare.

“I’m not talking about your damn hair, brat,” Steve exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Technoblade bent over with laughter. “Shut it, Technoblade. I’m serious. You're looking a bit flushed there. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Technoblade said, taking a huge bite out of a carrot.

“Aaaand that’s all I needed to hear,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Come on. You’re on light duty. I want you to stay in the barn and just keep an eye on the little ‘uns, you hear me? And eat your food. Those are for you, not the horses. You understand me?”

“Bruh-”

“Nope, don’t act like that. I know you,” Steve started pushing Technoblade toward the middle of the barn, motioning for him to sit on a stall door. “Just sit up there, eat your food, and help out if you see anyone struggling. If one of the priests comes in, just drop the bag in the stall. I’ll be outside helping some of those brats outside exercise the new horses.”

Technoblade rolled his eyes, but sat where instructed and leaned back against the frame of the stall. Steve watched him closely for a few moments, making sure that Technoblade wasn’t going to mutiny, before he exited the barn.

Technoblade swung his leg lazily as he finished his carrot and started on an apple. There were only three people in here, including himself. The quiet was blissful, as his head had begun to pound. The soft whinnys of the horses still in their stalls mixed with the shuffling of hay seemed as sweet as a lullaby. He found his eyes drifting closed as he leaned his head back against the wall.

A shriek had his eyes flying open, and he sat up with a start. He looked for the source of the noise to see a small child on the ground, covered in feed spilled from a bucket. A horse shook out its mane as it looked down at the kid, stretching its neck over the door to try and reach the food.

With a sigh, Technoblade hopped down and strode over to the kid. The child looked up at him with wide, slightly watery eyes.

“You okay there?” Technoblade asked. The kid’s lip trembled.

“Big,” The kid croaked. Technoblade looked over at the horse.

“Yeah, Rocket is a pretty big girl. I can see her startling you. But you really don’t have to worry about her that m-”

“Big,” The kid whimpered, and Technoblade frowned and looked down at them. Hair cropped short, they must have just recently been allowed to be let out of the priest’s eyesight. They were staring up at him, whole body beginning to quiver.

Wait, staring up at him .

Technoblade knelt down, knees cracking as he got at eye-level.

“Better?” Technoblade quirked an eyebrow. The kid nodded. “Good. Soooo, care to tell me what happened?”

“I was just-I was just walking past with the feed like Steve asked me to. And she-and she tried to bite me,” The kid sniffed. Technoblade hummed.

“Try to bite you? Nah,” Technoblade drawled. “She’s just spoiled rotten and was trying to get some of that food, you know? Here, let me introduce you.”

Technoblade slowly stood up, offering the kid a hand. The kid allowed themselves to be pulled to their feet.

“Kid, this is Rocket. Her greatest desire in life is to be the fattest mare in existence,” The kid giggled, wiping at their eyes. “Rocket, this is…”

“...Blitzstave,” The kid mumbled.

“Blitzstave,” Technoblade nodded and gave the horse a pat on her nose. He looked down and realized he was still holding the burlap sack. He dug inside of it and handed an apple to Blitzstave. Rocket’s ears perked up. “Here, give her this apple. It will help you make a good first impression.”

“I-I don’t-”

“It’s fine. She won’t bite you. Here just hold it flat in your hand,” Technoblade directed the kid to keep their fingers out of the way. The kid slowly approached the mare, shoulders hunched up next to their ears. The mare pawed at the ground in impatience as Technoblade gently pushed the kid closer.

Rocket took the apple and the kid squeaked at the sensation.

“See, no problems whatsoever. You’re now friends,” Blitzstave brightened at Techno’s words. Technoblade took a bite out of another apple and handed the rest to the horse, who munched happily at the treat. “Honestly, as long as you treat a horse with respect, you really don’t have that much to worry abou-”

“TECHNOBLADE, I TOLD YOU TO EAT THOSE! NOT GIVE THEM TO THE PRIME DAMNED HORSES,” Technoblade nearly choked on the bit of apple as Steve shouted at him across the barn.

Steve chewed Technoblade out after that, forcing a red-faced Technoblade back to his seat on the stall door. Blitzstave giggled the entire time.

—

It was nearly evening when the guards entered the barn. Everyone turned to look at them, unsure and hesitant to get too close. Technoblade watched them impassively as he dropped down from the stall door. The movement caught one of the guard’s eye, and he nudged his partner. The two zeroed in on Technoblade and walked toward him quickly. Seriously, today was cursed.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Steve popped out into the guards’ path.

“We are to take Technoblade with us,” One of them answered.

“Well, I still need him here, so come back in a few-”

“This is under the High Priest’s order,” The other one cut Steve off, stepping around the hostler. “If you wish to keep your job, old man, then just do as you’re told.”

Steve clenched his fists, his teeth gritted together in a scowl. But he said nothing, simply stepping out of the way.

Lucky for Technoblade, neither of the guards felt the need to drag him around as they left the barn. That was usually a good sign. He waved off Steve’s concern as he left. However, as he was led once more to the gate of the cloister, he started to have his doubts. Just like earlier that morning a carriage awaited him, but without the crowd of people like before. There was no one inside the carriage but himself. That was concerning. Technoblade sat tentatively as the coach pulled out of the cloister. He fidgeted in his seat, undoing and redoing his braid several times. He was extremely conscious of how dirty he was. Not to mention that Steve had confirmed that he probably had a fever. He really wished that today would end and that it would stop adding stress to his life and just let him rest for a few hours.

When the carriage opened, Technoblade’s heart lurched when he realized that he was indeed back at the Palace. It was not the main entrance, but the unique architecture could be nowhere else but the home of the King. The carriage pulled up to a smaller side door, the area seemed to be populated by many of the Church’s guard’s, a few priests walking around the outside. A disciple quickly walked up to Technoblade and led him inside the building quickly, not saying a word more than ‘follow’. Technoblade’s stress increased. He ran through the interaction with the King, trying desperately to pinpoint what he might have done wrong.

He was led to a short hallway that had doors lining the right hand side. Each one had two guards standing outside of it. He noted that each door seemed to be fairly new, heavy and iron. Technoblade was led to the very end of the hall, to the very last door. He glanced out of a window, before the door opened and he walked inside.

He immediately wanted to walk back out, freezing in place. He couldn’t breathe as he stared into the eyes of the High Priest.

The door closed behind him with a loud thunk and Technoblade swallowed compulsively, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

“Technoblade,” The High Priest said with a nod. Technoblade shivered before inclining his head.

“Your-your Holiness,” He choked out, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.

“Come closer,” The High Priest beckoned. Technoblade complied, his heart in his throat. A rushing sound in his ears. He shuffled forward, avoiding looking at the High Priest’s face.

A hand came into his vision, gently catching his wrist. Technoblade did not resist as the High Priest pulled back his sleeve to reveal the metal band, but Technoblade could not stop the trembling in his hand. His heart pounded in his ears. The High Priest methodically rubbed a finger over the metal, causing the purple glow to shimmer.

“There are many within the Church that have argued that I should use this,” The High Priest stated. Technoblade tensed. “They think it would solve more problems than it would cause. You are aware of this.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, Your Holiness,” Technoblade whispered, his voice cracking. The High Priest continued to fiddle with the bracelet.

“I understand their arguments. You have a tendency to stray, Technoblade. To rebel against our teachings,” There was no air. Technoblade was sure that there was no air. Because he could not draw in a single breath. He wanted to knock the hand away and flee, far far away. But he knew it would do no good. “Do you know why I have not?”

“No, Your Holiness,” Technoblade gasped. The hand let go of his wrist, letting it fall back to his side.

“You are a peerless weapon, Technoblade,” Technoblade flinched as fingers touched his face, soft and cool against his warm cheek. The High Priest lifted Technoblade’s chin slightly to meet his eye. “A creature made to do nothing but destroy everything in front of you. A perfect gift from the Blood God, a tool to be used. It is only natural that you would grow anxious when you weren’t being used to your full potential. You were made for a war that has not yet started in earnest. And I have seen you trying to fight against your vicious nature, trying to follow the rules. Your attempts are just so very precious . It’s just that the rules were made for people, not weapons. You were doomed from the start.”

Technoblade closed his eyes. His chest tightened.

“I don’t want to destroy such a perfect weapon,” The High Priest continued, his hand leaving Technoblade’s face as the High Priest rubbed his palm on his robe. “But things are getting more complicated. If you disobey me now, I will have no choice, Technoblade. Better a broken sword than a double edge that will maim me. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Your Holiness.”

“I hope so,” The High Priest sniffed. “You are not to leave this room without express permission from one of the Church. Do not try to sneak away. Do not talk back. There are no more warnings, no more second chances. Do only what you are told.”

Technoblade nodded. The High Priest examined him for a few moments longer, before walking past him.

“Don’t disappoint me. And clean yourself up. You’re filthy,” The High Priest said before walking out of the room. The sound of a heavy lock clicking as the door was shut.

Technoblade collapsed to his knees, taking large gasping and shuddering breaths. His whole body shook, and he clutched at his arms to try to hold himself together. His vision blurred, black spots flickering into his vision.

Breathe

He tried to take a slow, deep breath. It came in stutters and stops, but he persevered. Even though each breath seemed to take ages. He focused on only that. The feeling of air in through his nose and out through his mouth. Slowly, the trembling began to slow, before it stopped completely. Still, he continued to breathe, comforted by the strong smell of horses on his clothes. He didn’t let himself think. Instead, he looked around the room.

It looked like a bedroom, far too fancy for him. A carved wooden four poster bed was draped in crimson bedding. Fine dark oak dressers and wardrobes lined the room which was decorated with tasteful paintings along the wall. A tapestry embroidered with golden thread and vibrant colors lined one wall.

Technoblade…didn’t know what to do with this information. He didn’t have any clue why he was here. This was just-this was too much. He crawled over to a rug that sat next to the bed and curled up on it, not even thinking about climbing into the too fancy bed.

Exhaustion tugged at his body, but he didn’t want to give in just yet. Even though it had been all he wanted to do for the last twenty-four hours. The encounter with the High Priest had him filled with adrenaline. Sleep wasn’t all that productive, all things considered. He had a lot of thoughts to unravel. A lot of things to unpack. He had to figure out what was going on. Why was he here? He needed to go through every social mistake he ever made in excruciating detail! He couldn’t just-

Sleep

He closed his eyes gratefully and fell into a profound slumber. Unexplained amusement followed him into unconsciousness.

—

Technoblade blinked slowly as he took another step. He was walking. Stumbling. When did that happen? Hadn’t Technoblade been doing...something else? The memory felt so far away, lost in a fog. Another shaky step forward. Thinking was hard, his thoughts coming to him slowly in bits and pieces. Like a dripping faucet filling a bucket, each small droplet eventually coming together to make up a cohesive whole. Where was he going again? How did he get here? Where is here ? But even though the questions felt important, he couldn’t bring himself to care as he plodded onward.

He crushed a poppy under his next step. Was it a poppy? It was some kind of red flower. He wouldn’t call himself a flower expert, but he was pretty sure that flowers didn’t squish like that. When Technoblade lifted his bare foot, something congealed and viscous stuck to him. It squished between his toes, causing Technoblade to wrinkle his nose in disgust. The sensation was deeply unpleasant, and the haze that had captured his thoughts popped like a bubble. He stopped walking, and looked around in confusion.

He was in a field, the strange red maybe-poppies as far as he could see. The flowers were as tall as his knees and there were so many and so dense that he couldn’t see the ground through their bright red petals. Turning, he didn’t see anything that broke up the seemingly endless field of flowers. No landmarks to guide him or give him a clue of his location. The field stretched for miles, not even the barest hint of anything different on the distant horizon. And even though his legs felt wobbly, like he had been walking for days, there wasn’t any evidence of which direction he had come from. No path of floral destruction to mark his march. Only a single crumpled flower underfoot. Technoblade looked closer at the flower. The petals were a red so bright they seemed to glow, but the stem and the leaves were so dark a black they hurt to look at. A true absence of color that made Technoblade dizzy. The crushed petals oozed a deep crimson fluid, the same fluid that stuck to the bottom of his feet. Actually, not just his feet. His white pants were streaked in crimson, becoming more red as he brushed against the flowers. As he jostled the plants, Technoblade rushed to cover his nose as the scent of rot reached him. He looked up at the sky, but was shocked to see that the clear blue sky was missing one crucial thing.

Though it was clearly day, the sun was absent from the sky. Only an unending expanse of blue.

“Heh?” Technoblade’s eyes widened in surprise. That was probably not good, right? Celestial bodies disappearing? Technoblade frantically searched for some evidence of the sun, maybe hidden behind a cloud? But there were no clouds. He took a small step back, reeling at the discovery.

“Ow,” Technoblade hissed, stepping away. Still covering his nose to try and dampen the smell, he looked down. The remains of a thin thorny stem was wrapped around his ankle, ripped from the ground. Technoblade reached down and ripped it away from his skin. Small droplets of blood dripping from the pinprick wounds. Technoblade wiped the blood from his ankle, comparing it to the thick ooze from the flower.

Oh.

A root struck like a viper and wrapped itself around Technoblade’s wrist. With a yelp, Technoblade pulled away, ripping the root from the ground. Instantly, another took its place. He tore the plant away from his wrist and yelped again when he felt another wrap around his other ankle.

The sea of definitely-not-poppies rippled, a wave cascaded closer and closer to Technoblade. A violent gust of wind laden with the cloying smell of rot and decay had Technoblade gagging, but he couldn’t focus on that. More and more plants lashed at his feet, digging their sharp thorns deep into Technoblade’s flesh. There was only one thing he could do.

He picked a direction and sprinted, crushing the flowers underfoot with a sickening squelch. The flower’s ooze splattered up his legs. Frenzied flowers seized his ankles, lashed at his calves and tore the pants with their thick thorns. None could hold him for long, his momentum ripping the delicate stems out of the ground as he passed. His white pants were stained more and more red as he ran, the flowers smacking against him as he sprinted past. He winced as his ankles were flayed by the definitely-evil-poppies. The foul wind blew his hair into his face.

He prayed that something, anything would break up the horizon from these Prime-damned flowers. A tree. A rock. Anything to get him off the ground. He gritted his teeth and moved his legs faster-

-and stumbled and he fell to the ground with a thump, his breath being knocked from his lungs. He pushed himself off the ground, pushed himself to his feet-

Dozens of flowers were already wrapped tightly around his ankles, and were working their way up his calves. Were they this fast before? Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter ! Focus. He just needed to get them off. He lifted a hand to grab the plants, but hissed in pain. Panicked, he saw that thick roots had wrapped around one of his wrists, blood dripping onto the dirt. He couldn’t tell if it was his or not. The stems yanked, dragging Technoblade’s hand toward the ground. But Technoblade wasn’t accused of being stubborn for nothing. He growled, using his free hand to claw at the offending plants, trying to get them to let go . He battered away the attempts to catch his free hand in their thorny grasp.

He gasped in pain as the thorns reached his knees, digging deeper and deeper into his flesh. Squeezing tight. He glanced back. He was now kneeling in a puddle of red as he desperately tried to free at least one of his limbs.

The air suddenly shuddered violently. Technoblade was trying to pry the vines that were pinning his thigh and lost his balance, falling forward. With a yelp, Technoblade scrambled upward, but the flowers were grabbing at his shoulders. He smacked them aside, but his free hand was quickly caught. He kept his hands under him, pushing up. Trying to break the evil-plants grasp with brute strength.

The air shuddered again, this time accompanied by the earth quaking underneath. He grunted, sweat beading on his brow as he used all his strength to push upward, weaker stems breaking under the pressure. He was desperate to keep his neck and face away from the thorns’ relentless grip. He could feel the roots slowly wrapping around his waist.

The air shuddered again. And again. Technoblade shivered as the hair on his neck stood up. A high pitched whine came from nowhere, slowly getting louder and louder until it was a painful piercing siren. Technoblade’s eyes watered, all of the plants constricted tighter, and tighter. He whimpered, still fighting against the plants that tried to wrap around his throat.

The air shuddered a final time, and Technoblade heard a wet crunch from behind him. He froze, and the plants ceased their attempts to pin him to the ground. Technoblade felt nausea curling in the stomach as the smell of rot was so thick he could taste it on his tongue.

Another wet crunch, this time closer. Technoblade’s breath stuttered, a sudden fear clenching at his heart. He wanted to look back, to crane his head to see what was coming closer. But instictual terror held him frozen, alert, but not able to move an inch. Like a rabbit hoping that the hawk hadn’t noticed them. Hunted. Even the very slight tightening of the roots around his wrists didn’t shift his attention as another wet crunch sounded. This one, so very very close. He swallowed, listening hard for any movement behind him. Anything that would give him warning of an attack.

He flinched when something warm touched the back of his head, oh so softly. A gentle caress of his hair, once, twice. Technoblade trembled as a warm and gooey liquid soaked his hair and dripped down the back of his neck. He longed to jerk away, to fling himself away from whatever was touching him. Every instinct yelled at him that he was in danger. But deprived of the choice between flight or fight, he froze. His breathing quickened as the touch continued. He had no idea what to do, how to escape whatever situation this was. He bit his tongue to choke down a whine.

Shhhhhhh

Technoblade flinched at the sound. Or, not a sound as it seemed to reverberate inside his own head. The sound clawed at his thoughts and dug deep into his brain with barbed hooks that Technoblade had no clue how to remove. The gentle caress slowly moved from his hair down his neck to rest just between his shoulder blades. Technoblade stared at the ground as drops of blood slid down his neck and pelted the dirt.

How foolish to try and take what is mine, bind it in metal and magic for their own selfish gain.

Technoblade groaned at the intensity of the emotions that were not his own. Fury. Disgust. Possessiveness. Tears poured down his face as everything became overwhelming. This was too much. The rotten smell mixed with the coppery scent of blood choked him, and he could barely think around the words that took up so much space in his head.

The pressure between his shoulder blades became firm, pressing him down. The plants slithered over his shoulders, pulling him with renewed vigor.

“N-no!” Technoblade stuttered, voice cracking in fright. He winced as this something chuckled.

So stubborn, it said fondly. Technoblade’s arms buckled under its strength, the bloody blossoms slithered to hold him in place as the pressure on his back faded. He hissed as the thorns dug into the soft flesh around his throat.

Once more, something caressed his hair, blood now dripping into his eyes so he couldn’t see what was touching him. It was getting hard to breathe as the plants squeezed tighter and tighter around his throat.

Worry not about your iron shackles. I will see you bound by blood very soon.

Technoblade gagged as blood, warm and thick, spilled into his mouth. He tried to jerk away, but he couldn’t so much as twitch from how he was bound.

Soon, my promise will be fulfilled. And you will be perfect.

—

Technoblade woke with a gasp, clutching at his throat. He was shivering uncontrollably and could feel sweat drip down his brow. It took a few shuddering breaths for Technoblade to realize where he was.

Then he noticed the brown eyes staring down at him.

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#Lenn Writes #To Be Truly Free #Chapter 3

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exhaustedstripper · 2 years ago

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Dear Diary - 3.13.23

I used to joke that I only did pole and acro tricks at the club if I was making enough on my stage set to cover a bottle of ibuprofen.

After 5 hours, I walked with 80 bucks and a backache that absolutely was not worth it. My very mormon gymnastics coaches would probably keel over and simultaneously roll their knowing eyes to learn I'd become a stripper. Or would they say..."who again?"

Jokes on you Jen, I can still do back-walkovers. I do them over the stage ledge, landing my ankles softly onto the shoulders of whatever lucky patron I have deemed is least likely to try to touch me or think I genuinely see something in them under that red light. Then I pretzel fold myself into a short series of contortion movies and the crowd either sees god in this contorted pussy or they are so beaten down by their own day that they cannot appreciate the work that goes into folding oneself into an appetizer for their amusement at 1 dollar a song per person.

Since it was an abysmally slow night, I tried to make the most of it by trying fernet, a recommendation from every bartender under the sun. I have tried, multiple times to make good with Fernet, but no more after tonight. Drinking fernet is an uppity bartender thing and I'll not be convinced otherwise.

It's liking sucking down spruce cum only the spruce had a diet of bong rips alone. (What are you trying to prove, bartenders?!)

But, sometimes my shift is slow enough for my to question my reality and try fernet again. A shift so slow that I feel safe to subject the audience to my fantasy set.

Underground by David Bowie, 5:57

Star Wars - Cantina Band - Epic Version by Alala, 2:24

Never Ending Story by Limahl, 3:30

All of these songs are on Spotify. You're welcome.

The fantasy set is not a smattering of randomly selected pieces. Each song is plucked from a movie popularized about 10 years before I'd discover them. (My taste in film/music was delayed due to my growing up poor and only having access to what my dad deemed was good entertainment...i.e. his childhood movies).

Underground, from Labyrinth, one of my all-time favorite films. It has everything. A dry humored British worm, handling life in the labyrinth in the most British way humanly possible. Oh, lost a baby have we? Come squeeze your gargantuan human lady body into my worm-house and hang with my worm family. Drink some tea.

Then we've got Hoggle, who is so rough and tumble until bribed with the correct accessories - arguably the most relatable character in the film. Knows the monarch is a sadistic prick, doesn't want to tangle with said monarch for obvious reasons, does not want to hang out with a whiny human girl, tired of walking, understands that faeries are bad news. Hoggle gets it.

Here is where I acknowledge that Sarah exists. And that's about the nicest thing I have to say about her.

Toby, the baby. Excellent acting for a baby. Smiled a lot, that can't have been easy to manage seeing as though he was surrounded by Henson Goblin puppets and those things were horrifyingly ugly.

Then - the bulge himself. Bowie.

To be clear, Bowie in Labyrinth was not my sexual awakening. In a cruel twist of fate, that prize goes to Will Smith in Independence Day (I hate aliens and anything alien related, but this is a story for another time). But Bowie was a close second. The androgynous look of the Goblin King spoke to me in a way that confused me at the time. I liked him because he was simultaneously masc and femme. To this day, when I see anybody dressed as the Goblin King or a man who is comfortable being femme, I am turned on. I am here for it. Eyeliner? Yes. Shiny pants? Absolutely yes. The mullet? Please dear god let my half white trash roots have their dream.

Honorable mention to Bluto. You are so cute. I know you do not actually exist but if you did, I would send you fan mail. You precious gift to this world. I'm sorry those Napoleon complex goblins bullied you. You deserved better.

My unending devotion to Labyrinth aside - the song Underground happens to be 5:57. This is far too long for a strip club song, ideally you want to aim for the 3-4 minute mark. And, ideally, you want to choose songs that...are sexy. But lucky for me, I have a day job and really work that Manic Pixie Dream Girl angle so people lose their shit when I pull crap like this. People pay me for my whimsy, not just my ass and titties. Anyway it's basically a 6 minute song, which I chose on purpose.

For one thing, the intro takes 19 seconds to welcome Bowie's unmistakeable voice. The song is familiar enough to enough people, without being overplayed or "rediscovered" to where they always stop for a second, letting the memory register. You can tell who loves Labyrinth by who cheers first, and who has merely seen it more than they care to confess by the time it hits them during the chorus at 0:54, at which point they no knowingly as if they knew all along (posers). The song itself is jaunty, and while you may think it's hard to make it sexy, it's got a decent flow that allows for a variety of dance styles that are fun and less physically demanding. The length of the song allows for the girl ahead of me, who is leaving the stage, to gather her tips and me to bop my hips to Bowie's words, by which point people tend to pay attention to some degree. The length of the song ALSO allows me to justify my next choice, sitting in at 2:24 - too short for a strip club song.

Star Wars- Cantina Band - Epic Version by Alala is hands down the best remake of any of the Star Wars songs.

Curiously, the song begins with what we would recognize as the Finale (and yes, I listened to two of the original Star Wars soundtracks, both New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back to verify this). The Finale builds dramatically, full symphony. Again, the customers at the strip club are forced to pay attention - how could they not? There are many things they expect from their night, many things that will leave their expectations unfulfilled but THIS is my gift to them. You may not hold my tits sir, but you may have this ludicrous story to tell to all your friends.

Anyway - the song slips into the famous Cantina Band, a saucy, dance version of it that you can't help but bop to. A repeat of the Cantina band hits, a scoshe faster, bolder before a sudden but tactful fade into the finale. I'm not even that big of a Star Wars person, but the mix is brilliant, and it makes me smile. Therefore it lives on the fantasy set.

Having evened out my general time between songs 1 and 2, I am free to end my set in an admittedly less impactful, but still deserving song - The Neverending Story.

Re-popularized in recent years by Stranger Things, I gift my unsuspecting crowd another memory. I use the legato notes to shift into poses on the pole, so as Limahl blissfully breaks into "Neverending Storyyyyyyyy" I am shifting into whatever move it is where I hinge my right knee and hang stretched below it. I can achieve a number of shapes here, and transition into my superman. A move that is marvelously difficult and painful to hold and yet NOBODY ever is impressed. Please understand, you hold your body weight horizontally across the pole by your thighs alone, you hand does jack shit.

The set may sound ridiculous to you, and frankly, it is. But sometimes, you go to work after working your full-time day job, and you walk away with $80 bucks in your pocket and you have to carve out a win for yourself with something just a little absurd.

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sparxwrites · 2 years ago

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Face Day

(this was supposed to be a silly little bit of crack-taken-semi-seriously mixed with worldbuilding, and then it grew emotions and tenderness and turned into a mini-treatsie on the subjectivity of reality and normalised neurodivergence. as these things sometimes do.) cw mild canon-typical unreality / descriptions of something approximately similar to hallucinations, joe hills-typical weirdness [ao3]

“Hey Joe!” calls Tango, waving one arm in casual greeting as other Hermit approaches. The other’s busy loading purchases out of his inventory into the shulker at his feet – end-rods and froglights and a handful of beacons. His plans for the entrance to his new Decked Out had gotten… a little more elaborate than he’d intended. Thank god for Impulse’s willingness to cut deals, especially since Tango’s diamond reserves are. Well. Generously, they’re lacking. More accurateky, they’re non-existent. “How’s it hanging?”

It’s a lovely, sunny morning in the shopping district. There’s no wars going on, no devs flying around, no elections or resistances or any of the other absurd occupational hazards common to the Hermitcraft server. And, as far as Tango knows, Joe’s build is going great. The last he’d seen of it, it’d been a towering thing, stretching up hundreds of feet into the air out the ocean like some great kraken-beast. It’d taken his breath away, even just flying above it.

So, all in all, the answer should be a vigorous and excited, why, I’m doin’ most excellently, thank you, Mister Tek.

Joe, though, far from his usual cheerful-verging-on-manic demeanour, looks… distracted. “Oh– hey, Tango!” He sighs. Or– it’s not exactly a sigh. More a long, heavy exhale of air. “It’s. You know. It’s not bad, considering.”

Tango frowns, giving Joe a once over. Doesn’t look sick, no obvious injuries, nothing particularly concerning. Other than, like, the entirety of Joe, which is one big concerning thing walking around in a person-suit. But, beyond Joe-typical background radiation levels of weird, there’s nothing Tango can see wrong with him. “Considering what?” he asks, sending the shulker into his inventory with a flick of the wrist.

“Considering that it’s a Face Day,” says Joe, like that should mean something to Tango.

It does not, in fact, mean anything to Tango.

“…What’s a Face Day?” Tango asks, with what he considers a moderately justified degree of wariness. It’s entirely possible this is just some new thing Ren’s come up with, or a new server event, or even just a Joe-specific euphemism for something entirely mundane. It’s also entirely possible, given this is Joe, that it’s something completely and utterly insane.

“It’s my name for when the big ol’ floating face in the sky shows up!” says Joe, as though this is something that is both completely obvious and also a regular occurrence.

Tango’s wariness suddenly feels incredibly justified.

“I feel kind of bad being so down on it,” continues Joe, apparently not having noticed the way Tango’s staring, “seeing as it doesn’t really do anything, y’know? Other than pull weird expressions, sometimes, and grow, and go all see-through, I guess. But none of that is bad, or anything. It’s just kind of off-putting to be watched as you’re goin’ about your daily business by a face in the sky that gets up to, oh, say, fifty foot high. You know? It’s just like– come on! Give a man a bit of privacy!”

Tango does not, in fact, know. “Uh. No? Can’t say I do know, actually. Thats, uh, not. Not a familiar experience.”

“You don’t?” Joe looks at him, the slightest frown between his brows. “You’ve never had a Face Day?”

“Umm. Nope! No, I have not,” says Tango. “And…” He slows to a stop, and pauses, picking his words with an uncharacteristic amount of care and attention. That’s necessary, with Joe, sometimes. Sometimes, Joe makes it very easy to be accidentally cruel, if you’re not careful.

Tango’s not a huge fan of cruelty, accidental or otherwise.

“I would say,” he comes up with, eventually, “probably everybody else on this server has never had a Face Day, either. And pretty much everyone else on every other server in the entire universe. Pretty sure giant floating sky faces no one else can see is, uhh, an… unusual…? A pretty unique experience.”

“Well, I was talkin’ about it with Cleo the other day, and she didn’t say she’d never seen a giant floating face in the sky,” says Joe, in a stunning display of logic. Or, probably more accurately, display of Joegic. “And she’s not the kind of lady that’d keep quiet about not seeing giant floating faces in the sky, y’know? So I reckon at least some people have. Cleo, at least. Maybe Grian? Seems like the kind of thing that’d happen to him. Bdubs, for sure.”

“Cleo’s also not the kind of lady that’d keep quiet about seeing a giant floating face in the sky,” argues Tango, with what he considers to be quite a reasonable counterpoint.

“Ah, but, see, that only works if you start out assuming that everyone’s not seeing giant floating faces in the sky every once in a while.” Joe raises a finger, like a lecturer with an attentive but inexperienced student. “Which I’m pretty sure isn’t the case, given I see this one like, pretty often. And you don’t see me going around yelling about it, do you?”

“Yeah, but you’re– you.”

It sounds rude, when Tango puts it like that, but he’s really not sure how else to put it. Joe’s got a weird sense of rude, anyway, so it’s fine. Probably.

“I’m me!” Joe seems genuinely delighted by the acknowledgement of his existence. “And you’re also you– or, I guess, for you, you’re also me, or. I’m also me? Hmm. That gets pretty confusing. Either way! I’m a person – probably – and you’re probably a different person, and Cleo is almost definitely a whole other person again! Isn’t that wonderful? And we all have our own thoughts, and feelings, and experiences, and so we all start from different places. Meaning, really, none of us can ever really say what anyone else is thinkin’, or what the choices they’re makin’ are, or why they’re makin’ them.”

Joe pauses for breath in his little monologue, and Tango can almost see him physically wrestling his thoughts back under control. “Which is to say, it’s perfectly reasonable for me to assume that Cleo has seen enough giant floatin’ faces she just doesn’t think they’re worth mentioning, y’know?”

Tango’s not quite sure how to argue with that one.

He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. Closes it again. After a long moment, he realises he doesn’t even know what he’s arguing with, and gives up. The only thing that makes his complete word failure bearable is that Joe doesn’t look smug about besting him in debate – just cheerfully friendly and firmly self-confident as always.

“…Well,” Tango says, eventually, and tries to sound as cheerfully self-confident as Joe looks. “Is it– I dunno, nice to look at, at least?”

He doesn’t feel cheerfully self-confident. The typical bewilderment-and-psychological-exhaustion field that Joe radiates out around him is starting to settle in. A handful of people – Cleo, most notably – seem immune to it, but Tango most certainly is not. He already feels like he needs a nap.

Joe shrugs. “It’s just a face,” he says. In Tango’s opinion, no face that’s fifty feet high is just a face, but it’s been made abundantly clear to him that there’s a pretty large difference in opinion here on several counts. “It’s– well, now you come to mention it! It looks kind of like my face, as a matter of fact. But also kind of not. Like, it’s me but also not me, at the same time, you know? And mostly it’s just… big.”

“And this is, like, a regular thing for you?” Tango’s not sure why he’s still asking questions. The answers are in no way explaining anything – in fact, they’re mostly just giving him more questions.

He feels like he’s trying to get the shape of the thing, is what it is. Not physically. He absolutely does not want the physical shape of this particular thing, under any circumstances. But, for all Joe’s philosophising about relativity and individuality, reading between the lines, it doesn’t sound like he’s told all that many people about this. And if Tango’s gonna be part of the Joe’s Confidant Club, then by god is he going to make sure he earns his membership.

Which, he assumes, he does by understanding as best he can what the everloving fuck Joe is talking about.

“Oh, yes.” Joe nods, sagely. “Very regular, actually! It’s got a very strict schedule. Sticks to it like clockwork, actually, which I appreciate. Even if I wish it’d do something other than watch me.” Joe sounds almost fond. “I appreciate the reliability, you know? It’s kinda comforting, what with all the chaos on this server of ours.”

“Uhh. Sure.” Tango feels like, of all the words he’d use to describe a giant floating face, comforting would be close to the bottom of the list. But it’s Joe’s face, so he figures Joe can use any words he wants to describe it. “That’s something, I guess.”

If it were anyone else, Tango would be trying to figure out a way to politely ask whether this was a mental health but it’s under control thing, a cosmic haunting slash curse slash code glitch slash any other Hermit-typical fuckery you care to name thing, or a I’m currently tripping balls thing. With Joe, though, those questions tended to be simultaneously useless, meaningless, and the wrong ones to ask entirely.

So he doesn’t bother. Instead, he says, “Well, I, uh. Just wanted to check in, you know? Sounds like you’ve got it all under control, though. Good luck with the, uh– Face Day, and let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

“Yeah! Thank you. Though I think I’m–” Joe stops, like a paused tape. Once again, his careful manual sorting of his thoughts is writ plainly across his face. “Oh! …Actually. I’m gonna need some more deepslate, soon, for the pinball machine. If you’ve got any lying around that you don’t need for Decked Out, I don’t suppose you’d mind me pinchin’ a few stacks? If you just put it in those chests again, I’ll swing by in a bit and pick them up.”

Tango grins, and tosses Joe a casual salute. “Can do!” That’s the kind of thing he likes – easy, practical, no philosophy. Not that he minds the philosophy. It just gives him a headache. Ties all the little wet bits in his brain into knots. “Might do that right now, actually, if you’re all good here.” He snaps his elytra open, pulls a stack of rockets from his inventory.

“Oh, yeah,” says Joe, easily, fondly. “I’m all good here.”

“Good.” Tango’s grin widens, and he jumps, launching a rocket as he does so to hurl himself skyward. “Love you, buddy! Take care!”

“Bye, Tango! Have a great day!” Joe waves at him, enthusiastically, as Tango shoots up into the sky. His voice fades as Tango rises, but it’s still loud enough for him to catch the second sentence. “And, hey– keep an eye out. You never know. Maybe you’ll have a Face Day of your own one day soon!”

From anyone else, that would sound like a threat. But, from Joe? Though Tango’s brain feels significantly more knotted-up than it did a few minutes prior, his heart feels soft and warm. From Joe, it’s just another weird way to say I love you too.

#joe hills #tango tek #tangotek #joehillssays #hermitcraft #maintagging bc i feel brave and also this seems p unobjectionable #hermits crafting #hermitfic #continuing adventures of 'sparx enjoys rapping her knuckles on the fourth wall bc it makes a nice noise'#if u are worried by the cws: pls don't be this is a very sweet fic #it's also just a bit wacky bc of the fact it has joe in it lol

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kachuuyaa · 3 years ago

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— TRAGEDY, TRAGEDY.

g.i oneshot , gn!reader , bsd!reader

genre ; fluff? angst? i dunno reader is alone though

includes ; mentions of death, gods, you are from the BSD WORLD?? SO TRUE!! reader is from port mafia, mentioned to be close w the double black, hints of chuuya being the love interest

synopsis ; The show is starting. There is no comedy in this world of tragedy, then, and now.

author’s notes ; WAHHH IT IS TIME!!!!! IT’S TIME IT’S HERE IT’S AN INTRODUCTION THOUGH, i’ll make the first meetings fic soon :)

Have the gods cursed you? You were given another chance in life, yet that isn’t what you wanted. Death came to you at such a young age (your life felt like a long, treacherous one even so), but you felt blessed, for the first time. Life in the Port mafia came with tragedies and betrayals, and all you wanted was an escape. All those memories, fresh in your mind, kept repeating themselves in the most vulnerable moments. You were alone, alone-- that word felt fresh on your tongue, foreign, even. How could you be alone when you were prominent to those against your organization? You were popular among them, being their target and a source of power. Surely, they would have laughed at your death, it would only be fair to consider it a victory, after all. Did the gods loathe you that much to give you a curse of immortality, one with all your past memories and abilities intact? Did the gods loathe you so? They have. In the beginning, all they wanted was human approval, yet you spoke words interlaced with spite and resentment.

You were alone. A wandering outlander; one who is reminiscent of the past. Many people have looked at you but not in the eyes, terrified at what you had to hide. You were silent, intimidating by nature. They were afraid of you, however, they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Whispers and mentions of your name were heard throughout the most prominent nations, some even reached the ears of the divine, yet they paid no attention to such trivial matters, especially coming from mortals. Who would want to listen to such musings when they have earned the power to control this world, if you were a threat, you would be eradicated in an instant, no? You were but a mere mortal. Oh, how they wished they knew better. A wandering outlander-- dead in their own world and an outcast in the current one, should be deemed as a threat. Your power and your ability surpassed that of gods, and even though it was a curse, it was a blessing to those who utilized it well.

And while you haven’t used your ability in a while (and directly in front of individuals), you knew you were stronger than those who present themselves as gods. The archons, however, you couldn't care less about, for you only care about reuniting with-- with who? You were alone, for all the years you have walked this world that is still foreign to you, you have not felt a single familiar presence. You were completely alone; isolated, with no one to turn to. This was something entirely different from Yokohama, posters and warnings about you being spread among the townspeople were quite common in your world, really.

You were only noticed due to your somehow sinister and unnerving aura, being quickly feared by many. The cycle begins again, however, minus the tragic backstories. You were-- free. You haven’t felt free in a very, very long time. Death was an escape, a ticket to freedom, but at what cost? Freedom was obtained using sacrifices. Why would you have to live another life with freedom only to be stripped away from it once again? The gods have made decisions for mortals whose desires are not theirs to have, and if some were cursed, why should some be praised? Those sculpted by the gods gained approval and prowess of any kind, yet you-- you were cursed. You were designed intricately, beautifully by the king of gods himself, only to send you to a realm where none of them existed? Was this a cruel joke to you? Or was it retribution due to your unjust acts?

You didn’t care, though. You just want to go home. Do you even have a home? Somewhere to stay, to pour all your memories in? You don’t, do you? You’re dead. You don’t belong there anymore. You belong here, that is the punishment given to you. How ironic, a wandering immortal whose title does not fit themself has no one to turn to. No immortals do, anyway. As the gods have longed for human approval yet were prevented from speaking to such beings, immortals long for peace, tranquility while knowing even a second of that wouldn’t be enough for a long, long life filled with dread.

The phrase “I want to go home,” lands on your tongue quite often, yet you know, even though you hate to admit it, you do not have any. This world-- whatever this was, is not your home, nor will it ever be. Yet, why did you feel a sense of familiarity during your first meeting with the supposed “Outlander turned Honorary Knight of Mondstadt”? During the decades you have walked this earth, you have not seen an impact from a fellow outlander such as them. In different circumstances, where you actually cared for their crises, would you be in their place? It should be quite obvious. You were from the Port Mafia. Their executives were arrogant, powerful, and terrifying. Narcissistic, would be used to describe them as a whole. They weren’t entirely wrong, per se, however, deep in that never-ending, dark, hollow abyss of one, a blooming garden of emotions would be revealed. Under the seemingly unattractive shell you present yourself as, in the rarest of moments, you would be vulnerable.

You resort to repeating the actions you have done in the past. Gaining a negative reputation was what made you climb to the ranks of the Port Mafia, and even if there was no Port Mafia, no comrades insight, you would try to better yourself for the sake of the freedom you were generously given with your punishment. An immortal who is alone will never be remembered. Perhaps this journey would help you reminisce about the past in a positive manner rather than what you long for, no? You won’t replace them, no, never, you know it’s time to move on. And if the gods commend you for that, then, you will receive judgment. You were intelligent, a huge contribution to the Port Mafia as one of their most excellent members-- both in strategy and in combat. Decades of isolation have led you to be a one-person army, if you were as strong as a god then, you were as strong as the gods aspire to be.

A bird, specifically a Bohemian Waxwing, has landed on your shoulder. It was quiet, and it seemed like they did it willingly. Its most prominent feature was a highlighted orange streak across its head, reminding you of a very, very close, old friend. Its eyes held a familiar glimmer, as well. Thinking that your assumptions were far from reality, you decide to let it go, yet it remains persistent. Then, you decide to keep it, bringing him on your escapades. (you named him Nakahara, because of how much it reminded you of him. You were utterly speechless when you sensed content from its small figure.) needless to say, maybe your new biography wouldn’t be so boring.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fics #genshin fics #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #xiao x reader #dainsleif x reader #zhongli x reader #albedo x reader #kazuha x reader #childe x reader #venti x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact headcanons #mai-fics?!#bsd!reader

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koulakoukoula2003 · 4 years ago

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Impatience (Levi x Reader)

Pairing: Levi x Reader, Levi x You

Genre: Fluff (soooooo much fluffffff)

Word Count: 1199

A/N: Hellooooo fellow Levi hoes, here’s a fluffy scene between you and Levi. Been wondering, when Historia became Queen and got Levi into saving the orphans of the Underground, how cute was he going to look holding one of those orphans in his arms... 😳 Oh my God... Anyways! The two of you are already in a relationship, so just, enjoy! 😘

You were in the Underground -a place the two of you hadn’t visited in so long- and Queen Historia was leading the way. She was in a carriage riding ahead. Of course, Levi and (y/n) were on the front to lead them through the streets of the place that you two grew up in. A bunch of MPs were all around, making sure to help and protect their Queen from the scums that lurked around in the Underground. The smell of moisture was all too familiar. Both (y/n) and Levi couldn’t help staring all around the place. You hadn’t visited that place ever since Erwin came and dragged you both out of there.

Too many bad memories. You recognised the streets. Children were lying all around. Abandoned and starving. Despair in their eyes. Their bones almost sticking out from the lack of tissue. Levi raised his hand, signalling the MPs to stop, and Historia stuck her head out of the carriage.

“We’re here, your Majesty,” Levi informed her. He had to admit, it was weird calling that brat like this, but he got used to it faster than he expected.

“Excellent, Captain, Lieutenant,” Historia jumped out of her carriage and the MP officer approached her right away.

“Uh- Ma’am! I suggest that you stay within the carriage. You will be safer that way,” The man said nervously. Historia frowned and parted her lips to throw something utterly rude on the officer’s way, but you unmounted your horse, and you approached the two.

You placed a hand on Historia’s shoulder. “No need to worry, officer, we’ll be keeping an eye on her. Besides, there’s no criminal in the Underground that doesn’t fear Captain Levi, I assure you,”

Historia smirked. “Exactly. Now quit trying to order around your Queen, and let’s get to work,” Historia said. An authoritative and stern tone in her voice that could’ve scared the highest-ranking officers trembling. Your eyes widened. You were impressed.

“U- Uh, yes, your Majesty! I- I wasn’t trying to- M- My apologies!” The young man stuttered before he set off to get to work right away.

Once the two of you were left alone, you laughed and squeezed Historia in a side-hug. Your hand reached for Historia’s hair, caressing gently. “I’m so damn proud of you!”

Historia giggled and overly enjoyed the way you were messing her hair. “Thanks, (y/n)!” She managed to escape your hug and she turned and looked around her. “Let’s see what we got here,”

The MP officers, Historia, Levi and (y/n) set off to pick up the children, load them in the empty cart and take them out of that horrible place. The construction of the orphanages was going well, and Historia didn’t want to any more prolong saving those kids. She had to save them, and she had to do it fast.

You knelt in front of a little boy. He must have been around three to four years old. He flinched right away when you approached him, as if he was afraid that you were going to hurt him. That reaction was more than understandable. You were once the same. A scared, bony little child, tossed into a cruel world, wallowing in fear and despair.

“It’s alright,” You said and you gave him the sweetest smile you could manage. You knelt down, close to his height. “I’m (y/n). What is your name?”

He examined you with those huge, innocent, deep brown eyes of his for a moment. “S- Shawn,”

“Well, Shawn, it’s very nice to meet you. Are you hungry?” You asked. The boy was scared, but hearing of food, that fear slowly started to subside. The boy nodded and your hand reached for your pocket beneath your green, Survey Corps cloak. You took out a cracker. You opened and handed it to him. “There you go,”

Shawn stared at the cracker. He didn’t even bother to catch it. He lifted both of his little hands up, allowing you to pick him. You smiled as you handed him the cracker, and then you lifted him up and settled him in your arms. He was so light, it almost worried you, but he started munching on the cracker hungrily. He had consumed it before you knew it.

You tried to leave him back down on the cart where the rest of the children were and Historia was offering them food, but he did not want to get off of you. Shawn just buried his face in your neck. His little hands clutched on your clothes and he remained silent in you embrace. All you could do was smile. You pressed a kiss on his little temple.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now. We’ve got you,” You said, trying to reassure him, but his little fingers only tightened around your shirt. “Alright, I’ll hold you a little bit more,” You promised and you turned around only to see Levi with a little girl in his arms.

The sight melted your heart right away. The little girl was in a white, dirty, ragged gown. She had blonde, messy long hair. She too had finished eating the cracker that Levi had given her, and she was now sucking on her thumb. She must’ve been a three-year-old. She was the definition of cute.

“Oi, brat,” Levi’s one hand reached for the little girl’s and he pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “No sucking on your fingers. They’re dirty,”

The girl just looked up at him, with those large honey eyes and she tucked her finger back in her mouth. Levi sighed. He should’ve known better than to try to reason with a three-year-old.

Your sweet laughter reached his ears and he finally lifted his attention on you. He almost forgot how to breathe. You had a little boy in your arms, and that boy was clutching on your shirt and he was burying his face in your neck. Your hands supported this little body against your chest and the boy had closed his eyes, enjoying every second he spent in your arms.

You were so wonderful, there, holding and talking, and treating that little kid as if it was your own. Levi couldn’t get his eyes off of you. He could almost imagine you in one of your white, baggy gowns, and a baby boy in your arms. One that would have the raven colour of his hair, but your eyes.

Levi tried his best to snap out of the beautiful picture that he had in his mind as the two of you finally settled the little ones on the cart, but he couldn’t stop himself. A warm arm slipped around your waist, and he forced your back to crush against his chest. Dry, soft lips pressed a kiss against your cheek from behind and his breath brushed against your ear warmly as he spoke.

“I can’t wait to have one of our own,”

You giggled. A bright blush spread across your cheeks and you let her head rest back on his shoulder. You nuzzled your nose in his neck and you smiled, closing your eyes briefly.

“Me neither,”

A/N: Ooffffff there it is! Y’all feel free to reblog just send a few follows and notes on my way! Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think! This is a scene from my actual Levi x OC fic on ao3, I just changed it slightly so that it can stand on its own 🥰

#snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi ackerman #leviackerman #levi x you #levi x reader #levi x y/n #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #levi x oc

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annecoulmanross · 4 years ago

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Top Ten Historical Figures Done Dirty by The Terror (2018)

So, we all know and love Dave Kajganich and Soo Hugh’s beautiful show, right? Of course. But it’s important to set the historical record straight, especially when there are real people’s life-stories and legacies on the line.

(NOTE: this list is biased heavily toward upper-class individuals because the historical record does a better job preserving those voices for us. Was the real Cornelius Hickey as nasty a person in real life as he was in the show? Almost certainly not – which is why we’re given “E.C.” as a nod to the fact that we shouldn’t assume these characters represent real historical villains, even when the narrative makes them antagonists; HOWEVER, not everyone in the show was given the same courtesy as the OG “Cornelius Hickey.” Which is why this post exists – to show you the best sides of some people you might not otherwise appreciate for their full humanity. That being said, keep in mind the sources used – and, for instance, who has surviving portraits and who doesn’t.)

Thus, below the cut, I give you this list, (mostly) in order from #10 (honorable mention, only somewhat slandered) to #1 (most hideously maligned) – my list of characters from The Terror who deserved better.

(Please don’t take this too seriously – I know there are reasons why choices had to be made in order to make this show work on television, and I do very much love the end product. But I also genuinely think it’s a good idea to remember the real people behind these characters, and think critically about how we depict them ourselves.)

Bottom Tier – The Overlooked Men of the Franklin Expedition

#10. Richard Wall – & – John Diggle

We’re combining these two because they had a lot in common, historically speaking! Both were polar veterans, having served as a Cook (Wall) and an AB-then-Quartermaster (Diggle) on HMS Erebus under the command of Sir James Clark Ross in the Antarctic expedition of 1839-1843. Certainly we do get some good scenes with them in the show, but there was plenty more to explore there – for instance, Captain Ross was apparently so taken with Richard Wall that he hired him on as a private cook after the Antarctic expedition. (One imagines that Sir James may have regretted letting his friends of the Franklin expedition steal Wall out from under him.)

(If you want some more information on Diggle, the brilliant @handfuloftime found this excellent article on him – fun facts include the detail that Diggle’s only daughter bore the name Mary Ann Erebus Diggle.)

#9. John Smart Peddie

Now, I don’t think we should go as far as the Doctor Who Audio Drama adaptation of the Franklin Expedition, which makes Peddie into Francis Crozier’s oldest friend, someone “almost like a brother” to Crozier (no evidence of ANY prior relationship between the two existed, contrary to whatever the Doctor Who Audio Dramas would have you believe!) but Peddie probably earned his place as chief surgeon, however fond we may all be of the beautiful Alex “Macca” MacDonald, who was, in fact, the Assistant Surgeon, historically speaking. It’s hard to find information about Peddie, but someone should go looking! I want to know about this man!

(If you want to know more about the historical Alexander MacDonald, there’s a short biographical article on him from Arctic that you can read here.)

#8 James Walter Fairholme

The only one of the expedition’s lieutenants who doesn’t really get any characterization in the show, which is a travesty! The historical Fairholme (pronounced “Fairem”) was, as they say, a himbo, and the letters that he wrote home to his father are positively precious. He loved the expedition pets (lots of kisses for Neptune!), and he needed two kayaks because he couldn’t fit into just one with his beefy thighs. Fitzjames loaned him a coat when all the Erebus officers had their portraits taken, and then called him a “smart, agreeable companion, and a well informed man,” and Goodsir singled Fairholme out as “very much interested” in the work of naturalist observations. Just a lovely young man who could have gotten some screen time, you know?

(Also, as @transblanky discovered, four separate members of the Fairholme family gave money to Thomas Blanky’s widow when she was struggling financially in the 1850s, making them, combined, the most generous contributor to her subscription.)

Middle Tier – Franklin’s Men Who Didn’t Deserve That

#7. William Gibson

Alright, I want to talk about how uniquely horrible the show’s William Gibson is: this is a character willing to lie and accuse his partner of sexual assault that didn’t happen. I get there were extenuating circumstances, but if I were a historical figure who died in some famous disaster and someone depicted me doing something like that? Let’s just say I’m deeply offended on the real Gibson’s behalf.

What do we know about the historical William Gibson? Not much – but we know a little. Gibson’s younger brother served on an overland exploratory venture across Australia in the 1870s… from which he never returned. (God, the Gibson family had the worst luck?) This description of a conversation that young Alf Gibson had with expedition leader Ernest Giles only days before his death is VERY eerie:

[Gibson] said, “Oh! I had a brother who died with Franklin at the North Pole, and my father had a deal of trouble to get his pay from government.” He seemed in a very jocular vein this morning, which was not often the case, for he was usually rather sulky, sometimes for days together, and he said, “How is it, that in all these exploring expeditions a lot of people go and die?”

I said, “I don't know, Gibson, how it is, but there are many dangers in exploring, besides accidents and attacks from the natives, that may at any time cause the death of some of the people engaged in it; but I believe want of judgment, or knowledge, or courage in individuals, often brought about their deaths. Death, however, is a thing that must occur to every one sooner or later.”

To this he replied, “Well, I shouldn't like to die in this part of the country, anyhow.” In this sentiment I quite agreed with him, and the subject dropped.

(From Giles’s Australia Twice Traversed which you can read here)

Beyond that, one thing we do know is that William Gibson was probably friends with Henry Peglar – they had served on ships together before, and Gibson may possibly have been the poor fellow found cradling the Peglar Papers, according to researcher Glenn Stein. So we might imagine the historical Gibson as a much kinder man than the show’s depiction of him – this was someone who befriended the clever, playful Peglar we all know and love from the transcriptions of his papers, so full of poetry and linguistic jokes. It’s a shame we didn’t get a chance to meet this real Gibson, who actually knew the Henry Peglar whom we love so well.

#6. Stephen Stanley

Look. There’s that one famous line in James Fitzjames’s letters to the Coninghams about how Stanley went about with his “shirt sleeves tucked up, giving one unpleasant ideas that he would not mind cutting one’s leg off immediately – ‘if not sooner.’” And certainly Harry Goodsir had some mixed opinions of the man, saying was “a would be great man who as I first supposed would not make any effort at work after a time,” and that he “knows nothing whatever about subject & is ignorant enough of all other subjects,” whatever…. that means….

But Fitzjames also had some rather nicer things to say about him, that he was “thoroughly good natured and obliging and very attentive to our mess.” Also, the amputation comment? Very likely had a quite positive underlying joke to it – Stanley may not have been much of a naturalist, but he was actually an accomplished anatomist, who won a prize for dissection in 1836, on account of his “bend of the elbow,” which was “a picture of dissection,” according to Henry Lonsdale, who also called Stanley his “facetious friend” and “a fine fellow” (Lonsdale 1870, pg. 159). So, the real Stanley probably was rather droll, but the perpetually cruel Stanley of the show misses some of the real man’s major historical virtues and replaces them with historically unlikely mass-mercy-murder.

#5. John Irving

Now we’re getting into the territory of characters who did get some good development, but are missing a bit of historical nuance. As I’m sure many of you know, the historical Irving was indeed very religious, but the flashes of anger (i.e. against Manson) we see from Irving in the show don’t seem terribly consistent with the Irving depicted in this memorial volume, where John seems more like a quiet, bookish, mathematically inclined young man, with a self-deprecating sense of humor and a gentle sweetness. It’s really not at all far off from the version of Irving we see with Kooveyook in the show – I just wish we could have seen more of that side of Irving.

Top Tier – The Triumvirate of Polar Friends

So, these three DO have many good things to recommend them in the show, but because I’ve done such deep research on them, it can be quite jarring to watch certain scenes in which they behave contrary to their historical personalities, and I find myself pausing when watching the show with friends or family to explain that NO, they wouldn’t do that!

#4. Sir James Clark Ross

First thing – we LOVE Richard Sutton. He did a beautiful job with the material given to him. (This is true of all the actors on the list, frankly, but it’s doubly true here.) But that scene at the Admiralty where Sir James tells Lady Franklin “I have many friends on those ships, as you know,” to shut down her argument for search missions? At that time (aka 1847), historically, Sir James Clark Ross was actively campaigning for search missions, planning routes and volunteering his services in command of any vessel the Admiralty even vaguely contemplated sending out. You could see this real-life desperation in Sir James’s morose attention to his whiskey glass in that scene if you’re really trying, but I think the more historically responsible thing would have been to make vividly clear that James Ross risked life and limb, as soon as he possibly could, to try to rescue Franklin and Crozier and Blanky, men he’d known and cared about and bitterly missed – and, in the case of Crozier, “truly loved.”

#3. Sir John Franklin

The historical Franklin had plenty of flaws – his contributions to British colonial rule certainly harmed no small number of people, and we should question the way that heroic statues of Franklin are some of the only memorials that serve to honor the lives lost on Franklin’s expeditions – especially considering the steep body count of not only Franklin’s final voyage, but his previous missions in Arctic regions as well. (DM me and I’ll scream at you about counter-monuments! Is this a promise or a threat? Who knows!) With that said, most contemporary accounts agree that Sir John Franklin treated his friends, his family, and those within his social orbit with kindness, and his cruelties were systemic, not personal. In this light, the image of Sir John viciously tearing into Francis Crozier’s vulnerabilities in the show feels very off. Though there was certainly some friction over Crozier’s two proposals to Sophia Cracroft, historically speaking, there’s no evidence at all that Sir John discouraged her from marrying Francis – Sophia may have had many reasons of her own (*clears throat meaningfully in a lesbian sort of way*) for not accepting any of the several marriage proposals offered to her (from Crozier as well as from others), and we ought to keep in mind that she remained unmarried all her life. The notion that the real Sir John would have considered Crozier too low-born or too Irish to be part of the Franklin family isn’t grounded in historical fact.

#2. Lady Jane Franklin

Again disclaimer: the real Lady Franklin left behind a legacy with much to critique. Those who rightfully point out the racism of her treatment of the young indigenous Tasmanian girl Mathinna should be fully heard out. Observations of her own contributions to imperialism are important and valid. Though I tend to see her feud with Dr. John Rae as somewhat understandable – given that Lady Franklin didn’t have the benefit of our hindsight knowing Rae was correct – the levels of prejudice that she enabled and even encouraged in the writing of Charles Dickens when he attempted to discredit Inuit accounts of Franklin’s fate are inarguably deplorable. These things being said, everything noted for Sir John re: Sophia Cracroft goes for Lady Franklin as well – there’s no reason to imagine a scene where Jane would bully Francis Crozier within an inch of his life, seconds after a failed second proposal, when, historically, Lady Franklin felt the situation was so delicate that it required the quiet and compassionate intervention of Sir James Clark Ross, a dearly loved mutual friend to all parties. Tension does not imply aggression; conflict is not abuse. We know this can’t have been an easy experience for the historical Francis Crozier, but the picture is a lot more complicated than what can be shown in one small subplot of a ten-episode television show. Because of this complexity, however, Lady Franklin’s social deftness suffers in the show. (I could also write an entire essay about Jane Franklin’s last shot in the show, at the beginning of Episode 9: The C the C the Open C – TL;DR is that framing is very important, and, at the very last moment, the show reframes Lady Franklin as a mutilated corpse, a speaking mouth without a brain, which is….. a choice.)

And, at number 1, the person done most dirty by The Terror (2018) is….

#1. Charles Frederick “Freddy” Des Voeux

Look. I’m biased here because I am fed daily information about the historical Freddy Des Voeux from @frederickdesvoeux so I’ve become, I think understandably, a bit attached.

But this is very plainly the clearest cruelty the show does to a historical figure – the historical Des Voeux was a very young man (only around 20 when the ships set sail) known always as “Frederick or Freddy” to his family, and described by all parties as bright and sweet – Fitzjames said that he was “a most unexceptionable, clever, agreeable, light-hearted, obliging young fellow, and a great favourite of Hodgson’s, which is much in his favour besides,” and described him cheerfully helping to catch specimens for Goodsir. Des Voeux is named “dear” by Captain Osborn in Erasmus Henry Brodie’s 1866 poem on the Franklin Expedition (43) and Leo McClintock reported the young man’s well-known “intelligence, gallantry, and zeal” in his 1869 update to his account of the Franklin Expedition’s fate (xlii). None of this is consistent with Des Voeux’s behaviour in the show, especially in the later episodes.

To reduce Des Voeux to an easily-detested figure, over whose death one might cheer, is not a kindness – the creation of a narrative where his death is satisfying does damage to the memory of a real person, a barely-more-than-teenager who died in the cold of the Arctic and left behind only scraps of a shirt and a spidery signature in the bottom margin of a fragmentary document.

Television shows may need their villains, but it’s important to remember that real life isn’t like that. Surely the historical Frederick Des Voeux was most likely not a perfect person, and, as an upper class officer contributing to a British imperial project, he does bear some responsibility for the harm done by the Franklin expedition, but it’s not accurate to assume he was any less worthy of sympathy than the other officers who considered him a friend – those men whom we now venerate, like James Fitzjames. So as far as I’m concerned, Freddy Des Voeux deserves at least as much consideration, care, and compassion from us.

#franklin expedition #franklin expedition fictions #the terror #the terror amc #terrorposting #long post

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babybatscreationsv2 · 3 years ago

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if you’re taking prompts;

so; tony is the devil. Or hades? Although hades isn’t technically “evil” so idk. And peter’s very literally made a deal with the devil. Only he couldn’t keep up with his end of the deal and now his soul he belongs to tony. aND THEN, tony kinda likes pities him and it turns into a beauty and the beast sorta thing where tony has his undead servants make feasts n all that sorta stuff so peter feels comfortable. And then they fall in love. And then they screw 😌

Thank you for this because I've been looking for an excuse to write a Hades and Persephone story. This ended up so tender and romantic that you can't call it smut. These beeches be making love. Also this ended up full fic sized so here's the details.

Eat the Fruit

Summary: When Peter's lover dies in an accident, he offers his soul to the God of the Underworld to save him, but when he is unable to fulfill his end of the deal he finds himself in the Underworld. Now Peter is left tending to the pomegranate grove where the only balm for his loneliness is Hades (aka Tony), a god with a prickly edge.

Rating: Explicit

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed with gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

You must love him to offer your soul to me this way.

Please, you are lord of the dead. If anyone has this power, it's you.

I am not cruel, Peter. I will restore your lover's soul. In return, you must stay with him in life until he dies a natural death.

I promise.

So be it.

----------

The agony of heartbreak still echoed in his mind. His mind replayed the moment as Harry told him goodbye and turned away, closing the door as he went. He wished he could try again. Despite how he had pleaded with Harry not to leave, had promised him whatever he wished, he felt that maybe there was something he could have done. Harry did not love him anymore. He left him.

And so Peter fainted... and he awoke in a vast orchard.

He sat up in the grass and looked around at the low trees each baring heavy red fruit. Pomegranates. They looked beautiful, delicious. Peter stood and brushed himself off. He looked around feeling unsure how he had gotten here. Then he remembered and a sob escaped him. Not only had he lost the love of his life, he had broken his deal with Hades. This beautiful grove must have been a part of the Underworld.

"So soon," said a voice. Peter turned to catch sight of a man. He was handsome, a bit older than Peter, with wrinkles around his eyes, yet those eyes shined with livelihood. When he last saw Hades it had been a shadow of his true form, something massive and hulking and terrible. He seemed almost kind now. He had been kind enough to him then.

"Please, Lord Hades, send me back. Let me try again."

The god plucked a fruit from a tree and examined it. "Sorry, kid. That was a one time offer. No take backs." He looked Peter over, then he placed the pomegranate in his hands. He walked past him and Peter followed along, afraid to be left alone in such a place.

"Please. I'll give you anything. Lord Hades-"

The god huffed and turned on the spot. He held up a finger. "First of all, there's no need to call me that. Hades is more of a title and I'm over it. Call me Tony."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Tony. Now, listen up because I've got a short temper." Tony looked him in the eye. His hand held Peter's chin. "You will never leave the Underworld. Do you understand? Your soul belongs to me. You belong to me. This is where you will stay. Forever."

"Forever," Peter repeated. Not a question, but a realization. He had given everything for Harry. Everything.

The god took hold of his arm and turned him to look across the orchard. "Do you see the river there? You are never to attempt to cross it. If you try, its current will drag you under and you will drown in its waters until I see fit to retrieve you. The river Styx will not allow a soul to leave so easily."

Tony patted his shoulder. "Got it?"

Peter nodded. "I get it. Don't cross the river." It sure didn't sound fun to drown in a river until this oddly blase god decided to have mercy on him. "What happens now?"

Tony shrugged. "Tend the orchard or something. What do I care?"

Peter looked at him like he had grown a second head, which maybe he did have two heads, this probably wasn't his true form. "You let me sell my soul to you so I could just hang out?"

Tony's face shifted and Peter shrank back. His sudden anger was sharp and cold like a dagger made of ice. He encroached on Peter's space and with a clenched jaw he tried not to back away further. "Listen up, kid. You made the deal you wanted to make. You wanted to sacrifice yourself for what your heart desired and I gave you the opportunity. Life isn't the fairy tale you thought it was. Now, tend the trees and keep out of my hair."

Peter watched him go. He stared off in the direction that he went a while longer. Then cold began to seep into his bones. He sat down under a pomegranate tree. He wrapped his arms around his legs. Then he cried, wet tears staining the clothes he had died in. It could have been a lifetime that he cried, but when he finally got up he was numb.

Harry was gone and his life was over, but there was no going back. Peter turned in a circle, looking at the orchard. It was beautiful. If he had to spend the rest of eternity here it certainly wasn't the worst place to be. Sometimes when a breeze kicked up, he thought he heard screaming off in the direction he had decided to call south. There were certainly worse places to be even in the Underworld.

Peter walked to the edge of the pomegranate grove. Several feet from the edge, the ground began to slope down until it reached the edge of the Styx. A boat floated along the water. A man with a scraggly goatee and messy, curly, hair rowed along while a woman with red rimmed eyes sat in the seat. When she looked up, she looked right through him as if he were glass. A chill went through him. Once the feeling passed, he tried to wave at her, but she didn't respond. Was she in shock? Did she know yet that she was dead? Where was she being taken, he wondered. He hoped it was somewhere nice like his pomegranate grove and not the place where the screaming came from.

He kept walking, following the tree line, never passing the trees on the very edge. The orchard was vast, but not endless. On one side was the river Styx. On the next, the river Lethe. Or he assumed it was as the mist that came off of it made his head feel hazy. When he reached the third side is when the screaming grew louder. He walked faster until it grew distant again.

The fourth edge of the orchard stretched on into a garden. Peter stopped himself at the edge of the trees. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to leave the orchard or not. He hadn't been explicitly told not to. So he did.

He followed along low hedges and passed through clusters of hydrangea. Then the ground began to change from grass and plant life to cold gray stone. Peter looked back at the garden and the orchard beyond it. Was this allowed? He couldn't tend the trees without any tools. He'd need baskets if he were to collect the fruit and if they got sick he'd need medicines. He wasn't sure what else one could possibly do for trees. Perhaps Tony could tell him.

He found the god in question sitting a top a throne of slate. He looked far larger than he had before, but he still took the same form. He seemed bored, or perhaps indifferent was the word, as souls lined up at his feet. One soul grovelled on his knees.

"Please, my lord. I am meant for Elysium. I was a good man in life. An excellent one. I always gave to charity, I swear!"

Hades, for that's what he was a top this throne, waved his hand. "That does not make you special nor important by any means. You are not exceptional by any measure. To the fields with you." He snapped his fingers and two souls, each with hollow, black eyes and wrists wrapped in cuffs of slate, came forward and dragged the pleading soul away.

Another stepped forward and their plea was the same. They wished for Elysium and Hades waved them off.

"Won't you even listen to their stories?" Peter asked.

The god looked down at him. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I wasn't sure exactly what I was meant to do."

"The trees will tell you when they need," he said, but Peter noticed that he did not wave him away as he did the pleading soul so he assumed he was allowed to stay.

The next soul pleaded not for Elysium, but for their lover. They begged to be reunited with them in Asphodel.

"It is not my job to see that lovers unite. If you are soul mates you will find one another," Tony said with a terribly bored voice.

"Please, my lord. I has been a hundred years-"

"Be grateful I do not drop you in the River Lethe before you are returned!" he snapped. "Be gone with you."

"You are too harsh," Peter said as the soul was dragged away

Tony glared down at him. "You don't have to listen to the same nonsense for eternity."

"You are a god. You should be grateful for that."

"You should be grateful I don't sick my hound on you," Tony growled. "Now go."

Peter hesitated, not wishing to be alone again, but the look on Tony's face was far from kind. With a deep frown, Peter turned and walked back to the orchard.

The trees weren't much for company. Peter walked through the boughs, lonely and with too much time to reflect. He thought about the life he had lost and all of the things he had given up. He thought about Harry. Did he regret leaving him now that he was dead? Did he miss him? He wondered if Harry would go to his funeral and if he would ever bring flowers. After a long while of wandering, he couldn't take it any longer. He made his way back to the place where the grass died and became stone.

There were no souls there now, only a massive dog which sat at the foot of the throne. It opened one big eye as Peter came near. When he didn't stop it raised its head only for Peter to realize that it had not one, but three. A growl rumbled in its throat.

"Sorry to bother you, big guy. I was just looking for the other big guy." Peter reached out a hand inviting the dog to smell it. It lowered its heads suspiciously. Then it sniffed.

"It's okay. I'm not up to any mischief, I promise. I was just lonely. You look like you might be lonely, too."

Peter smiled as the dog allowed him to pet his hairy nose. It watched him curiously as he came closer so he could scratch behind his ears.

"You're sweet aren't you?" Peter cooed. "Sweet boy."

"Peter?" Tony's voice called. He turned his head to see him coming up the path. "I wouldn't bother him if I were you."

"He seems to like me," Peter shrugged. "I was just looking for some company."

Tony stopped and looked at them both. He tucked his hands behind his back, watching silently while Peter pet the happy dog. His giant tail wagged into the gray dirt.

"You were lonely?" Tony finally asked.

"Trees aren't the best company as it turns out. I'm not used to be alone. Harry and I..." Peter took a breath. Just mentioning his name made his chest burn. "Well, we were always together."

"I see..." Tony stared off toward the orchard. "Come and see me tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. It doesn't always get dark here, but night will fall in a few hours. Come back here then, but not before."

Peter looked at the man, but he didn't seem likely to divulge what he was up to. "Alright... I will see you then."

He gave the dog, Cerberus, one last pet. Then he turned away and walked back to the orchard.

As promised the sky above began to darken. Peter watched it with fascination for a moment. There were no stars in the Underworld. The sky was a deep navy, almost black. Yet, Peter could see perfectly fine. He walked back through the trees to where the ground became stone and there he found a grand table set with candles and silver platters.

"Peter, glad you could join me," Tony greeted. The look on his face was almost a smile.

"What is all this?"

"You said you were lonely so I thought we could share a meal together. If you'd like."

Peter smiled. "Of course! That sounds great."

Tony looked relived. He pulled out a chair for him. "I don't know what you like, but I had nearly everything I could think of prepared."

Peter sat down, offering his thanks as Tony pushed his seat up. He sat down on Peter's right. He flinched as Tony's dead soldiers melted from the shadows and began to serve him from the many plates and platters. When his plate and cup were full, they took a step back waiting to serve him again.

"This all looks amazing. I thought you couldn't eat the food in the Underworld."

Tony picked up his glass, the only thing in front of him. "If it is grown here, then it is true. Eating food grown in the Underworld can have undesired effects." He stared into his wine. Then he looked up and gave Peter a smile. "Eat," he said.

Every bite was divine. Sitting together with Tony helped chase the loneliness away. They talked about Peter's happy memories in life, his time in college, holidays with his Aunt May, being Uncle Peter to Gwen's twins. Harry wasn't there for most of the good parts. Peter couldn't help but find that strange. Harry had felt like such a big part of his life, but had he? Maybe the Underworld was making him forgetful.

After dinner, they stood together and watched the light return. Tony's odd little soldiers cleared everything away.

"Thank you, Peter," Tony said. He gave him a smile. Peter admired the way it made his eyes shine.

"No, thank you. That was a lovely dinner. I'm feeling a lot better, too."

"I'm glad." He paused for a moment and they stood simply looking at each other as the sky changed above them. "You're welcome to return here whenever you please."

Peter's smile widened. "Are you saying you enjoyed my company as well?"

Tony shrugged. "It's wasn't the worst dinner I've been to."

Peter rolled his eyes as he walked away. He returned to the orchard where the boughs were heavy with fruit. He spent hours, maybe days, picking the fruit and collecting it into baskets that he couldn't recalling seeing before. There was a pail and some tools as well.

He stuck to picking fruit for now. That is until his arms grew tired from reaching and legs grew tried from carrying him. He left the orchard to return to the throne. There was Hades, sat atop, looking terribly bored as he dealt with the unending line of souls.

"Please, Lord Hades-"

"Shoo," the god wave the soul away and they were dragged off. Peter went and took a seat, cross legged on the ground beside him. Tony spared him a glance.

"Come to watch the show?"

"I like being with you."

Tony stiffened, but said nothing in answer. Another soul stepped forward. A sort of gray tone clouded not only their skin, but their clothes as well. Peter wondered why he wasn't the same way. Was it because he Tony's soul, belonging to the orchard, while this soul belonged somewhere else? The souls from the Fields were all a bit gray.

"Please, Lord Hades, it has been one hundred and fifty years since my death. I wish to be united with my daughter. I walk the Fields endlessly and never find her," the soul pleaded.

Tony sighed. "Fine," he said. Peter blinked, sitting more upright. "When you return to the Fields, your daughter will await you at the gate."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed wjth gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

"That was kind of you," Peter said.

Tony huffed in response, but he continued this way. Whenever a soul made, what seemed to Peter, a reasonable request Tony honored it. Souls were united with family, friends, and lovers so long as they walked the fields together. And when it was done, Tony walked with Peter back to the orchard.

They walked beneath the trees, the smell of pomegranate in the air.

"What changed your mind about the souls?"

Tony stood and examined one of the trees. He ignored Peter's question. "They seem happy with you here," he said.

"You were right. They do tell me what they need."

Tony smiled. "Of course I was." He turned and took Peter's hand. His heart fluttered. They kept walking until the Styx came into view. They watched the river pass by in silence. Then after a long while Tony said, "I have to go." Then he disappeared.

Peter turned in a circle, but the god was truly gone. He smiled to himself and turned back to watch the river pass. Tony left him feeling warm. He missed his company already, but he was glad to have had it in the first place.

He went back to his trees, tending them with a smile. Time as usual, without measure other than a weariness in his legs from standing. Then the trees began to ask for water.

It made sense. It never seemed to rain in the Underworld. Certainly trees would need water. He had a pail he could collect it in, but where would he get it from? The only water source nearby was the Styx. He looked around for Tony, but the god was not nearby. So he took it upon himself to get the water.

Peter carried his pail down to the riverside. He placed his feet carefully to keep from slipping into the water. Then he leaned out and scooped some water up with the pail. He set the full pail up on the bank, but its weight unbalanced him. His feet slid in the rocks and he was pulled under the water's surface.

While the Styx looked steady and calm, there was a current beneath its surface. It claimed him easy, dragging him under and pulling him far far away from the orchard. Peter tried to swim up, sometimes his hands breached the surface, but never his head. His lungs burned with lack of air, then with water. Then he was drowning. Drowning without dying.

There was never any telling how much time passed in the Underworld. But finally, finally... he was pulled from the river.

He vomited what felt like gallons of water, coughing the rest from his lungs. The pain faded quickly. Peter laid on his back and blinked wet eyes at the man standing over him. He was a shadow, blocking out the light above.

"Tony?" he rasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall in. The trees needed water and I slipped."

Tony knelt beside him. "I know. I saw the water pail by the river." He scooped Peter up and pulled him to his chest. Instantly, he was dry. "You're safe now."

"Thank you." Peter's body shook in fear and relief. "That was horrible."

Tony pet his hair and held him close. "Come and get me next time the trees need water. I will call the rain to water them."

Tony helped him stand. With slow steps they walked back together to the orchard. Tony seemed far more quiet than usual. Peter couldn't place just what was wrong. He'd been warned not to try to cross the river. Was he not allowed to go near it at all? Or did Tony think he had tried to leave. Why would it bother him so much if he did?

They passed under the first branches of the orchard. Without thinking, Peter plucked the first pomegranate he saw. He stopped and admired the round, red, fruit in his hands. Tony stopped and turned, looking back at him.

"I've never tasted one of these." Peter laughed softly. "All this time picking them and caring for them, but I never eat them."

"If you eat the fruit in the Underworld, you can never leave," Tony reminded him.

"You wouldn't let me leave anyway."

"Maybe I would." There was a vulnerable honesty there in his eyes. He was right, wasn't he? This time he was right. Harry had never loved him. He had been young and foolish and naive. Tony didn't just show him desire and adoration in the way that Harry had, no. From Tony he received respect, admiration, trust. Because Tony loved him, truly.

"You thought, even if it was only for a moment, that I had tried to cross the river. Were you relieved when you realized it was an accident?" Peter looked at his face. He said nothing, gave nothing away with his expression.

Peter looked at the fruit in his hand. He dug his thumbs into the skin and pulled it apart. It bled pink onto his skin. Tony watched him in silence, seeming to hold his breath. Peter examined his face searching for one last reassure that he was truly wanted. Then he brought the fruit to his lips and bit into its seeds.

It was perfectly sweet. The taste of it coated his tongue. Juice dripped down his chin. When he swallowed, it was heavy in his stomach. He dropped the fruit and looked at the god.

His gaze was adoring, worshipful.

"Allow me a taste," Tony said. He reached for him, pulling him in. Their lips met and Peter moaned at a taste that was far sweeter than the fruit.

His hands held Tony's face, staining his cheeks pink. Strong hands held his back, guiding him to press in closer until they were flush. Peter moaned as a tongue slipped over his own, exploring and claiming his mouth. He felt high on him, willing and receptive to any of Tony's desires.

They stopped, only for a moment, and gazed at each other's faces. Then Tony took him and laid him back in the soft grass beneath the trees.

Tony stripped away his clothes. Each article was removed with gentle care and hot kisses pressed to his newly exposed skin. Every inch of him felt sensitive to the softness of his lips and the scratch of his beard. When he was naked, Tony returned above him to kiss his lips again. Peter let his hands roam over his chest and found that his clothes were gone, revealing a muscular and scarred chest. Tony caught his hand, holding it above his heart.

"Do you mind?" he said. His eyes shined.

Peter shook his head. "You're beautiful, Tony," he said. Tony caught his mouth in a kiss that was ripe with need.

Peter spread his legs apart and Tony settled between them. His kiss were soft and tender as he pushed slowly inside him. His mouth captured the high pitch whined that escaped Peter's lips. Slowly he was filled until Tony was fully inside him. His hands clung to Tony's shoulders and he stared up into gleaming brown eyes.

He dragged his fingers over his skin to cup his face in both hands. "I love you," Peter whispered.

Tony's smile was joyous. "I love you, Peter."

Peter gasped, head falling back into the grass as Tony moved inside him. The friction felt so intense that he could form words but that didn't stop him from whining and babbling. Tony kissed his lips, his bared neck, his chest. His lips sucked his nipples, tongue flicking and teasing over them. Peter's nails dug into Tony's shoulders. All he could do was hold on as his cock dragged over his prostate and Tony fucked him fast and deep. Frantic, like he was starving. When his mouth returned to Peter's, he held him tight, kissing his lips as if they dripped ambrosia. He refused to let, kissing him deeply and desperately until he could hold on no longer. His nails cut scratches into Tony's back as his body ached and shivered beneath him. His cum splattered, sticky and warm on his skin.

He panted hard, looking up at Tony again with nothing but adoration and love. He held Tony's beautiful face.

"Cum in me, please," Peter begged.

"Anything you want is yours," Tony pledged.

He moved him again, cock deep inside, body screaming with sensitivity. A tear rolled down Peter's cheek and he whimpered painfully, but he was euphoric. Tony kissed away his tears. Peter tasted the salt on his lips. Then Tony moaned, holding him tight. Peter covered his face in kisses. He felt him cum, making him sticky and wet inside.

Tony's cheeks were red and his smile was bright. Peter couldn't help but smile, too, and pulled him down into a deep unending kiss.

#marvel #starker #prompt fill #hades and persephone #fluff #romance #nff

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strangerthings4theories · 3 years ago

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Hi, I'm sure you've probably already noticed this parallel but I'd love to know if there is any deeper meaning to it or if it is just a cool coincidence.

Billy's "death" scene directly reflects the scene from season 2 when Max threatens him to leave her and her friends alone

Both scenes occur in the final episode of the season and the s2 scene has billy lying down on the drawings of the tunnels from the upside down. Kinda cool foreshadowing (if it is) that billy would become involved in this upside down stuff in the s3.

But the scene also kind of mimics the one from s1 where eleven uses her abilities to save Mike from falling off a cliff (s1 ep6)

In both scenes Eleven and Billy say "I'm sorry", eleven follows that up by calling herself "the monster"

It's probably just a common camera angle for when a character is lying down but I thought I'd mention it anyway just incase. :)

+ sidenote: have you ever thought that Billy could be the mindflayer/demogorgon/returning as some other villain rather than a hero? The themes of time in the new season really open up a lot of possibilities

Hi! Excellent catches here!

Yes, all of these shots are related. The first pair brings forward Max's feelings of guilt toward Billy. She didn't actually hurt him in S2, just threatened to do so. And at the time, he forced her hand by behaving... you guessed it... like a monster. In the S3 shot though, she's realizing he's not a monster, but a victim. So we're seeing a journey here:

"He's a monster. I did what I had to do." > "Oh my god he's dying. He doesn't deserve this. I should've saved him."

This will definitely haunt Max in S4. She'll feel like she caused his death... even though, logically, it wasn't her fault. But guilt isn't logical, and we see that with Billy. He blames himself for what happened to his mother when, in reality, he was just a kid. He couldn't have done anything about it.

Re: the second pair of shots, we're seeing a crucial parallel between El and Billy. They both believe themselves to be monsters. El says, "The Gate. I opened it. I'm the monster." Billy expresses a similar feeling, though in fewer words: "I'm sorry."

The tragic difference is that El receives forgiveness and reconciliation. Mike tells her, "You're not a monster. You saved me," and he and Dustin welcome her into a group hug. Billy gets... nothing. El doesn't even have the chance to echo Mike's line to him (though she could have, word for word).

I think that's why so many Billy fans were gutted by his death. We picked up on the fact that he's a victim, and we felt his death was cruel. He deserves forgiveness and reconciliation too. So why didn't he get it?

Re: your sidenote, Billy coming back as a villain wouldn't make sense. Tbh I would be repulsed by it. The Duffers have made him a sympathetic character and started him on a redemption arc. To change course now and say, "Never mind lol he's gonna be evil forever," would be such bad writing I'd probably quit watching the show 🤷‍♀️ I want him back... but not like that!

Of course, it's possible we could get both an evil Billy and a good Billy. We've already seen that idea in S3. And that would be fine with me... as long as we get the good Billy too. Bringing him back as only a villain would send an awful message to abuse victims everywhere. Especially if they're men!

#billy hargrove #max mayfield #el hopper #stranger things theory #stranger things analysis #billy hargrove is alive #answering your mail

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mortalfaerie · 3 years ago

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STRANDED IN TIME (M. F.) 2/?

Matthew Fairchild x Lost Herondale! Reader

Y/N Herondale gets her just deserts when snooping in Cirenworth's attic sends her back over 100 years.

An indeterminate amount of time passed as you drifted in and out of consciousness. You recalled a silent brother standing over you, buts of hushed and worried conversation, and one occasion when you woke to Tessa sitting by your side, a cold cloth on your forehead and her mixing a tincture by your bedside.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak in your current state, but remembered vaguely that Tessa excelled in healing magic. You tried to reach out to her, but found you lost consciousness again before you could.

When you finally did wake without horrible pain, you found yourself in a narrow bed, in a cotton nightgown you'd never seen, but unmistakably in the London Institute's infirmary, the painted ceiling distinct.

What happened? Did Tessa and Jem take you here because you had been sick? Was Kit okay? Where was everyone? These questions pounded in your head as you stood from the bed, and cautiously padded to the double doors leading to the hallway. You opened the door to look out, but found Tessa and two people you didn't know - one being the man who had carried you - talking outside the door. They all looked to you, pausing, and then Tessa exclaimed, "Oh goodness, you're awake at last."

"I- what happened? Where's Kit? Why are we in London?" You asked, looking rapidly from person to person.

"You should have a seat, if you're able." said the other person - a petite woman of perhaps 40 or 50.

"What's going on?" you asked again, increasingly alarmed. "Is Kit okay? Where's my brother? I want to see him!"

"I'm sure we can help you find your brother as soon as we know who you are." The taller man assured you.

You looked again to Tessa, exasperated. "Tessa, what's going on? You know me, I- Kit and I live with you and Jem and Mina in Devonshire." Your voice started to wobble as panic set in.

"I- I'm sorry, I don't think that we've ever met before now." Tessa said, her face earnestly confused.

Tears spilled over your cheeks as you looked desperately to the other two adults.

"I'm Y/N Herondale." You choked out. "My little brother is Kit, you took us in after our dad was killed. We used to live in Los Angeles but we moved here after the Cohort - Tessa, please, you have to remember me."

At the name Herondale, all parties looked shocked and concerned. You cried earnestly now, shocked and panicked and feeling like you were living in a waking nightmare. You didn't pay much mind as they sheparded you into a chair in the infirmary, and the man called for tea from the kitchen. A blanket was draped around your shoulders, lest you go into shock, and when tea was pressed into your hands you finally ceased crying.

"Now," Tessa said softly, seated beside you and across from the others, "Why don't you tell us from the beginning what you remember, Y/N."

With a shuddering breath, you began. "My name is Y/N Herondale. My dad was Johnny Rook, and my mother was Rosemary Herondale. My mom died before I can remember, and only a bit after my brother Kit was born. We grew up with mundanes were always told we just had the true sight and to be quiet about it, until the day demons attacked my dad at our house, and Kit and I barely escaped with Jem Carstairs and -" you looked to Tessa, "You. We lived in the Los Angeles Institute for a bit, but eventually we decided to go to England with you and Jem when you offered - you said it was because we were the lost Herondale siblings, and that you owed a debt to the Herondales."

You looked to the man and woman across from you, silently imploring if you should continue. The man, who's black hair was flecked with gray and who's blue eyes mirrored your own, cleared his throat.

"Y/N, my name is William Herondale, and this is my wife, Tessa Herondale. And next to me is Charlotte Fairchild, the consul. We don't know how you happened to get here, but rest assured, you will not be turned away."

You could have cried again for relief, but you steeled yourself when the consul nodded to you. "Do you remember what happened before you were discovered outside?"

You nodded slowly. "I was at Cirenworth Hall. Tessa - my Tessa, I guess - gave me a book to read and it inspired me to look around in the attic, and I found something in a box. I - I can't remember what it was, but I remember feeling sick suddenly, and then I was lying in the grass with Jessamine over me."

"You could see Jessamine?" Charlotte asked, and you nodded.

"Yeah, my brother and I could both see ghosts after we got our voyance marks. Some that other people can't see, too." You said.

Tessa and Will exchanged a glance, and Will spoke. "That would give credence to your claim of being a Herondale. The issue is, however, that the only living Herondales are myself, my family here, and my sister, now Cecily Lightwood. Our father had a brother, but he and his wife both died before they had any children."

"But his name was Tobias, right?" You asked, gears beginning to turn in your head.

"Yes, actually." Will said, raising an eyebrow. "How would you know that?"

"Because Tobias Herondale was my ancestor. He had a son no one knew about, and that son married a faerie woman..." you trailed off. "And eventually, I happened."

"That raises another question, then." Charlotte said, her expression speculative. "If you are a Herondale, and you bear marks, how is the clave unaware of you?"

"I think," you began, bracing yourself to be called crazy. "That maybe I'm not from this time, or this dimension. I think something I did in the attic sent me here, wherever here is."

"London." Tessa supplied, "July, 1903."

You stood up in shock. "1903? You can't be serious! I - how? I wasn't even born until 1997 - oh my god, Kit, I can't -"

"Y/N!" Tessa exclaimed, placing her hands on your shoulders to push you back in your seat. "Please, calm down, I'm afraid you'll make yourself sick."

You let her push you back into your seat, but stared blankly at the floor as your jaw worked.

"Is such a thing possible?" Will asked quietly to Charlotte.

"To have travelled through time? Not as I know it, but perhaps it could be a cruel faerie trick? It's known that time moves differently in the faerie realms." She replied, still cautious in her tone.

You brought your arms around yourself and hugged your sides as the gravity of your situation set in. Kit - oh god, was he looking for you? Would they know to look in the attic? What would happen to your little makeshift family? You heaved a sob, and the attention of the adults turned back to you.

Tessa - motherly Tessa - let propriety slip and pulled you to her side, and you clung to her for dear life. The consul came closer and passed a comforting hand over your hair.

"No matter how you came to be here," she said softly, "You are a nephilim, and you are displaced and distressed, and so you will always be supported at this Institute. We will do all we can to discern this situation, but you will be in good hands with Tessa and Will."

You hiccuped and met her eyes, seeing genuine compassion in them. She offered you a hesitant smile, and turned to Tessa.

"She will remain here until we are able to reverse this. I will confer with the Silent Brothers on this matter, and see if they know of any case like this. Until then, perhaps she will be treated as a ward of the Institute?"

Tessa nodded, her hold on you still firm. "Of course. We'll see to it."

Will went to see the consul out, and Tessa stayed behind, with you still holding onto her. "Y/N?" she asked, all gentleness and care in her voice. You wanted to believe this was your Tessa, the one who had become like a mother to you, but this Tessa knew nothing of you at all.

"Yes?" you said, your voice hoarse from crying.

"I don't know how you've come here, but I want you to know - I trust what you say. I have seen many impossible things, but still I am met with surprises. I also know that since I am a warlock - I am fated to live many, many years. If you truly were not born until 90 years from now, it's possible you know me in your time. I am sorry that I don't know you, but know that you are safe here."

You squeezed her, and managed to say, "Thank you. You've always been so kind to me. I - I'm glad I crash landed somewhere with you here."

#the last hours #cassandra clare #the infernal devices #the shadowhunter chronicles #the dark artifices #the mortal instruments #the last hours imagine #matthew fairchild x reader #matthew fairchild imagine #mathew fairchild

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dadsbongos · 4 years ago

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Liebeskummer

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa: Killing Harmony Dynamic: Korekiyo Shinguji/Reader (and his sister shit but i actually take it seriously, unlike kodaka) Warnings: korekiyo’s backstory/trauma (his sister), sexual/physical/mental abuse implications (and outright said but not described in detail except the emotional and mental), anxiety in both kork and reader and mental breakdown(s?), airhead shit but it’s sad Summary: It’s all her fault. ~~~

Korekiyo suddenly turned to the girl beside him in his quiet research lab, “Have you ever heard of Jack of Fables, (Y/n)?” at her, albeit confused, nod, he continued, “Well, all those myths, fairy tales, and even nursery rhymes in reference to ‘Jack’ are actually about the same man. What this means is that Jack Be Nimble, of the candlestick, Jack the Giant Killer, who sold his cows then murdered and robbed a giant, Stingy Jack, who tricked the devil so relentlessly that he was banned from both afterlives, Jack of Jack and Jill, who cracked open his skull, Jack o’ Lantern, Spirit of Halloween and Headless Horseman, and Jack Frost, Spirit who ends autumn and begins winter are all one in the same. He made so many poor life decisions that he now serves as an immortal representation of winer with a pumpkin serving as head and flashlight. Is that not fascinating?”

“Aw,” (Y/n) grinned, nodding once again, “Like the American ‘Florida man’.”

Korekiyo sighed, disappointment palpable in his tone, “That is… actually much more accurate than I wish to admit.”

“Wait, wait,” she tilted her head, patting the man’s arm despite his attention already being on her, “So… like, was he also Jack the Ripper…?”

His eyes widened at her statement, “(Y/n), I must be grateful you were not born to the life of a woman of the night in Victorian London because I assure you, Jack the Ripper was incredibly real.”

“Oh, that’s so sad…” she pouted before clearing it back into her usual smile almost instantly, “Well, thanks for the folklore fun fact, Kiyo! I didn’t know that Jack was so dumb! God, I’d hate to be like him…”

“You do realize you’re not so bright yourself, yes?”

She shrugged, “I’m fine with that, but at least I’m not tricking the devil!”

So sweet and kind, the Ultimate Composer was. Against all expectations, she wasn’t highbrow or traditionally genius, but she was more than excellent company. And, to top it off, the idea of turning her into one of Sister’s friends was oddly… sickening.

It should’ve been perfectly fine - she was a deeply respectable young woman unlike Miu and Maki, there’s no reason he could have against her.

It just felt wrong.

“Oh! Oh!” she burst out, clapping her hands together, before turning and reaching into a bag slung around her hip. Rooting through scrapped sheet music and notes, once she found what she’d been searching for she held it up excitedly, “Boom!”

Korekiyo took the item, just barely brushing his wrapped fingertips against hers, “Cleopatra’s Pearl Cocktail… much appreciated,” he pressed the small bottle into a pocket on his uniform, “If you enjoy giving gifts, perhaps we can discuss cultural gift-giving practices?”

“Ooh, Kiyo’s gonna teach me?”

“Hmm,” Korekiyo hummed quietly to himself, “Well, perhaps… you would prefer I tell you of a composition piece in relevance to mythology, yes?”

“That’d be nice,” the girl giggled softly, rubbing the back of her neck, “To be honest, I just like when you talk… you sound so smart all the time!”

“My thanks, (Y/n),” he nodded curtly, muttering to himself before coming to speak up, “Alright, I believe that the composition for you would be The Ring of the Nibelung, of Germany.”

“Oh, I know that one!” she knew most ‘ones’, to be fair.

“I had suspected so, but have you heard of the heroic legends behind the pieces?”

“Ah, no… are those what you’re gonna explain?”

“I had planned to, yes. Alright, well, the four parts, as you know, are The Rhinegold, The Valkyrie, Siegfried, and Twilight of the Gods. Nowadays, they are most commonly played as individual, separate works despite making one complete story. They were always intended as a sequence - as The Ring cycle, cleverly. Each piece revolves on a loose basis to German heroic tales and Norse legendary sagas, with the overarching tale of the magic ring forged by the Nibelung dwarf, Alberich, which grants the power to rule the world,” he paused at the sight of (Y/n) yawning, his lips pursed and eyes shot down to his shoes before flickering back up to the girl, “Ah, my apologies for taking far longer than necessary. You must find this- “

“Ah, no!” (Y/n) shook her head, waving her hands about as though it would physically prove how far from needed his apology was, “That’s not it! I’m just kinda tired, ya know?” as if to prove her point, another yawn washed over her, “I hadn’t slept well last night after Kirumi…”

“I see,” Korekiyo nodded, closing his eyes to think over his words, “I apologize for making it about myself. If you wish, I could walk you to your dormitory. Now that you mention it, it has been quite the long day.”

“You don’t have to, Kiyo, I’d hate to bother you so much in one day let alone one sitting,” the composer puffed her cheeks out, “That’d be so obnoxious…”

“I don’t find it obnoxious whatsoever, especially if it’s to aid- “ he hesitated, “to aid a friend.”

He hadn’t had friends before. People usually found him creepy and that was the end of the story - nobody approached him and he didn’t branch out. Life went on. The world spun. His loneliness was everlasting and yet nonexistent. He has Sister. Though, deep down, he knows. She’s on another plane of reality with loneliness stronger than his, that’s why he sends her respectable young women.

Just like (Y/n).

But just… not (Y/n). For reasons he personally chooses to not disclose to even himself.

“Aww, Kiyo! You care!” the girl placed a hand over her heart as if to show that the organ itself was squeezing in delight at his offer.

“Of course, I do,” Korekiyo didn’t like how quiet she made him. How jittery and nervous. And he didn’t like how it made him question the way Sister made him feel.

She also made him nervous but it felt different. He liked to pretend it was the nervousness of a love you don’t quite have yet, but he fully knows he’d be lying. She was a mean girl, a bully in school before being hospitalized. Prone to violent and outright frightening outbursts when she had the energy to do more than force him to her side.

But he didn’t like questioning those feelings for Sister. Who he was, was based on her. His uniform. His passion and talent. His hair. His perfect complexion. His life as the universe knows it is an ode to her.

It’s too late for him to go back now… he’s already done so much in her name it’d be cruel to give up now. He might as well continue for Sister.

“If you really don’t mind, then yeah, I’d like it if we could walk together… I get a little nervous going around at night, you never know who’s gonna snap…”

“And you trust me?”

Shit. That’s what gets him in trouble. It’s as Sister always said. ‘Too naive to make his choices, and once he’s free, too inept to make the right ones.’

“Well, yeah,” (Y/n) spoke as if there was hardly any thought to the answer, “All you’ve shown me is somebody worth trusting,” then, she’s quick to remember poor Kaede, “Well, maybe I’m being silly. But hey, if I have to choose between dying trusting my friends and paranoid beyond myself, then maybe I’d- “ she paused, “Ehhh, I don’t like the way that’s coming out.”

“I understand what you’re attempting to say,” Korekiyo reassured, turning towards his research lab’s exit, “Let us start towards the dormitories, yes?”

“Right!” (Y/n) nearly found herself jogging to catch up to Korekiyo’s long-strided head start, she clutched the strap of her bag as she did so, “So… you heard about Angie’s plan, right?”

“To perform a resurrection?”

“Do you think it’ll work?” she seemed antsier than was typical for her, “I mean, you’re into anthropology, so, like, has there ever been a case where that did work? Do you know?”

“No, besides, that would be more akin to history, remember?” she probably didn’t, her memory failed her at an ungodly amalgamation of best and worst of times.

“Oh, yeah,” she murmured and nodded, pretending to recall the difference between the two.

“Who would you desire back into this game, if you could?”

“Rantaro,” her answer was quick, her fingers looping together nervously, “We didn’t really talk much, but uhm, whenever we did - he was really nice. He said I reminded him of a sister of his… so that’s a good thing, right?”

Depends on who you ask, really.

“You grew attached to him so quickly?” there was no jealousy there, he tried to convince himself.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I’d gotten to know him more. He was always running around, trying to save us, and in the end… it got him killed.”

A lot of things will get you killed.

Korekiyo shook off the thoughts racking his brain, “Your care for him even through his estrangedness and peculiarity is truly beautiful, (Y/n),” he fiddled with the locket piece hanging around his shoulders, “Even your care for myself. I’d be lying if I’d said it wasn’t endearing.”

“You’re not…” her words died out, not wanting to lie to a dear companion of hers, “You’re a little off-putting but you’re not undeserving of love, Kiyo.”

It was a complete 180 from what Sister had told him his entire life. A new lesson coming in far too late. He had to earn love. He should’ve been crawling on his knees and pleading for affection, but now he was supposed to simply receive it? It sounded so incredibly fake. A fictitious tale told alongside gumdrop fairies and candy trees.

No place for someone of realistic standard.

No place for him.

“You’re far too kind, (Y/n).”

“Maybe you just haven’t known nice people,” she suddenly stopped, slapping a palm to her mouth and muffling against it, “I’m so sorry!”

“Worry not,” Korekiyo continued walking, “I’m unphased.”

Because maybe it was true.

Maybe Sister wasn’t so nice.

There was an itch at his skin in the thought and he shook his head.

Sister was kind enough to love someone like him. Who was of rotted soul and rancid heart.

“I shouldn’t have just said that, especially since I don’t really know your life…”

“Would you like to learn it someday?”

(Y/n) was fairly shocked at how quickly he seemed to breeze by her insult to his family and friends - well, if he had any friends - but she wouldn’t refuse. It was extra time with Korekiyo! Who could turn that down?

“I’d love to.”

“Tea and cookies,” (Y/n) pumped a fist in the air, “What could be better than enjoying those with a friend?”

Korekiyo felt his lips twitch up behind his mask at the rhetorical question, he reached out for his teacup, “Perhaps freedom from this killing game?”

“Oh, yeah, huh…” she deflated, “Jeez, I can’t believe I’d say that…”

Oh, great, of course, now he’s gone and made the local ball of sunshine in this school upset.

“Nevermind that, (Y/n), it was a tease…” he gripped the cup a little tighter, cheeks heating up in humiliation at his failed joke, “I apologize if it seemed like anything other than such.”

“No, don’t apologize, it’s fine! It was kind of a dumb thing to say, now that I put some brain into it,” so it made sense she’d said it, (Y/n) frowned at the bitter thought.

“Ah,” the clink of a cup against the table caught the girl’s attention, “I must change my mask in order to properly enjoy this tea and these cookies,” as the anthropologist went to turn, he was stopped by another outburst from the girl.

“No, don’t! Uh, here!” she clenched her eyes shut, papped her palms over her face, and turned her head downwards, “See? Now I can’t!”

“You don’t have to go to such lengths, I could simply turn- “

“No, no, I want you to feel comfortable and I heard once that doing things to make your friends comfortable is, like, a way to make them like you more?” she huffed at the wording, “Just, I don’t know… I want you to know that I care. Ya get it? No need to turn yourself away like that when I can just not look.”

A tuft of air passed through his nostrils at the girl.

Sister would adore a friend like her.

Korekiyo pulled down his mask, brows drawn tight towards his eyes at the new realization. It was no longer a matter of her being respectable, it was now the knowledge that someone as tender-hearted as (Y/n) would be loved beyond comprehension by Sister.

But… no. Sister couldn’t have her. She’d understand, right? Of course. She could have someone else - the other bubbly girl, what’s her name? Angie. She could have Angie.

Korekiyo just… he just needed (Y/n). Something about her was calming and sweet. He picked his mask for eating from a pocket in his uniform and carefully adjusted it over his lips so as to not smudge his lipstick. It wouldn’t anyway, he knew this, but it usually never backfired to be too sure.

The lipstick in itself was quite the hassle. Another homage to Sister that she might not even be seeing. So was the hair. It got tangled and knotted and was hell to dry after a shower.

“Not to rush you at all, but are you done? Cuz my eyes are starting to hurt… I think I’m squeezing them too hard.”

“Right, yes, I am.”

He really shouldn’t think like that… Sister deserved to be honored.

As if she’d been reading his mind, (Y/n) leaned over slightly, pointing at Korekiyo’s hair, “Hey, hey, how do you manage that? It always looks so silky and soft and well-kept.”

“Ah, well, it is quite troublesome most days, but with patience and rather expensive products, I keep it together.”

“I was wondering, too, do you ever put it up?”

“Not usually, though, that would be… nice on occasion,” he sipped at his tea, enjoying the way (Y/n) shyly glanced away to prove she didn’t want to invade his privacy. She was too delightful to be in a place such as this, even if he did enjoy the beauties of law-absence.

“Uh, I don’t want to come off pushy or like you have to let me, but if you want, I’d love to put your hair up! To be honest, I’ve been wanting to for a while,” her eyes widened at her own statement, “Oh, that sounded creepy. I’m so sorry.”

“I am hardly one to judge,” he reached over for a cookie, “But, if you’re so inclined, I won’t protest.”

“Yay!” she bounced slightly in her chair, “Oh, that’s great, Kiyo, thanks.”

“Shall we go to your dorm after finishing our refreshments?”

“I’d like that,” (Y/n) grinned.

And to think she almost didn’t approach Korekiyo on that first day in the school. How ridiculous could she have been to judge based on looks? Sure, he was a little strange and the way he spoke was unlike any teenager she’d ever met, but he was still a person. He deserved to be given companionship.

Besides, he’d only ever shown her kindness and support.

He didn’t even make fun of her when she said something stupid in front of everyone.

She cringed at the memory of every time Kokichi or Miu or Maki prodded at her. Even Ryoma and Kaito had picked on her when she misspoke during the first trial and just brought up a point the class had already proven. It made her heart wrinkle and shrink at the mere thought. Kokichi still made fun of her for questioning Tsumugi’s whereabouts during Rantaro’s murder.

“You’re staring into your tea, it will grow cold if you only look at it.”

“Oh, yeah,” shaking her head, (Y/n) silently cursed herself for spacing out. What an awful habit of hers, it was, “Sorry for taking so long.”

“You shouldn’t apologize, I’m not upset in the slightest,” he felt his heart lighten at the tiny smile that illuminated her face, “I simply enjoy spending this time together.”

“You’re too nice sometimes, Kiyo,” she giggled, but they both recognized the tingle of nervousness jumbling within it, “If you’re not careful, I might fall for you or something…”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing?”

I wouldn’t mind, she wanted to say.

If you’ll have me, he wished to murmur.

Then he felt his chest tighten.

“Can I…” he tapped a finger to the table, “ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Uhm,” she bit her lip as she thought back, “No… why?”

“How do you think it feels?”

“Like, you could be free and yourself around the person? I’m not too sure, but I think if you and someone else are in love then you’ll accept each other completely, you know? Sure, there’s flaws in every person, but I think you accept those, too.”

“I see…”

“Kiyo, why do you ask?”

“I…” his brows furrowed, “A lot has been on my mind as of late.”

“Alright, I won’t pry,” standing from the dining table, (Y/n) clapped her hands together, “Now, if you’re still down, I’d love to put your hair up!”

“As it stands, I am still, as you put it, ‘down’,” Korekiyo nodded before joining the girl and starting towards her dorm room.

“Nice!” she pointed directly ahead, “Now, onward!”

A total airhead at her truest, Korekiyo thought. He didn’t usually partake in the type, but something about (Y/n) just pulled him in tighter every time he tried turning away.

So, what’s the harm in giving in? Swimming against the tide only ever led to drowning anyway, so why fight it?

Sister… Sister was dead. Is dead. Resurrection isn’t possible and hasn’t been in human history. And she had changed so much of him. (Y/n) would never force him to bend to her ideal.

The more he thought about Sister in comparison to (Y/n), the more he realized that Sister felt like a ball and chain - and (Y/n) felt like a breath of fresh air.

Just her name inside his own head sounded as sweet as the best form of heaven.

“Here we are!” (Y/n) cheered upon their arrival to her room, “There’s probably a bunch-load of unfinished works in here so just… don’t judge them too harshly, okay?”

“I could hardly judge an unfinished masterpiece.”

“I don’t know about masterpieces…”

“If you create them with heart and soul, there’s nobody who can effectively say they aren’t except for yourself,” Korekiyo enters the room after her, legs carrying him towards her desk as she roots around her bathroom for a hairbrush and hair tie, “Sadly, this is also applicable to disasters with effort put into them. However, just from skimming these, I can tell you they are not such disasters.”

“Aw, thanks, Kiyo, you know - I know I’m the Ultimate Composer and junk, but jeez it gets so nerve-wracking when people hear my stuff. I like what I write, but who’s to say other people will?”

“I understand that. Showing others your work is extremely unsettling at times,” he followed the girl to her bed and sat between her knees on the floor, “I recall feeling that way when I would dabble in artistry.”

“You can draw?”

“I would when I was much younger,” he felt her fingers run over his scalp and through his hair and the weight looming over his shoulders practically melted off, “I haven’t held onto any of them, and they’ve likely aged poorly, but I know how I felt showing them around.”

“Why’d you stop? If you don’t mind my asking,” reaching around, (Y/n) threaded her fingers through Korekiyo’s bangs and, as gently as humanly possible, pulled the hair hanging over and around his face back into a slicked style.

“My… sister, she always rathered that I participate in anthropology with her. I wasn’t all that good anyways.”

“Aw, that’s kinda sad. Even if you weren’t good, you could’ve improved over time.”

“Do you truly believe that, (Y/n)?”

“Of course, I mean, talents are just developed over time, right? Angie didn’t pop out of the womb an art genius and I didn’t start off great at writing music, you just keep at it and eventually your skill level is way better than when you started.”

Sister always said he’d be garbage at drawing. Somebody like him could never learn.

She tied off and twisted until the bun was perfect - well, not perfect. It was presentable enough, and it was just a bun anyway! Not like they had anywhere to be.

“Sorry it’s messy,” she scratched at her cheek, feeling anxious that he’d be upset with her work.

“I…” he felt another little smile peek over him, it was indeed messy with stray hairs sticking out here and there and a few tiny bumps running over his head, but even so, “I love it.”

“You do?”

“It’s a gesture from you, why wouldn’t I?”

Standing beside Korekiyo at the mirror, (Y/n) twiddled her thumbs before spewing out her question, “It’s totally cool if not, but can I hug you? Sorry if that’s weird!”

“No… it’s…” Sister never asked to touch him, and now that he thought about it, she never seemed to care when he told her to stop, “That would be wonderful.”

As her arms slowly came around him, he felt truly at ease. With Sister, there was always this fear of never being what she wanted. That she hated him deep down. With (Y/n), it felt like finally being attached to someone you were meant to. Returning to a place of deep affection.

“You truly do care about me, don’t you, (Y/n)?”

“What kind of question is that?” she back-pedals, “I mean, of course, I do. You’re very dear to me, Kiyo.”

Maybe even a little too dear, considering the current climate of the killing game.

But even so, neither of them pulls away. Neither cares enough to wrangle themselves from indulging in the other’s touch. It feels too good against their skin.

It’s then that Korekiyo’s brain strikes the flint to create the burning thought - maybe Sister wasn’t all that great. Maybe Sister didn’t love him.

She’s only ever made him miserable, now that he recalls it all.

(Y/n) doesn’t. She makes him feel human and alive and adored. He likes the way she makes him feel. And between the two, he much rather would be praised than berated.

Oh God, what did this mean again?

Where do the creation myths go?

Who’s Princess Kaguya?

Her head throbs at the thoughts rumbling through her. She tried to get Korekiyo to get someone, anyone, but her to organize his notes.

Shuichi would love this stuff! You two should bond!

Gonta could learn about being gentlemanly from you! It’d be a great learning experience!

I know you don’t like Miu that much, but maybe spending more time together could make you understand each other more?

Anyone.

And yet, Korekiyo denied. He liked spending time with her. He wouldn’t mind answering every question she had - no matter how many times she asked it. He was a patient person, he could handle it.

(Y/n) looked at all the books and stray papers surrounding her alike, bottom lip tugged between her teeth in focus and face beating hot in vivid embarrassment. He wasn’t even looking at her, thank God, but still… it was so mortifying that she’d already lost track of what she was doing.

She tried so hard to pay attention, she really, really did!

She wanted to help so bad. She wanted to be useful so bad.

But she knew… she’s not a smart person, per se. It was beaten over her head repeatedly her entire life by her family, schooling, peers, and even her friends. She was an idiot who couldn’t do anything right.

It’s why she wanted Korekiyo to ask someone else.

But how could she say no to him? He was always so nice, it’d be downright mean to refuse him. Right?

She felt her eyes burn, vision growing blurry through tears. Setting down the papers in her hands - (Y/n) covered her eyes to keep any wetness from splotching the notes below. It was the least a fucking moron could do.

“(Y/n)? Are you feeling okay?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

She nodded shakily, just wanting Korekiyo to ignore her and continue his work. Better yet, he’d kick her out and she could dodge the incoming humiliation altogether.

“Yeah,” her voice cracked, lips trembling.

Goddammit.

She heard papers rustling before she could feel the presence at her side. Fingertips just barely grazing her body before hesitating back, “You’re lying.”

Understatement of the year.

“I just… I’m so sorry, Kiyo. I’m such an idiot, I knew I couldn’t do this,” she whimpered, desperately trying to grab and suffocate down her bubbling sobs before they wracked her throat, “I’m too fucking dumb to do anything right… I’m sorry…”

“No, no, don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re no idiot,” he’s immediately slammed with every memory of every time he’s called her such a thing. No matter how nice he tried to be about it, he still aided her insecurity, “I’m sorry for ever saying you were. Intellect is not measured by how well you can do a task nor should everyone’s mind be measured the same. Intelligence is fickle and is spread over a vast variety of subjects. You’re not an idiot for not being able to do something you’re not accustomed to.”

“I just… I- I wanted to help you but then I forgot everything you said about organizing them and then which regions are which and what even is a gorgon?”

He chuckled quietly at her question, “A creature in Greek mythology most commonly in reference to three sisters - Medusa, Euryale, and Sthenno - with hair made of living, venomous snakes that turned those who so much as looked upon them to stone,” he glanced around at what (Y/n) had gotten done, “I see that the filing in relation to music is nearly completed for your half.”

“That’s about all I’m good for.”

“And I would not have managed that so easily, music was never an incredible strength of mine - though I do admire it.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kiyo…”

“I would never,” he moved his notes away to sit more comfortably next to the girl, “In fact, if you’d be willing to listen…” his throat tightened and heart thumped in his chest, “I would like to tell you of something that’s been troubling me for quite some time.”

“Yeah,” she wiped away her tears, sniffling, “of course.”

“I told you of my sister, correct?” he waited for her nod of confirmation to continue, “Well, it’s my belief that…” his fists clenched.

What if she didn’t believe him? What if she blamed him? How do you tell someone your older sister raped and abused you when you’re barely even coming to terms with the fact yourself?

“(Y/n), I…” he stopped, gut bunching in knots before he suddenly ripped down his mask and turned to face her, “I think I need help…”

“What? You’re just wearing lipstick, Kiyo, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, no, no, no,” he shook his head, hands shaking wildly as he pulled out the ponytail (Y/n) had done up earlier and yanked through his hair, “E-everything I am is because of her! She consumes me even in death! She- she- she hurt me…”

“Oh,” the girl moved to sit up on her knees, hands reaching out but not yet touching him, “What happened, Kiyo? You can tell me, I’m listening.”

“She told me I was an awful boy, nobody but her could love someone so foul and creepy… she- “ he moved to grip his sleeves, “She touched me,” he looked into the girl’s eyes, “Is it my fault? Am I so disgusting? Why would she do this?”

“Do you want me to hold you or no?” at his shaky nod, she instantly took Korekiyo into a hug, cradling his head and shoulders to her body and stroking through his hair, “You’re more than what she made you. You’re bigger and better than her manipulation. And it’s not your fault she did what she did. It’s completely and totally on her. She took advantage of you, Kiyo, that’s not your fault.”

He grabbed her arm and pressed his face into her shirt as she held him, “Am I rotten? Am I lovable?”

“You’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’re worthy of love and care.”

His lipstick smeared over her shirt and across his cheek and neither of them minded. It would wash off eventually. Her stain on his life would come out.

“When we get out,” (Y/n) began again, “do you want to seek professional help? You can get it, Kiyo.”

He was slow to nod, beginning to grow tired from dosing out tears and trauma at once, “I do… thank you, (Y/n)...”

“No need to thank me.”

“(Y/n)?” she hummed quietly in acknowledgement, “Even if it isn’t for field work… I wish to travel the country with you. I want to show you the beauty of humanity as I know it… for our sakes.”

Looking down, (Y/n) caught the gentleness in his eyes, tender and soft and awaiting her response, she smiled softly, brushing back his hair, “I would love to, Kiyo. If it’s truly something you want to do, I would be happy to go anywhere with you.”

Nighttime was quickly approaching and with the atmosphere and turmoil of the class, (Y/n) didn’t feel very safe being out so late.

“You’re certain you don’t wish for me to walk you to your room?”

“No, you finish up here,” (Y/n) waved off Korekiyo’s offer, “Don’t be such a worry-wart, yeah? I’ll be fine! You better take care of yourself while I’m gone, though.”

He nodded, a small smile stretching over him, “I will, dear (Y/n), don’t worry.”

The girl’s eyes widened slightly before she returned his beam, “You have a cute smile, Kiyo.”

“Oh,” right, he didn’t have his mask on at the moment. It was refreshing to wake up and not trouble himself with makeup for a woman he wasn’t sure even cared - dare he say it, it was nice, even.

He’d only taken his mask off around (Y/n), it felt intimate. Sweet. Something passed only between them.

“Thank you.”

She nodded before turning back and pressing outward from his research lab, “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Kiyo! You better have the sweetest dreams, ya hear me?”

“You as well.”

He returned to cleaning up his lab, occasionally stumbling over a floorboard looser than the others. How troublesome.

That’s when her voice picked up from within his brain.

“You never loved me.”

He looked around despite knowing exactly where the voice was coming from.

“You let her do this to you. You let her take you from me.”

Pushing past them, he persisted in rooting through his notes and organizing his papers.

“She hates you. She’s scared of you. She’s just trying to be nice. You scare her. You scare all of them. You rotten, rotten boy. You’ve been ruined - only I could love a face so hideous and broken. A horrible, horrible boy lucky enough to be given the love I did.”

His hands shook, fingers twitching and heart thrumming heavy, “No. (Y/n) likes me. She enjoys my company.”

“Why would she enjoy the company of someone so lonely and depressing? So gross and foul? She probably hates you for partaking in your own sister’s touch.”

“No, she- she doesn’t… she knows it’s not… it’s not my fault…”

“Are you inside her head? How do you know? How are you certain? I’m the only one who ever loved you - and you’ve abandoned me. Left me all alone.”

“No, I- I haven’t abandoned you, Sister! Please, believe me, I never abandoned you.”

“So, you know what you must do to prove yourself to me.”

“(Y/n) wouldn’t like that…”

“(Y/n) wouldn’t like you anyway.”

She’s right, right? She’s right. Someone as wonderful and beautiful as (Y/n) could never adore him the way he does her. He loves her and she must find him repulsive. Staying out of fear.

Out of pity for the boy abused by his sister. And so, who better to return to than the more predictable of the two?

(Y/n) may have felt more like coming home than Sister - but Sister was home. (Y/n) was comfort. Sister was familiarity.

He found his foot planted against the loose floorboard once again. He knew how he had to make up for his misdeeds and abandonment.

“I’m truly relieved to see that you got to your room safely,” Korekiyo murmured to (Y/n).

“Huh? Oh yeah,” she pointed over to their local gentle giant, “Gonta and I crossed paths on my way and he wanted to walk me to my room and I just couldn’t say no to him. It’s nice to have someone you trust in this ‘game’. Well, other than you,” the elevator jumbled slightly as it dove down into Monokuma’s makeshift courtroom, “I trust you, obviously.”

She shouldn’t. And he wants to tell her that.

But as Kokichi and Shuichi take glances at him from across the elevator, he knows that she’ll figure things out soon enough.

And, during the trial, when Shuichi’s convicting Korekiyo of the murder of Angie Yonaga and Tenko Chabashira - she does. And she cries and screams and throws a fit. Demanding Korekiyo to fight back harder. Demanding Shuichi to stop lying and get serious. Because Korekiyo would never kill somebody.

He was nice. He was a gentleman. He cared about people. He had stolen her heart - and a man who managed that wouldn’t kill anybody. So, of course, Shuichi was lying.

“Do I have to remind you of what’ll happen if you don’t vote?” Monokuma bit out.

(Y/n) clutched at her hair - she knew what she had to do. But every time she went to vote for Korekiyo, her body wouldn’t let her.

Reaching over, the boy himself took her hand in his, “Allow me,” as he guided her hand over her voting panel. No matter how she swatted at his hand or tried to wrench herself from Korekiyo’s grip, he pressed her vote into his name.

She was forced to watch as he was strung up and spun. Made dizzy and sickly. She was made to watch as he fell into the melting pot. Fires eating at his body until he was no more than spirit.

As Monokuma and the sister who had harmed him so horrifically worked as one to rid the world of his soul.

Eyes went to (Y/n) as the execution subsided. Her sobs and hiccups drawing everyone’s attention.

Gonta was the first to approach, a large hand settling on the girl’s back as she cried, silently taking her into a hug.

Her heart wrenched, fingers squeezing at Gonta’s suit and throat rubbing raw with her wild wails.

He could’ve gotten help. He could’ve gotten out with everyone. If she’d just stayed with him then she could’ve done something. Angie and Tenko would be here. Korekiyo would be here.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kaito’s voice peeked through, “Don’t cry because he’s gone, (Y/n). Move forward - for both of you.”

“I…” she shook her head, choking on a sob, “I don’t think I can…”

Shuichi placed a hand on Kaito’s shoulder, “Just give her a little time.”

As the group moved out of the courtroom, Gonta stayed by (Y/n)’s side up until she clumsily made her way into her dorm room.

Immediately, she collapsed into her bed sheets. Dreading tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that. And the one after that. And so on. And so forth. Maybe she should’ve known better than to go around falling for a guy in the killing game. Maybe she should’ve held herself up in her room all alone.

There was no escape from this feeling. No hiding. It may get better over time - but Korekiyo would always be gone.

A buzz at the door caught her attention. Her movements were sluggish, honestly just hoping that whoever was there had given up and left by the time she finally answered.

Shuichi stood there, classically uneven, anxious smile and all, “I think there’s something you might be interested in? If you’ll follow me.”

No verbal response was given, only (Y/n) stepping out of her room and shutting the door behind her to give him her confirmation.

He began towards the casino. With a sigh, (Y/n) was about to tell Shuichi off - she didn’t need to start gambling to get over Korekiyo’s death - until he stopped in front of the building.

“I mostly just wanted you to get some fresh air,” he says earnestly before digging in his pocket and pulling out a key with a heart-shaped handle, “I got this from here. You can get your own or keep this one, I think you need it more than I do,” at her confusion he continues to explain, “It can take you into this weird dream-like state where you can see what ‘ideal’ you play in our classmates’ minds… I think you know who I gave this to you for.”

“Kiyo…”

“Yeah. You can see him again, if you want.”

She wanted to be strong and push the key back into Shuichi’s hand - instead, she just looked between him and the key in her hold and nodded slowly, “Thank you, Shuichi…”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, “Sleep well, (Y/n). I know you can grow past this.”

Because he did.

“I’ll try.”

But he wasn’t her. And Kaede was gone far before Korekiyo. And their grief was not the same.

“Thanks again, Shuichi.”

“Just take your time, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Her knees felt like collapsing under the weight of her nerves, hand falling to the doorknob of the hotel room.

She pushed through her anxiety and found herself in a red-tinted room, a large heart-shaped bed in the center with a merry-go-round circling it. Then, she found Korekiyo standing to the side.

What would his ‘ideal’ version of her be? A friend? An out-of-touch acquaintance? A lover?

Her heart throbbed at the last possibility.

“Ah, my dear, back so soon?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry…”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m, uhm, not sure?”

I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.

“Then don’t,” he seemed to glide across the room, taking the girl’s cheeks in his hands, “You’ve always had a problem with that, my love.”

My love? My love.

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” she huffed at her own word selection, “Oh…”

Korekiyo chuckled quietly, pulling down his mask to kiss her forehead, “I already took my medication while you were out.”

“Your medication?”

“Yes, from the doctor. You were the one who pushed me to go, have you forgotten?”

“Right! No, no, I just blanked,” she quickly lied, giving the boy a broad grin, “I’m glad, though.”

“It’s only medication, dear.”

“Still,” (Y/n) reached up to cup Korekiyo’s cheek, “it’s good that you’re following through with your meds.”

“Your support always helps,” he pressed another kiss to the girl’s forehead, “We’ll be leaving early in the morning tomorrow, I should warn you,” at her furrowed brows he explained, “In order for us to catch the first train to Iwate prefecture. Did you forget, darling?”

“Wait, wait, let me guess…” she waited for his nod before tossing out her suggestion, “We’re traveling for field work!” she was then quick to tag on, “As a couple that’s, like, super in love?”

“You didn’t forget at all, my love,” Korekiyo pulled away slightly, and sat on the bed, removing his shoes, “You play that memory of yours down too much. You’re far more intelligent than you think.”

“You think that?”

“Of course, I do. It’s not just because I love you dearly, either. You mustn’t let the words and actions of others control your opinion on yourself - you’re better than they say.”

This is his ultimate fantasy. He’s her lover. They travel and see the beauty of humanity together, just like what he said he wanted. He loves her. He thinks she’s so great.

He’s wrong.

She should’ve stayed with him that night.

He’s wrong.

She could’ve done so much to keep him with her.

He’s dead.

Because she should’ve stayed.

“Kiyo,” her eyes burned and began to soak, “I’m sorry!” her lungs rapidly expanded and contracted with her sporadic breaths, her hands clutching at her shirt. Her knees finally buckled and she collapsed to the ground, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry for being a stupid, stupid, stupid failure! Please… forgive me…!”

Korekiyo immediately stood up and rushed to (Y/n)’s side, bringing her into a tight hug as she fell to the floor, his fingers running through her hair. He kisses at her temple and cheeks, waiting until her cries settle enough for him to be audible in the room, “It’s interesting, dear, I first realized I’d fallen in love with you in a situation similar as this. I desired to comfort and reassure you just as I do now. You’re not stupid nor a failure, and I adore you above all else.”

Shaking her head, (Y/n) only began to cry harder into Korekiyo’s chest. This could’ve been their future. This could’ve been what they had to share and hold between only each other. If she’d only stayed. If she’d been with him that night.

“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“It wasn’t you,” she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to keep back her cries, “I- I- it’s all my fault… it’s all my fault…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, darling,” Korekiyo held her tighter, “I love you, my dearest (Y/n). No matter what you’ve done, I will always forgive you.”

And once again, her tears only came out harder. Her head pounding ruthlessly at the ache and consciousness fading out in her exhaustion. Korekiyo was dead. And no amount of her tears could ever bring him back.

#korekiyo shinguji x reader #korekiyo x reader #shinguji x reader #drv3 x reader #he deserved so much better :(( i wuv him #let me know if i miss anything with the warnings

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thedistantdusk · 3 years ago

Text

Arcadia, Chapter 2

Here we gooooo :) Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey, @remedialpotions, @not-steve42, @jamezbot, @gryffindorhealer, and the majority of the HG server for their help <3

If you’ve just arriving, here is Chapter 1. :)

_____________________

D A Y + T W O

He’s driving her mad. Absolutely fucking mad.

Ginny grips the hose in an attempt to water the rose bush outside their window, but her eyes are unfocused, unseeing.

This entire thing was such a terrible idea.

She should’ve insisted on another Auror as backup on her first solo mission. Someone less attractive. Someone she hadn’t shagged up one side of the Burrow and down the next.

But the request was difficult to grant in the first place. It took Ginny a full year of documentation to prove this was a necessary use of resources. Attica (and Unspeakables in general) don’t tend to be well-liked by the older Aurors, which made Harry the best fit. The only fit. Everyone— from Kingsley to Attica to even Hermione— agreed. And even aside from the sheer convenience of it all, Ginny’s years of experience with the Thought Chamber and Harry’s ability to sniff out trouble like a niffler after gold made them a brilliant combination to tackle… this.

It’s just a pity, then, that she still finds him so bloody attractive. Even though he’s become a bit of a brooding, sarcastic mess.

Ginny blinks down at the bright pink petals, their leathery flesh beaded with water droplets. Maybe the problem’s that she hasn’t spent much time around him since then. He still comes around for Sunday roast, of course, when his work schedule permits. In spite of what Mum went through, she’d never allow Harry to feel unwelcome. It’s his house as much as theirs— and yes, Ginny still lives at home. It’s the least she can do to maintain a degree of normalcy, even though everything irrevocably changed when It happened.

Ginny’s hands begin to shake around the hose; her brain starts to spiral. The Burrow is less welcoming now. Their hugs are more forced. Their family more distant. And although everyone functions on a basic human level, Ginny knows in her gut that the remaining Weasley siblings — Harry most certainly included — are still going through the motions to cope.

And maybe it’s because she really hadn’t had a libido in nearly five years, but fuck, it hasn’t taken much to come rushing back. Her thighs press together as her head fills with another series of intrusive thoughts instead. But she can’t suppress the memory of Harry emerging from the shower this morning, his top-half dripping, his bottom-half toweled. Not that it matters much, not when she knows every fucking inch of—

“I think that bush is good now!”

Ginny jumps, a string of swears springing to her lips. “I— fuck.” She turns to the unexpected voice. “Sorry! Let me—”

But Oliver from last night merely leans over to turn off the hose. “You’ll quickly learn that sort of language isn’t great for Arcadia, Jen,” he intones, finger wagging.

Years of training allow Ginny to blush in chagrin. To shove aside the telling-off she’d have provided a long, long time ago. “Sorry.” She winces. “It’s just a habit, leftover from—”

“—London, right,” he finishes, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anyway. Listen. Sharon and I would be honored if you joined us for dinner tonight.”

“Did I hear something about dinner?” Harry strolls out of the house, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying thump. “Goodie! As my wife knows, dinner is my favorite word.” He rests his chin on her head, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. Ginny’s heart clenches in familiarity even as her face remains placid. They agreed to all of these terms beforehand… to feign public affection. To seem utterly smitten. It’s just funny how they’ve both relied on old habits.

Ginny reckons that makes sense, though. After all, it worked for them once.

She turns towards Harry with a pout. “But Pookie Pie, I thought your favorite word was snuggles! We certainly did enough of that last night.”

Harry’s chuckle rings out with false bravado as he tucks her hair behind her ears. “We did something, all right. Not sure if snuggling is the right word for it. What do you think, Oliver?” Harry whips around to face him. “What’s your favorite word for… marital relations?” His eyebrows waggle suggestively above his glasses; Ginny stomps on his foot to keep herself from laughing.

Oliver, however, does not find them delightful. “I think this is for you. From Mike.” He points to a box that he apparently rested on the ground while Ginny was drowning the roses.

Harry bends over to pick it up. This does nothing to distract her.

“Couldn’t Mike erm…” Ginny shakes her head to clear it. “Sorry. Couldn’t he bring it over himself? He lives just—”

“Out of town on business, I’m afraid.” Oliver’s voice turns cold as he peers at Ginny again. “He won’t be back for weeks. Months, maybe.”

Ginny makes a noise of concern and rests a fist on her hip. “Huh! That’s funny. What out-of-town business could a primary school teacher possibly have?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow, but his grin remains. “Teacher business, I guess.”

“When can we speak to someone about the trampoline?” Harry blurts, slicing the tension. “I’m missing my exercise, Ollie. It’s how I stay fit. You won’t like me when I’m not exercising!”

With that, Oliver’s grin finally fades. “Well, you can ask Mr. Gogolak, but I don’t think anything will come of it. He’s available tonight from 5 o’clock to 6:13, on the dot. He lives just up there, on the corner. Anyway, I’ll be off.” He gives a parting wave and turns to walk up the drive, but Harry isn’t done.

“Not sure how we’ll manage to make that and dinner, though,” he calls. “Don’t we have to be indoors by six?”

But it seems Oliver is absolutely intent on being elsewhere, because he opts to walk backwards and yell from the street. “Of course not!” he shouts. “Six is only the move-in deadline.” Then he barks out a cruel laugh, throwing his hands in the air. “Any idiot knows that dinner starts at 7!” With that, he sends them a final glare before lumbering away, his brown loafers crunching on the pavement.

Harry and Ginny snort in unison; if Oliver hears them, he doesn’t engage.

“See you later!” Ginny confirms, ensuring it’s loud enough for him to hear. Then she drops her voice to a stage-whisper and cups her hand into a regal wave. “Hope Sharon removes that stick from your arse before dinner tonight, you miserable sack of shit. Suck my dick!”

Harry laughs. “As much as I appreciate the support, Muffin Cakes, that’s one insult that just doesn’t work when you say it.”

And Ginny doesn’t know what comes over her next… she really, really doesn’t.

Because in the blink of an eye, she’s pushed Harry against the front door with a petulant pout. The pulsing between her legs returns with humiliating swiftness; it’s a blessing, really, that Harry’s dreadful at flirting and picking up on cues. They’re in public, but this is the furthest thing from acting.

Nonetheless, Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs as her arms drape around his neck. She watches, rapt, as his eyes darken. Apart from that one slip-up last night, he’s excelled at his job… and as she leans into his hard chest, she realizes how she really feels: she's jealous. Dreadfully jealous.

How dare he be better at this? What in hell gave him the right to soak her knickers with a single look? She’s had years of professional training and a lifetime of practice, but it comes naturally to him— this pretending shit.

And for fuck’s sake… he’s a lot better at it.

“But it’s been ages since you’ve been in my knickers, Baby Bear,” she croons, batting her eyelashes. “How would you know?”

She intends it playfully. A gentle way to put him in his place. But to her surprise, something stinging and sober crosses Harry’s face.

The moment’s over… absolutely over.

In a flash, he pushes her away and gestures at the door. After you. She nods, still turned on but now confused. The whole thing reminds her of ancient history, where she waited for him after each quidditch practice and thought, wished, prayed that he’d touch her… all while hoping to God he wouldn’t.

It takes until they’re inside for her to figure out why he’s upset.

He locks the door behind them with a wave of his wand— and when he whips around, his face is twisted into such a brooding scowl that it pins her on the spot. Shit.

“It goes without saying,” Harry mutters, voice dangerously low, “that there are some things a bloke just doesn’t forget.” He lets out a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering. “Ok?”

Oh.

Ginny’s cheeks flush as it all comes rushing back. She’s honestly forgotten how… attached he was to that ability. How much he prided himself on being able to please her. How he worshipped her body with such respectful, hushed reverence that it still features in her fantasies.

It seems there’s a limit to his acting skills, after all. A line that he just won’t cross. She should be chuffed that she got what she wanted. Instead, her stomach throbs with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” He waves his hand over his shoulder and trudges upstairs, leaving her in hollow silence.

Right.

_________________________________

Mr. Gogolak crosses his left leg over his right and swirls his brandy tumbler. Between the ruddy patches on his cheeks and the way his words slip over each other, it’s not his first of the evening. Harry’s reminded of Slughorn. In the worst possible way.

“Anyway.” Gogolak waves at the massive tabbed binder to his left. “As the rules clearly stipulate, a trampoline would lead to other things. Unsavory things.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip.

Harry’s eyes flit around the room, trying to take it all in. The decor is… nice, he supposes, if you want every guest to be aware — beyond a shadow of a doubt— that You’ve Been Abroad, thanks. Multi-colored felt flower vases dot the floating shelves above Gogolak’s head, each a pop of color in a room that’s otherwise painfully beige. Scrolls hand-painted with renditions of Buddha and Lokta hang on the far wall. And above them… Harry cocks his head, puzzled, and tries to place where he’s seen that particular mask before.

“Of course,” Ginny agrees with a fervent nod. “We understand the need for decorum and cooperation, don’t we, Hen?”

“Where‘s that mask from?” Harry blurts, nudging his chin up.

Ginny rubs her temples in frustration, but if anything, Gogolak seems flattered.

“Oh! That.” His face flushes with pride as he takes another drink. “That’s a wrathful Mahakala mask. From Tibet! I bought it cheap off a street orphan during my last trip. Can’t say he had much need for it, what with being starving and living in the street.” His laugh booms over the sitting room.

Harry tries to focus. He’s there for Ginny. He’s there for Ginny. He’s only backup. But ah, bugger, after the other shit today it’s too much, and—

“Ha!” Harry returns his humorless laugh. “Isn’t poverty hilarious, Jen?”

There’s an anxious pause.

Ginny ends it with a fake giggle of her own. “As you can see, Mr. Gogolak, my husband is growing a bit testy without his exercise!” She nudges Harry in the ribs— hard enough to make her point, but not hard enough to hurt. “So if we could only have the trampoline, then—”

“‘Fraid not,” Gogolak slurs, peering down at his brandy again. “See, there’s a reason Arcadia has been named Best Village for so long: People simply love to live here!”

“Oh?” Ginny returns her teacup to the table. “Everyone loves to live here?” She rests her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to a discreet whisper. “What about the people who’ve gone missing, then?”

At first, Gogolak is unperturbed. Then his smile deepens, his eyes traveling from Ginny’s face down to her chest. For fuck’s sake. This arsehole can’t be serious! Harry’s gut swirls with something visceral and protective. He wraps his arm around her shoulders as his hand inches for the wand in his back pocket. Ginny catches his hand on the way and interlaces their fingers with an almost imperceptible, “Shh.”

“Well, well, well,” Gogolak drawls, leaning back to full-on leer at her. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Should’ve known. You’re a ginger, after all.”

Wrong answer.

“Not sure what the color of her hair has to do with her question,” Harry says stiffly. It’s the politest thing he can manage. Ginny squeezes his thigh.

Gogolak faces Harry instead, his face a mask of delighted malice. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Petri,” he drawls. “You must forgive an old man for noticing.”

“Pee-tri,” Harry grouses.

Is it possible to accidentally Avada Kedavra someone with your eyes? Surely he’d be forgiven for that, yeah? He counts five deep breaths, his face burning, as he waits for Ginny to take the lead.

He’s still a bit taken aback at how quickly things changed. He thought he was irritated with her earlier, but now he realizes that frustrated is a better word. They haven’t been together in ages, but she has to know what she still does to him. It wasn’t like she’d grown less beautiful. And while he’s not proud of how things ended, he’s spent the last five years taking pride in knowing her. In being her first, as primitive and knuckle-dragging as that sounds. Because no matter how bad things were, he was always able to make her…

Yeah.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Had he deluded himself into thinking it was as good for her as it was for him?

Ginny clears her throat again. “But what of the people?” she prompts. “The missing people? Like Eric Highland, who lived in our house until last August, when—”

“Oh, him!” Gogolak booms out another uncomfortable laugh and drains the rest of his tumbler. “Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but—” He makes a slitting motion across his throat and pours himself another drink. “Committed suicide. Quite a mess.”

Then Gogolak stills, his eyes widening; for the first time this evening, he looks vaguely embarrassed. “Oh, but not in your home, of course!” He waves his hand dismissively. “We’d never, you know, let someone move in after that. Would affect property values, you see.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his ears as Ginny clenches his hand, for once. He wonders if he’s ever given less of a shit about property values.

Another span of uncomfortable silence stretches between them… but this one grows more furious and heated with every second. The version of her he knew before would have Bat Bogeyed this wanker before she took a breath. But everything’s different now.

“That’s… not the preferred term,” Ginny finally manages, her voice strained. Harry grips her hand more tightly; that odd rush of pride returns. He knew she’d say something. There’s not a single version of her that would let that go.

Gogolak’s brow furrows. “What do you—”

“—Took his life,” Ginny interjects, her voice ringing with the righteousness Harry only dimly recognizes from the woman he knew before. “Or died by suicide. Or had terminal depression.”

He holds her hand even tighter as she draws a deep breath, shifting in her seat. Get him, Gin. Get the bastard. Whatever you need, I’m there.

“Committed is a word that… implies a crime,” Ginny finishes. But her words sound careful now. “It just adds to the stigma that people with mental illness are problematic. Words mean things. So.”

Gogolak presses his lips into a thin line. “Forget I brought it up.”

“I will,” Ginny says coolly.

Ginny hadn’t thought much could be worse than the meeting with Mr. Gogolak. Unfortunately, dinner with Sharon and Oliver is proving her wrong.

“This is free-range chicken, of course,” Oliver drawls, gesturing towards their plates. “Got them at the organic market. Anything for health!”

They’d already been treated to iceberg lettuce salads and glasses of generic Merlot. Perhaps she should have anticipated chicken breast and rice as the thrilling main course.

Harry cuts his chicken breast with a sigh. “That’s a pity, Oliver. We all know that caged chickens are tastier!”

Ginny muffles a snort with a cough and reaches for her glass of wine.

Sharon pauses, fork mid-way to her mouth, to peer at Harry, bleary-eyed and confused. Oh, for fuck’s sake; what was it about suburbia that removed one’s ability to recognize a joke?

Oliver changes the subject before Ginny gets the chance. “Where did you two meet, anyway?” he grunts. “And how long have you been married?”

Ginny smiles, preparing the canned response they practiced for months. They met in uni through mutual friends. They both work in computers, and last year, they finally realized it was time to leave the big city.

Harry shatters all of that with three words.

“Magic camp, actually!” he announces, throwing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

Fuck. She analyzes her chicken with newfound intensity and tries to imagine something sad.

“Huh,” Oliver says flatly. “Wouldn’t have taken either of you for magicians.”

Sharon has the grace to act embarrassed. “Now now, love,” she chides, reaching for the breadbasket, “I’m sure people have loads of hobbies that aren’t always obvious to everyone!”

“Exactly!” Harry grins and reaches for a piece of baguette. “Besides, it’s mostly Jenny who’s mad for it. Card tricks, pulling bunnies from hats, sawing women in half. Even—” he pauses for a dramatic gasp— “magic wands! You name it, she loves it.”

“Well!” Sharon raises her eyebrows; it’s clear she’s feigning being impressed. “If I’m ever in need of disappearing something, I’ll know who to call!”

Aha! The perfect opening!

“Speaking of disappearing,” Ginny starts, as casually as possible, “we checked with Saint Julian’s Primary. It’s not true Mike left on business.”

Sharon’s smile freezes and melts with such speed that Ginny feels a pang of sympathy. Poor Sharon. She’s really just doing her best to be a pleasant hostess. It’s Oliver who has the clear ulterior motive.

The man in question takes another sip of wine, unfazed. “And why did you have interest in contacting a primary school in the first place? Bit weird for a grown adult, that.”

Harry releases another fake chuckle. “Oh, Oliver, you’re such a prankster!” He bites off some bread. “Surely you’re not turning the tables on my wife and accusing her of being the weird one. After all, all she did was ask about the whereabouts of a lovely member of our community. Right?”

He gives Oliver such an exaggerated wink that even Ginny almost believes him. “And besides…” Harry’s hand wraps around her shoulder again. “Do you reckon we should tell them?” he murmurs, voice laden with his expectation.

Ginny rolls her eyes, fully intent on a thin-lipped, silent warning about making shit up… but Harry’s earnest expression stops her. His green eyes blink behind his glasses, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. Before she knows what’s happening, one of his warm hands cups her chin while the other comes to rest on her stomach.

Oh. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding— because for a moment, she forgets where she is. She forgets they’re faking. She forgets they split up and chose separate paths, that they weren’t looking through a portal of what could have been, should have been, before their lives turned to shit.

“Not yet, of course,” Harry murmurs, appearing for all the world like he’s drinking her in as his fingers tap at her stomach. “But soon. We hope.”

And with that, he abruptly clears his throat and turns back to the Skinners. “Anyway, that’s why we called Saint Julian’s,” Harry adds, nonchalantly as you please. “Always good to be prepared, eh?”

“Oh, how exciting!” Sharon cries, clasping her hands together. “And yes, I agree— preparedness is key.”

“Knew you’d be happy for us,” Harry says with another wink. “Quite an exciting time, I’m sure you understand.”

It’s then that Ginny finds her voice. “So. Erm,” she starts, trying to focus. “They hadn’t heard from him. Mike. The school, I mean.” She takes another sip of wine to get her bearings back. “Any idea where he could’ve gone? You understand why we’re a bit worried, especially if we’re planning to—”

“No,” Oliver snaps, nostrils flaring. Sharon’s fork clatters to her plate; if swearing were allowed in this house, Ginny’s confident she would’ve let one slip. “I don’t understand, and you’ll find that snooping isn’t a past-time I appreciate,” Oliver finishes, drawing himself up taller to puff out his chest.

Ginny lets out an incredulous chuckle. “But Oliver… this is a matter of safety. We’re worried about our neighbor.”

“Yeah, Ollie-O!” Harry clucks his tongue, relaxing further into his chair. “Perhaps Arcadia isn’t as perfect as we were led to believe.”

Oliver just fixes them both with a stern glare. “Nope,” he says flatly. The p pops. “You’re wrong. Per usual.”

For six seconds, the four of them sit in painful, frigid silence. Ginny feels Harry’s hand reach behind him… inching closer to his wand...

“Jenny!” Sharon finally chirps, her voice a falsetto. Oh, thank fuck. “I need to walk the dog. Would you join me?”

___________________________

Captain Bone’s toenails tick on the pavement as Sharon holds his lead. Ginny peers at him with unexpected affection as he prances beneath the street lights. Dogs are too high-maintenance for her to even consider, but something about this one is undeniably appealing. As if he hears her, Captain Bone turns to Ginny with a slobbery grin.

Sharon laughs. “He likes you. He’s a sucker for a pretty girl.”

Ginny scratches beneath the thick leather collar with Captain Bone emblazoned on a bronze plate. He throws his head back for more access. Poor Captain Bone. The whole collar looked horribly uncomfortable. “I like him too,” Ginny agrees as he flounces away. “I’m afraid work keeps me too busy for a dog, though.”

Sharon waves this away. “Nah. I’ve seen the way Henry stares at you.” She flashes a knowing smile as they continue strolling, side-by-side. “I reckon if you really wanted a dog, he’d oblige.”

Captain Bone halts, mid-step, and picks up his leg. Sharon removes a waste bag from her pocket.

“You’re probably right,” Ginny mutters. She’s not sure why that feels like admitting to a scandal.

Sharon sighs. “The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. Like he’s holding the whole world in his hands.” Her voice grows wistful, distant; Ginny has a feeling she’s not actually talking about Harry at all.

“Well, we are newlyweds.” Ginny mashes her kitten heel — a clothing acquisition specific to this assignment — into the pavement. “I’m erm. Sure that’ll change.”

But Sharon just stares at Captain Bone as he does his business. “Maybe,” she says softly. “But I don’t reckon Oliver ever looked at me quite like that.”

Ginny blinks at Sharon beneath the streetlight, the fluorescent throwing her features into sharp relief. Wrinkles fold the corners of her eyes. Bits of gray sprout at her scalp beneath the warm chestnut color. Her smile may have been natural once, but now it’s forced. Uneasy. Ginny grimaces. This poor woman… imagine thinking you couldn’t do better than a wanker like Oliver.

“Shit!” Sharon swears, ripping Ginny from her reverie— and soon, she sees why. Captain Bone charges down the street, his lead scraping the ground like a limp noodle. “I wasn’t holding him tightly enough,” she whispers, horrified. “I’ll have to—”

“No,” Ginny says, taking off her heels and thrusting them into Sharon’s arms. “Let me!” And with that, she’s off, bare feet slapping the pavement.

“Don’t blame you for trying to get away,” Ginny mutters, rounding a corner. “The place is bloody creepy. But next time, Captain Bone, could you do this in broad daylight? Nighttime ‘round here is—”

Wait.

Ginny stops, dead in her tracks. A weird sensation creeps over her, crawling against her skin. All the street noise vanishes. Crickets stop chirping; wind stops whistling. She looks around, panic rising in her throat, but nothing looks amiss. She can’t shake it, though… their eerie, numb ringing that fills her head, and—

Like a thunderclap, it all comes back. The faint wind returns. Bugs resume their buzzing. The electric lamppost makes a dull crackling just above her.

Weird. Very fucking weird.

Luckily, Ginny specializes in weird; in the aftermath of whatever the hell that was, she’s more confused than frightened. She takes a few more shaky steps, making every observation she can (temperature, cloud pattern, weather conditions, insect movement)... and that’s when she spies something glinting to her left. Something golden and stuffed in a storm drain.

No. Ginny’s heart pounds as she rushes over, sinking to her knees. It can’t be…

But the closer she gets, the clearer it is: Mike’s chain necklace… the medallion of Saint Julian. Right beside Captain Bone’s pretentious leather collar. For the first time, fear floods her stomach. She surreptitiously reaches for the wand tucked into her waistband. “Accio necklace.” It soars through the gate and into her hand just as Sharon’s footsteps round the corner.

Ginny shoves the necklace into her bra— and it’s only then she realizes that there must’ve been something strange and slimy hanging from it, because whatever the fuck that was is now pressed to her right nipple.

Blech. It takes every bit of her willpower not to shudder and gag. She manages to school her features into innocent concern as Sharon finally catches up.

“Well,” pants Sharon, hands on her thighs, “did you find him?”

“No,” Ginny laments, genuinely upset. She gestures towards the storm drain. “But for some reason, his collar’s down there.”

Even beneath the streetlamps, Sharon’s face turns white.

______________________________

Harry’s back muscles contract in agony as he hunches over the laptop. This whole assignment is a painful reminder that he’s not as young as he used to be. How many hours did he spend snoozing on the lawn at Hogwarts without so much as an ache? But a single bloody night on these shit couches, and he’s popping Paracetamol like sweets. He shifts in place; must be time for another dose.

“Hear anything?” Ginny emerges from the walk-in closet in a towel turban and fluffy white dressing gown, two evidence bags in her hands.

Harry glares at the laptop screen and tries very hard not to remember that one of those bags contains a lacy black bra— one he definitely hasn’t seen before. For the past hour, he’s been in an envious haze of wondering if she bought it for the mission or bought it to wear for someone else.

Either way, it consoles him that deep down, she’s still Ginny; she took this necklace and shoved it into her bra without letting on that something vile and gross was pressed to her ti—

He shakes his head to clear it, but that hurts his neck. For once, though, he embraces the pain. Anything to shift his focus.

“From the props department? No.” Harry sighs and retrieves the medicine bottle from his luggage. “I swear, I have no idea who they got to make the moving boxes and pick the couches, but I’m fairly sure Victoire could do better.”

Ginny scoffs at this. “Well, of course Vic could do better. She’s the most perfect, adorable human alive,” she says fondly, tossing the evidence bags in the transporter box.

It’s plain cardboard, easily disguised as a standard moving box. But with three taps of her wand, the bags evaporate, presumably materializing in a Ministry lab somewhere. Not that Harry cares about the specifics. This is a key example of the sort of detail that’s less and less intriguing the longer he holds this job.

“But I was actually asking if you’d heard anything about Mike and — hey, what are you doing?”

“Paracetamol,” Harry mutters, popping open the bottle. “I’m getting old, Ginny,” he warns, rising to his feet with an exaggerated grimace. “Dunno why you thought it would be a good idea to go on a mission with an old man.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the bathroom. “You don’t need to be so bloody noble. Please join me on the bed. We could make it longer, even, if you—”

He clears his throat to cut her off. That would be a terrible idea on all counts. Silence on the other side of the door tells him that Ginny either realizes this or chooses not to press the issue. Good...

“Erm. There’s no hits on Mike,” Harry calls into the bathroom. “I reckon he’s dead, Ginny. Credit cards and car haven’t been touched.”

The tap turned on behind the door. “Can’t say I’m shocked,” Ginny admits, voice muffled, “but— holy hell, who taught you how to squeeze toothpaste?”

Harry smirks and returns to the computer. “Myself, probably.”

Ginny lets out another irritated groan. “And the toilet seat’s up!” She strides out of the bathroom. “Strike two!”

Harry hears the distinctive sound of clothing hitting the floor beside her bed but wills himself not to turn around, not to turn around, not to—

“Well.” Ginny sucks her teeth as the bedding rustles. “I suppose I should take all of that as a good sign, really. You clearly don’t have girls in and out of your flat.”

Oh?

Harry’s heart thunders in his ears, his stomach flipping in hope. She takes that as a good sign? Really? He glimpses over his shoulder before remembering he’s not supposed to look.

And just as quickly, he regrets it.

Because Ginny’s sprawled back against the bed, her face so white that she nearly blends into the linens, but his eyes aren’t too focused on her face. They’re drawn down, down, down… down to her creamy chest, dotted with chocolate freckles. Down to her breasts, which he definitely still knows every inch of, even as they rest beneath a black lace vest he hasn’t seen before. Down to the shorts that hug her hips and graze the tips of her thighs… the same thighs he spread open and dipped his head between as she tugged on his hair, her cries breathy and panting in the garden’s evening mist.

Ah, fuck. That one does it. Harry adjusts his basketball shorts as discreetly as possible, but another glimpse at her face tells him he didn’t need to worry.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she whispers, eyes filled with horror.

Harry clears his throat. He honestly forgot she said anything. Now he just feels guilty for eyeing her up while she spiraled.

“I’m so… fuck. This is so unprofessional.” She sinks her head into her hands. “Please, Harry, forget that I said anything. I’m so sorry. That was—”

“It’s forgotten,” he rumbles, his voice deeper than he realized. “Legitimately. I’ve already forgotten it.”

She shoots him a weak smile through the slits of her hands. “I know you haven’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Harry offers his best expression of bafflement as he picks up a pillow from the end of her bed. “Haven’t a clue what you mean, Unspeakable GW. See you at 0-700 hours.” He stops halfway out the door and gives her a military salute. “Unless, of course, you decide to start a bit later,” he adds seriously, “in which case I’ll see you… erm. 0-whenever-the-hell-you-wake-up-hours.”

Ginny giggles, settling against the pillows again.

“Thanks,” she says after a moment, peering at her cuticles. “For… everything. And especially for forgetting—” She makes a vague hand gesture as her cheeks flush the most fascinating shade of pink.

Harry stills, one hand on the doorknob.

He wants to make her feel better… but really, it’s more than that. He wants to tell her that his heart still jumps into his throat when he hears about an Unspeakable being injured on the job. He wants to admit that he avoids Sundays at the Burrow not because he stopped caring, but because he cares too much. He wants to confess, in a rush of passion, that she wasn’t just his first: she’s his only. That he reckons she’ll always be his only. That exchanging work for Them was the stupidest thing he ever agreed to, regardless of the circumstances.

Oh, and of course, that he still fucking loves her. Harry rubs his forehead, frustration gnawing at his stomach. Why in hell did he admit that to himself? You never admit that to yourself. What an idiot.

Still, they have a mission… a moronic, suburban mission filled with every literal and metaphorical breed of Karen imaginable. But as worthless as Harry considers this whole assignment, her neck is on the line if they come up empty-handed. And she values her assignment— and her neck, he reckons— quite a bit.

So he makes the choice to both reassure her. And to be foolishly honest.

“Erm… for what it’s worth?” Harry croaks, staring down the dark corridor to avoid meeting her eyes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted in my bedroom, anyway.”

Before she can reply, he closes the door and walks away. His cheeks burn as he pads downstairs, but Harry knows it’s best to leave it, really. To save them both the awkwardness.

Even if it means sleeping on this shit couch forever.

#harry/ginny fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #x-files #canon compliant #au

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nemuitoka · 4 years ago

Note

What are your favorte jshk fanfics? also where do you like reading them the most?

Hi Anon!!! today is the day I can finally answer this question😈 ahaha you know how much I enjoy making fic recs so 👀 Let’s go!!!

To answer your second question first, I like reading them on AO3 the most! Mostly because I get almost unlimited number of characters to rant in the comment section........... 😆but also the tagging system is very helpful.

Okay, now to the fun part of this ask😏

You said JSHK, but I mostly read Hananene ones so all of my favs include that pairing... as I already did a fic rec here of my favs, this list will continue that one, so please check that one first hehe ((I apologize in advance..., I would love for people to recommend me some mitsukou ones tbh... I’m really lost when it comes to other pairings orz))

If I’m completely honest with you anon-san, my favorite JSHK fic right now is the one Roxanne ( @istoleyourboat ) wrote based of my art and her snippet:

Star-Crossed and Falling- Where Stars Go to Die by lilaflo

Hanako is Princess Nene’s personal knight 👀. A tale of forbidden love. They slowly fall in love as they exchange a series of gifts, one that includes a pair of matching earrings that remind them of their love when they’re apart. Also, jelly Hanako of Nene’s suitors😏... Oh, but nothing lasts forever and those sweet moments will come to an end when they have to face their cruel reality, in this world, they don’t get to choose neither their battles or the ones they love.

Now more of Roxanne, because I seriously enjoy her work so much (I’m sure everyone knows by now lmao sdkj)

Night of the Phantom King by lilaflo

This one is a spooky one. Nene’s regret for never realizing who she truly loves takes her to mourn her deceased friend Amane and cry on his grave in a Halloween night, then suddenly the Phantom King comes to take her away👀 & he looks suspiciously familiar... Beautiful world building btw, also the ending is just, excellent.

12 Year Romance by lilaflo

Amane meets Nene at the Tanabata festival, she’s older than him, but he falls for her instantly, fast forward, Amane is now in middle school, he’s a troublemaker, & gets constantly into fights, but he swears the new school nurse looks familiar... he then realizes it’s her and thinks it must be fate!!!... This one hits close to home bc I’ve been in this situation irl, so I can confirm all of Nene’s struggles are real (and ofc how a love with an age gap should be handled the correct way, this fic really teaches you many life lessons hahaha)

took a sip then another sip, then you turned and said to me by chivalrousamour

This autor has a bunch of good JSHK fics!! I recommend you check their AO3 out, bec you may find something you like for sure! But, this is my absolute fav from them. Nene is a mangaka, celebrating the finishing of her long serialized manga, while Amane is a delivery boy who happens to find her in a very questionable state in her house👀 (it’s all family friendly ofc, anon, I’m not a slimy pervert like some ghost boy)

Maid for Each Other by corologs ( @corologs )

Courtney has this amazing College AU collection series that I encourage you to check out!!! But Maid for each other is my fav!!! So it’s the Yugi twins birthday, and it’s Tsukasa’s turn to choose where they go to celebrate it... you can already tell where this is going... (let the chaos begin) & as the title said, it involves maids!!! (it has Kaicho wa maid sama vibes if you liked that anime~~)

If I Could Tell Her by corologs

What if the picture perfect arc plan was successful??? Well, this fic explores this idea, and it’s very interesting to read. I like how Amane and Hanako are two separate people here.

the horizon tries but it’s just not as kind on the eyes by sincerelyand ( @sunlightinourheadlights )

(Oh my sweet Karen, she writes such good fics, so go check her AO3 out as well!!) Amane and Yashiro are friends that share an apartment (& they were roommates-- OMG they were roommates), even if Amane has its complains, because Nene can be a handful sometimes (and in denial of her true feelings as always, are we even surprised at this point?) he loves her dearly anyways😭.

for real, this time by sourlemoncandy ( @sour-lemon-candy )

Did somebody say fake dating AU?????? Because hell yeah I did asajj I loved reading this so much!! Nene and Amane are childhood friends, and Nene overhears some girls talking about Amane and how one of them plans to ask him out... but she senses these girls are up to no good so she... well, you gotta read it to find out more~~ it’s no fun If I tell ya everything hehe... so go go go!!

lemon cream by sourlemoncandy

Amane and Nene, just two good friends having a road trip and sharing donuts... what could go wrong?? 😏 seriously, I loved this fic so much!! Instant fav! Also makes me wanna try some good sweet donuts...

Trip Down Memory Lane by insipidenvy ( @insipidenvy )

This fic is so sweet. I have such a huge attachment to it, because I read it when I really needed some fluff in my life hahaha. It’s sort of a collection of memories between Amane and Yashiro’s relationship over the years. So heartwarming... if you need the fluffs you’ll enjoy this very much!!

The Radish Princess and the Toilet Prince by insipidenvy

This is my favorite fic from insipidenvy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You know how I am a slut for Royalty AUs so that’s why!!!!! Also Toilet Prince!! hahahaha such a good nickname lmao. I love how they bond over their insecurities, it’s very relatable tbh.

Between Wind and Water by WingSongHalo ( @wingsonghalo )

My beautiful Wing always delivering the good Hananene content, as she should!! This fic is so fun to read!! I laughed so hard at Nene and Hanako being awkward with each other!!! So you know how Hanako is super clingy with Nene, he’s always touching & hugging her, but this time something weird happens and he’s so distant~~ Nene doesn’t want to admit it at first, but she misses his clingy ghost boy~~ you’ll have a good time reading this for sure!

The Monster's Bride by Hammsters ( @uglierdaikon )

Have you heard about the myth of Cupid and Psyche? Well this fic rewrites it in a very Hananene way <3 hehe I loved it so much (as I’m a huge fan of mythology~) To sum it up, Nene is fated to marry a monster that lives in the mountains so she’s devastated... to her surprise, her husband is far from what she expected... she only had one rule to obey and well... we all know how reckless Nene is so... you go find out what happens next now!! hehehe

Morning Reflections by FalalalaLa ( @miss-sternennacht )

So you’ve heard of Hanako watching Nene sleep, but what about Nene watching Amane sleep???!! this fic offers you this and so much more fluff <3 Also Nene remembering how they met and how their relationship evolved during the years, aww <3

Cursed Coin by DaikonSenpai ( @daikonsenpai )

There’s a school dance, Yashiro’s supposed to be dancing with Kou (since she can’t go with Hanako, which causes him to be jelly~~ and bitter), but she loses a coin Aoi gave her for good luck so she goes out and searches for it on the last place she saw it, the school fountain. Suddenly Hanako spots her, what’s she doing outside??? is she drunk or something?? what happens next you may find out when you read it~~~

Between Love and Hope by Baronesscmd (SweeterThanYourDarkestSin) ( @baronesscmd )

Oh to be Nene and get to sleep between the Yugi twins... God really has favorites uh... ISTG, this collection of fics is so cute. I love how Nene loves the twins so much in this AU, they have their little cute family. She ofc is in love with Amane, but their relationship with Tsukasa is so tender... it’s mostly this trio having fluffy moments together to heal your soul... if you need some, you’ll get it here for sure hahaha.

Ghost of You (And All the Futures We've Forgotten) by Indigo_Floof milkteamoon ( @indigosienna , @spades-queen )

So anon you may have been wondering, well this bitch likes fluff only???? how about some angst for a change, uh? DAMN, OKAY THEN, here you have some angst to rip your soul out and wish you never sent me this ask in the 1st place, bec of the emotional damage this fic will leave you sdajjsa, also if you liked “Erased”, you’ll love this fic too!

Hanako of the Opera by zxrstan

Finally, but not less important, me being annoying about Hanako of the Opera & POTO AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!! This fic is based of the AU Aidairo created mostly, it’s really fun to read if you didn’t get much of what was happening during the Hanako of the Opera event, it has a nice ending also! very satisfying I must say.

AAAAND THIS IS THE END OF MY ALL TIME FAV LIST OMG;;;; Kudos for me for searching through all my damn AO3 and Google Chrome history (from both my PC and phone, since I am a FOOL and forgot my AO3 password so I read a lot of these in the past as a guest before recovering my password LMAO, please be patient with me omg, and also if you see me bookmarking them now, you know why 😭)

Kudos to all of my writer homies as well, I love and appreciate all of you so much!! you have no idea! 💖

I hope you find this list useful, anon!! Thank you for sending me this ask and have a wonderful day!

Ps. Please everyone feel free to add more fics to this list if you want! this is all my personal picks, but I’m aware there are a lot more fics that I haven’t read and deserve as much recognition as the ones I listed!

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years ago

Text

Rose Red’s All Hallows Eve: Ticket Please?

Summary- 4.2k Curtis Everett x You. Your boyfriend got you tickets to a charity Haunted House, and the special features include immersed scenes from the movie of your choice. Once you hear that the one and only Curtis Everett from Snowpiercer is a part of the choices, you just have to go. Prepare for a night of apocalyptic fun!

Warnings- Blood/Gore, brutal killings, swears.

A/N- Written for @jtargaryen18 Haunted House 2020. This is a 3 chapter story that will be posted within a few days of one another. Be sure to read the warnings for each chapter. The page dividers were made by @firefly-graphics , I highly suggest checking out her work, its really excellent and a bit of everything to choose from. The manor described in this story, Rose Red, is a piece of work from Stephen King, and I highly suggest watching the tv mini series, if you can find it. Perfect for this time of year. Special thanks to @what-is-your-plan-today for being my Beta in this project. Happy Reading and Haunting! 😈🎃

“What do you mean Bryce that you can’t come? You promised you would! When is New York State ever going to open Rose Red to be explored like this again Bryce?” You spoke into your cell phone while looking in the mirror, currently doing a french braid to keep your hair out of your face. Your expression reflected back at you was a mixture of fury and disbelief. You had only been talking about this charity for 6 months, and here was your boyfriend backing out after he’d promised to come with you numerous times.

“Something came up with Maya, okay? You know my sister can’t do anything without fucking it up. Besides it's just a house”

“Bryce, don’t talk about your sister that way.” You sighed exasperatedly before your voice dropped slightly conveying your disappointment “And it's not just a house, it's just the most haunted manor and grounds in New York. They had it condemned supposedly just for that reason! You really can’t come?”

“You know that shit isn't real. Sorry Baby, but why don’t you take one of your friends? How about that Karen chick?”

You gave a sigh and roll of the eyes, Bryce never bothered to get to know any of your friends, not like you did with his friends. “You mean Stacey? Her name isn’t Karen.”

“Well, she’s like a Karen.” He retorted with a condescending tone.

“Whatever Bryce, I’m hanging up now.” you snapped out, he was being an ass especially considering this entire night had actually started out as a treat to him from you.

“Hey, Hey, I was kidding. Take Stacey. You know I wouldn’t be any fun, I never liked Snowpiercer, remember?”

“That’s not the point Bryce…” you sighed again.

“Look, go have fun with Stacey, and tomorrow morning I will pick you up, we can go for a drive down the coast, just the two of us. Maybe have a long weekend in Hampton. How does that sound? I will even take you to that hotel you like. That one right on the beach with the view we stayed at last summer. We had fun there, didn’t we Sweetness.” now his tone was a hint of teasing and promise, and although you were still mad that he ditched you again, you felt a warmth bloom in your chest that he was trying to make it right.

You bit your lip remembering, it had been a fantastic vacation, and Bryce really showed you a good time without ever having to leave the room. At your silence he gave a chuckle of triumph. “That’s what I thought, I'm gonna call them right now. Have fun tonight baby.”

“Okay, but you better be here bright and early Bryce. Love-” Before you could even say the words, he hung up, and you hit the end call button, trying to get over the feeling of disappointment before you called Stacey. You could already hear what she would say, but as your best friend, she would be there. She always was. Dialing her number, you pulled out the tickets from your purse, allowing yourself a smile.

What could you say, you were a fangirl. Snowpiercer was such an intricate dark story, you had fallen in love with it the first time you watched it on Netflix. So when Bryce mentioned his grandfather was helping sponsor a haunted house charity at the town's resident creepy manor, and it was featuring several film sets. Including none other than Snowpiercer, you just had to have all the details. It even went as far as Bryce having his grandfather putting in a good word of how much of a fan you were to get you in. You scrimped and saved, Bryce as well helped you with paying for the tickets. You had really wanted to do this with him too. No, he didn’t share your love for the story, but he was your boyfriend and Halloween was your favorite holiday. It was something you two could have shared.

Oh well, next year we will do what he wants to do, you thought to yourself waiting for Stacey to pick up her phone.

A familiar voice answered, jerking you from your thoughts. “What’s up? I thought you would have already left for the charity function?” Stacey questioned.

“Slight change of plans, something came up with Maya, and Bryce can’t make it.”

“Big surprise.” the answer made you wince, cause this wasn’t the first time you called Stacey about Bryce. “You want some company? I can be ready by the time you get here?”

“Please?” you already had your purse over your shoulder and were heading out the door as she answered.

“Don’t worry girl, I got you. See you in a few.”

The line to get into the grounds was long, cars piled up as the two of you pulled to a stop. Stacey leaned forward to look out the windshield, giving a soft whistle. “Damn, they pulled out all the stops for this charity, didn’t they? Isn’t that the Rose Red Manor?”

“Yea, they were able to get it for the night from the Governor. Pretty crazy since this place has been condemned, they were supposed to demolish it back when Ellen Rimbauer’s grandson sold it to New York. You know the stories here, don’t you? Men die, Women disappear never to be seen again. The house somehow has random room built on out of nowhere. No one actually knows how many rooms Rose Red has, and the grounds are much larger then the records state.” You let your foot off the brake, easing forward.

“Shut up, that’s not true.” Stacey gave a shudder and you laughed, winking in a teasing manner. “How does a house keep getting bigger? I say bullshit.”

“It’s all just for spooks, the place is safe or else they wouldn’t let us on the grounds.”

“If I die Y/N, I’m haunting you.” Stacey jibed back, pulling up to the concession stand, and you rolled down your window.

“How many, and what set are you here to visit?” a tired voice sounded at you while you pulled the tickets out of your purse and handed them out the window.

“2, for the Snowpiercer, Curtis Everett set.”

The redhead took your tickets, her green eyes flickering to check them before she gave a slight smirk of perfectly painted ruby lips. She leaned forward, to look into the car. “Curtis Everett you say? A personal favorite of mine, the set reminds me a bit of home.” Your eyes flickered to her name tag, reading Natasha Romanoff, it sounded Russian, where it is assumed the train derailed at the end of the film. “Curtis is a bit intimidating, but don’t get scared, it's all a part of the show.” She stamped your tickets and collected bracelets, handing them back to you which you and Stacey both snapped onto your wrists. “Enjoy, and make sure you have those tickets on you. The Wilford on set will be looking to collect them. Bozhe, pomiluy tebya.” God have mercy on you.

Your brows came together in confusion at the foreign launguage and gave a nod. “Thanks?”

The woman smiled and snapped her window shut, ending the conversation. Pulling the car away to continue to park, Stacy wrinkled her nose. “What was that about?”

“You got me. I don’t even know what language that was, I’m guessing Russian?” You watch and follow the people directing you to park and are soon in your designated spot. “Whatever, you ready?” The uneasiness slipped away as you got excited, cause lets face it, Curtis Everett had been a crush for you since you saw the movie. And now you were going to see him, well the actor in the role, once again. From what you could tell this charity was an a-list kind of deal, cause after hours of scouring online, you found nothing talking about Chris Evans doing this function. Maybe Bryce was good for something, you thought as you got out of the car, and then chided yourself for being so cruel to your boyfriend. After all, if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be seeing Curtis or the Snowpiercer set. While you two were walking, apparently the last ones in the queue, you pulled out your phone to send him a message.

Hey, Stacey, and I just got here. Miss you and Love you.

It wasn’t even a few minutes till your phone pinged back

Have a good time and don’t get too scared.

Smiling to yourself at the glowing screen, you stuffed your phone back in your purse and proceeded towards the front where you showed your bracelets.

“Ahh Snowpiercer, you actually go around back. Follow me.” Your host said as he led you around the side of the building, away from the last of the people disappearing inside.

“We're not going into the house?” you couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the idea, it was supposedly one of the most famous haunted houses in New York State. The well-dressed host turned, looking at you for a moment before putting on a suave smile.

“Since you are special guests, I’ll wait for you after your tour with Curtis Everett on Snowpiercer. Give you a proper tour of Rose Red. But I assure you, that you’re in for a better treat, this is a truly exclusive walk though as hardly anyone gets to explore this much of Rose Red. Did you know that Ellen Rimbauer also had a private train on the grounds? It’s not documented as extensively as the house is, but many strange occurrences have happened here as well. It’s rumored that a single match light can be seen running up and down the aisles. Workers will be glimpsed from the corner of your eye in the darkest shadows. The ones that have visited the train claim to feel extensive chills, and in the engine, ramblings and whispers of madness can be heard. Most assume it's the conductor, looking for his replacement.” Your host continued, while out of the darkness a massive ominous train loomed, vines all over it, and it almost had a skeletal appearance as windows were busted out of it, and it looked pitch black in all the openings.

“The workers used the train to bring in materials from the harbor to the construction site. And in 1903, a riot happened on the train, the crew claimed that they weren’t being compensated for the conditions, and they demanded better wages. When W. Rimbauer refused them, they put a stop to the train for good. Resulting in many deaths.” Your host led you to the front car, in which a pale man stood with a lantern and a single red rose he was twirling in his fingers, and upon seeing the trio of you, he promptly slipped the delicate flower into his robe and smoothed down his outfit. Giving a wave, he stepped down and you noticed that oddly he was wearing what looked like a luxurious robe, his bald head shining in the glow of the lamp. The more you studied him, the more you thought he looked exactly like Ed Harris in his Wilford role. You were about to ask, when he interrupted you with his own question to the host.

“Blackwood, this the Curtis couple? We were a bit worried you wouldn’t show up tonight. Which is a shame, as Curtis has been waiting for you.” He seemed to direct his answer solely at you, his pale blue eyes glinting gleefully at you, it was the only way you could describe it, but they still sent a shiver down your back. Ed Harris or not, he was a good Wilford, you thought to yourself as you tried not to let his act give you the creeps. Stacey pulled in closer to you, hooking her arm through yours and whispering.

“You sure we should go on this train? It’s pretty fucking creepy back here. And where is everyone else?”

Blackwood cleared his throat with a smile. “Now ladies, the Curtis scene was very exclusive. In fact, only you two were able to get tickets. Seeing how it’s away from the main house. But I’m going to leave you in the capable hands of Wilford here as I must return for the next group. I will be back soon to give you a house tour afterward. You ladies enjoy the fully immersed experience.”

Your host left you with Wilford, who lifted his lamp to show a path that led down the side of the train. “It’s just a way down here, Curtis will meet you inside, and take you on the tour of Snowpiercer. Now, remember, he will not be breaking character as is per his instructions. We want this to be as authentic as possible.”

You and Stacey follow along behind his seemingly smooth stride, both of you tripping up a bit although Wilford seemed to have no issues with the uneven ground. Both of you were panting a bit when he came to a stop, and held a hand up to a ladder, leading into the darkest opening you’ve ever seen.

“There are no lights inside?” You drawled out and Stacey braced her hand against the train to catch her breath.

“How the hell are we supposed to see? And climb in with heels? No one told us that this was going to be an expedition just to see a movie set.” the woman snapped out, and Wilford turned that gaze from you to Stacey, giving a cold smile.

“It will all come on once you're inside, everything is in its preordained place in Snowpiercer and we are allowing you to really see it all come to life. But before you two go on, can I have your tickets please? No one goes onto the snowpiercer without one.” His grin turned eerie in the shadows on the lantern he had brought with him, and you were quick to look away from it,

Fuck he is weird. You shudder, while searching your bag and handing over both tickets. He immediately put them in his robe and held the lantern up so you could see a bit better to get inside. Grasping the ladder, you start to climb in, Stacey following right behind, holding onto the back of your shirt. One you stumbled in, and Stacey did too, you both turned to look back out, expecting Wilford to follow you in, but the door slammed shut, and a shudder went through the train, hard enough so you both yelped, falling into each other.

“Y/N! What the fuck is this? We have to get out of here.” You could feel Stacey digging into your arms in a panic, and you stumbled back to where the door was, your hands slamming against freezing cold metal, your palms pounding on the vibrating metal.

“Why is it vibrating? WHY IS THE TRAIN MOVING?” You started to yell, and Stacey moved up next to you, also slamming her palms against the metal walls. Blinding light made you both yelp and cover your eyes, stumbling to land in a heap when you pulled your arm away from your face, blinking to get your pupils to focus. It was an empty train cart, windows that appeared to be filled with bright natural light lined the walls, and at each end, metal doors that have yet to be opened. Stacey takes the first tentative moves to stand up, pulling herself to look out a window and her eyes widened in disbelief.

“What is it?” You ask as you start to push yourself up to a stand, and she shakes her head as if to shake whatever she was seeing away, muttering over and over.

“What the fuck?”

You make your way over, and all you can see is snow. Snow and ice, speeding past like this train were actually able to run on a track. Buildings encased in snow, making way to nothing but white, everywhere. Even the windows had frost encasing around the edges, your breaths fogging the glass.

“How? What?” you question, beyond confused and rubbing at your face to look again. How the hell could this be? You go to reach in your bag for your phone, and look down to see it is gone. And not just your phone, your bag. Scanning the train, there was no sign of it. Panic settled in a little more now that you didn't have a way to call for help should you need it.

Stacey pressed her fingers to the glass, her tone a bit shrill as if she was trying to convince herself it was make believe. “Gotta be like we're watching a screen right? Just supposed to look like the trains moving.” Although the train gave another shudder, swaying back and forth.

You never got an answer, as one end the doors swung open and people wearing all black spilled into the train, all carrying axes, faces masked so you couldn’t see anything discernible about them. Except for flashing teeth among happy grins. Each one hefting their ax like it was a toy. Your confused addled brain screamed at you to pay attention. Danger. But you were in too much of a shock to really focus.

Another whoosh and you spin around to see who was coming out the other side, Stacey whimpering in fear next to you, still staring at the first group. But your eyes raked over these men, dirty and worn looking. The one in front had a wide stance, his feet braced against the rocking of the train like he was familiar with it. A black trench coat swept around him, ragged sweaters piled over a broad chest and your gaze fell onto a familiar hard face, scanning his opponent, drawing himself into a more fighting stance. Curtis Everett.

“Oh shit” it dawns on you what scene this was and you draw Stacey closer to you, and back against a wall.

“What? Oh god, I don’t understand what is happening.” Stacey said in a panicked voice, and you shook her a bit.

“I don’t know either, but stay out of everyone’s way, okay? Those axes are not fakes!” The weapons they held were clearly not props, the heavy blade handles slapped in palms, and gleamed in the winter sun streaming through the windows. A touch would easily slice into anything. And these two groups look ready to hack into each other.

“Shouldn’t they help us get out?” Stacey’s eyes rolled wildly, and you gulped, seeing the large trout get passed up, and just as you guessed, the ax easily sliced into the fish’s flesh, drizzling blood down to see along the edge, dripping down the handle and to the floor.

“I don't think so Stace…” You whipped back to look at the opposing group, feeling Curtis’s gaze seeking yours with a glimmer of hatred and confusion behind them. For half a second, then it was back on their enemies. You could see it, the taunting lunges each group made, and just when they both broke for each other, you screamed and yanked Stacey down onto the ground as they all collided. Attempting to avoid stomping feet and falling blades, you two tried to stick to the wall, screaming and covering your heads, blood splattering everywhere above you in hot sticky sprays that rained down on your two.

Stacey wouldn’t stop screaming, her voice piercing above the noise of the fighting, bodies started to litter the floor, and you tried to make your way towards one of the exits, your hands and knees slipping in warm fluid. Over bodies you dragged yourself when Stacey’s screaming changed to one of pain and panic. Looking over your shoulder, she was getting dragged away by her ankles, her fingers trying to find a hold in the floor, nails raking through the blood to create long rakes through all the red.

“Y/N! Y/N! Help!” she continued to scream, and you twisted to go back for her when she was whipped to her back and her arms came up in defense, trying to cover her face or neck.

“No!”

Whump! This is when you lost all your control and started to scramble back for her. There was so much screaming and you never realized it was coming from you.

Whump! The ax planted in Stacey’s chest and she jerked upwards, trying to push the blade away, and the militants foot planted on her stomach, yanking her loose. You would still see her moving, still alive. You were closer.

Whump! this one landed on her skull, blonde hair turning stringy red and his boot planted on her face this time, crushing in her forehead and nose as he yanked it out, once more red spray flew through the air.

Several whacks fell on her, over and over, spraying you with each yank the axe gave off Stacey's body, the militant man grinning as her blood sprayed all over him, you, any nearby person.

You were in shock, your hands to your mouth, as you saw Stacy's body collapse into broken pieces, blood spurting out of her mouth and she went limp right in front of you. His gaze fell to you and his wide bloody grin looked like he just won the prize, his axe lifting when he was suddenly thrown back and slaughtered himself. You didn't pay attention to who took him out, only catching sight of a whipping coat snapping in the person's actions, you turned towards your best friend's body, convinced she might still be alive. This was all just for fun, pretend after all, right? Snowpiercer and the Revolution did not exist.

“Sss-Stacey?” you crawled over to her, your hands cupping her broken face and leaning over her still warm form, doing your best to hold what remained of her face together, as if you could just piece it back together like a puzzle. You kept shaking her, although she had several gaping holes in her body.

“Come on Stacey, we got to move.” you sobbed over her, unaware once more of what was going on.

You didn’t notice the fighting stop or the survivors rush to look out the windows in a panic, but you did feel a hand yank the back of your shirt to slam you into the wall and keep you pinned in place. Even as you struggled to get back to Stacey’s body, lying lifeless. You didn’t notice any of these things till a growl snarled in your ear. “Girl, stop it! What’s wrong with you?” A vicious shake thudded your head against the wall, and the crack against the back of your skull made your eyes roll back in pain. The world tipped upside down, Curtis’s scowling cut face tipped around, and you went under, the blackness welcomed from the hell you just experienced.

“Hey Curtis, she’s awake.” was the first thing you heard, your head pounding and when you started to pry your lids open, figures were blurry, moving around, flashes of light blinding you till they were blocked back out by bodies. You gave a moan and lifted your hand to your face when the larger one slapped it away, and the cold slick hand grasped your throat, dragging you forward. “Focus Bitch, we don’t have all day.” Your eyes snapped obediently to Curtis, fearful and wide-eyed as you took him in.

In the movie, he was large, towering over others. Here, as he was staring you down, face contorted to semi-controlled rage, and leaning over you so you could feel his hot breath wash over his face, how the blood dried to crack along his cheek, and eyes that you swore were debating snapping your neck.

“I don’t understand what is going-”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not asking questions here. Wilford sent you?”

“Wilford? Yes, yes.” You stutter, his fingers squeeze further and you can feel the hot tears streaming down your face, landing on his filthy hands. “He put Stacey and I in here, m-m-my friend. She was…” Your eyes rolled to where her body was twisted strangely, smeared in gore from where she slid around, or someone tripped over her. All you knew is her eyes started up at nothing now. Her wounds were gaping and bled out.

Curtis gave you a shake, his snarl brought you back to him. “She was what? What did Wilford send you two back here for?”

“We were here for a charity! I was supposed to meet Chris Evans, You as Curtis Everett.” your voice started to rise in a panic, your hands grasping his wrist at your neck. “That’s it, why is the train moving? Why are you all using real axes, fuck I just want to get off.” You sobbed, the survivors looked at you with disgust, shaking their heads.

“Once you’re on the Snowpiercer, there is no getting off.” Curtis leaned back a bit, looking you up and down as if inspecting you curiously. “You’re such a fragile little thing. Just like a baby bird, all brittle bones and helpless.”

“No getting off? What are you even talking about?” your tears started to sting your eyes, the panic settling deep in your chest like your heart was about to explode.

Curtis ignored your question, his free hand tugging at your thin sweater and shaking his head. “Fucker didn’t even send you back here properly dressed.”

You tried to struggle and Curtis slammed you back hard enough to make you stop.

“She’s fucking whacked out of her gourd. Gotta be a kronole head someone spouting that shit.” A young man said behind Curtis, and he got in your face, tapping your cheek smartly. “Girl snap out of it, that shite fucking rotted your brain.”

“No Edgar, this is different, she's lying. Good at it, but lying.” Curtis made to stand, dragging you up with him. You stumble in his hold, falling against his body before he dragged you along, hissing in your ear.

“I don’t know what Wilford was thinking Little Bird, sending you back to me with this innocent act of yours. But don’t worry I will make you sing.”

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