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slytherinslut0 · 1 year ago

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Nine-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theós fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Gagging, Choking, Fingering, Denied Orgasm, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Slight FreeUse Kink, Sexual Aggression, CNC, DubCon.

***FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"What's it like tutoring him twice a bloody week?" Emily said, her wide eyes pinned on the rowdy ruckus emanating from the Slytherin table, where Mattheo Riddle was of course reigned at the very center. "I'm surprised you even have any hair left. I'd probably pull mine out within the first two seconds of being alone with him."

You chuckled at her words, seemingly brushing her off, but your mind couldn't help to race with the thoughts of how fast everything escalated. In just a matter of weeks you'd gone from absolutely despising eachother, Mattheo seemingly not giving two shits about you or your tutoring sessions--to being unable to keep your fucking hands off each other every chance you got, while Mattheo somehow manages to get grades higher than he's ever gotten in his entire life.

Yeah, the guy was bloody fucking insufferable, and you still couldn't stand him on a day to day basis, but Gods you loved the way he touched you. You loved the way he made you feel.

"Believe me, every moment I manage to keep myself from throttling him is a miracle," you muttered under your breath, shifting your gaze back to your own table, silently praying the blush creeping up your cheeks went unnoticed. "He's beyond insufferable."

"I heard he fought someone for you," Emily's gaze fixated on you, her curiosity palpable as she leaned over the table toward you. "And not just someone...Berkshire, of all people? What on earth happened there? I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Your stomach twisted into knots. You had managed to evade Emily's inquiries about Friday's incident by stealthily steering the conversation toward her favorite book, immersing yourself in studies, and strategically avoiding her whenever possible. Yet, you knew this conversation was inevitable. You had just honestly hoped it wouldn't come today, especially not when you were mere minutes away from your first reoccurring Tuesday meeting with Mattheo's brother.

Navigating this topic was like stepping on shards of glass, the memory of Mattheo's fierce defense cutting through your thoughts. Each recollection was a visceral experience, the clench of his fist, the predatory glint in his eyes, all etched into your mind like a painting of unrestrained intensity. The mere thought of his protective stance sent a shiver down your spine, leaving your skin electrified with the memory of his presence. Discussing the incident meant confronting the pulsating heat between your thighs, a tangible reminder of the way his concern wrapped around you like a cocoon.

"Mattheo skipped our tutoring session, so I ventured into the Slytherin common room to find him," you explained, your voice steady but your hands trembling slightly. "The entire Quidditch team was there, and Berkshire, well, he got upset over something I said and things escalated quickly."

Her eyes widened in anticipation, the unspoken question hanging in the air. "So Mattheo stepped in to save you? Defend you?"

"Both, technically," you responded, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and resignation. "But it was his fault to begin with. If he had just shown up for our session, none of that would have happened."

Emily's eyes widened in concern, her brows furrowing. "At least he had the audacity to step up for you," she said, her tone torn between disapproval and understanding. "He's been unhinged lately, picking fights with anyone who glances at him the wrong way. I even heard he got into it with his own brother...have you seen Tom's face? It looks like a bloody war zone."

Dread coiled tightly in the pit of your stomach, a sinking realization seeping into your veins. You'd taken nothing but a small, fleeting glance at Tom yesterday in class, avoiding eye contact in a desperate attempt to avoid any type of conversation--but anyone from a twenty mile radius could notice the blackened skin around his eyes, the split in his perfect plush lips.

The thought of facing him tonight clawed at your insides--the pretense you'd have to maintain, acting as though you were oblivious to the reason behind his battered face, felt like a weight pressing down on your chest. You knew the truth, you knew all too fucking well why he looked the way he did, and the knowledge hung between you like a fragile web, waiting to shatter at the slightest touch.

"I haven't," you said, steeling your shoulders to seem convincing. "But I heard that as well...nothing about that boy surprises me anymore."

You lied not out of malice, but out of self-preservation. Admitting that you knew the real reason behind Tom's injuries wasn't even in the question, wasn't even a thought to be had. Your lie was a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the storm you could see brewing on the horizon, a storm that threatened to consume everything in its path. So, you played your part, hoping that your facade would hold long enough to keep you out of the fray.

"Well, it should. He's mad, that one. I'd avoid him at all costs. Tutor him and run," she said bluntly, her words carrying a weight of caution as she packed up her books. "What are you doing tonight? We should study for Herbology."

Your stomach twisted again, tying into a tight knot as her words echoed in your ears. If only she knew the truth behind you and Mattheo's situation, if only she knew how bloody deep you were ensnared in his web. Desperate to change the subject, you cleared your throat, realizing you hadn't even told her about the fact that Tom had asked you to meet with him on Tuesdays.

"I...I can't...I'm meeting Tom tonight." You said, tentatively, pausing briefly in order to choose your next words carefully--knowing that regardless of how you explained it, she was bound to absolutely freak. "He asked we meet one-on-one each Tuesday, in addition to the Thursday guild meetings..."

Your words hung in the air, a heavy revelation that seemed to catch Emily off guard. She blinked, her previous endorsement of Tom Riddle echoing in her mind, seemingly frozen for a moment until her eyes widened with a spark of excitement.

"Woah, woah, woah..." she practically threw herself across the table at you, unable to control herself. "Why? What exactly did he say?!"

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain the complexity of the situation without divulging too much. "I don't know," you replied, your voice low. "He just...requested it, and I didn't feel like I could refuse."

"Oh my stars! I must be a fortune teller!" She giggled, revelling in her previous comment from last week. "Do you know what this means?! Do you know the opportunities this can open up for you if it turns into something more?! Imagine the scholarly collaborations, the doors to advanced research, and prestigious circles you could access...your academic reputation would soar, paving the way for extraordinary opportunities in the future-"

"Yeah, Emily, it's all very...exciting," you cut her off, your voice laced with a grumble, your mind racing with thoughts of Mattheo and the impossibility of being with someone like Tom, no matter how perfect he seemed on the surface. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, please."

"But, this is a golden opportunity!" Emily exclaimed, her brows furrowing in confusion. "I mean, it's Tom Riddle we're talking about. The doors he could open for you, the knowledge you could gain from him--it's practically a scholar's dream! Why aren't you more excited about this? Don't you see the incredible possibilities waiting for you?"

Your internal irritation churned like a storm, each pushy comment from Emily adding fuel to the fire. Mattheo's face, his touch, his words claiming you as his echoed in your mind, reminding you of the complexity he brought into your life. Despite the impossibility of a relationship with Mattheo, the mere thought of Tom felt like a betrayal, a path you couldn't tread because of fear of Mattheo's reaction.

"Gods, I get it, Emily," you snapped, your tone sharper than you intended, the pressure of your conflicting emotions bubbling over. "But not every connection is a ticket to social or academic advancement...sometimes it's about...something deeper." Your voice softened as you attempted to mend the sudden rift, regret colouring your words. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so harsh...it's just...complicated, and I don't really want to rely on someone else for career or academic opportunities, it just...feels like cheating, you know?"

Emily nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so pushy...it's just, you've never had a boyfriend...and Tom, well, I just think he'd be perfect for you." There was a warmth in her words, a sincerity that softened the edges of the conversation. "I have to meet Michael in the courtyard, we're going to study...I'll see you later tonight then, yeah?"

You managed a small smile, appreciating Emily's concern despite the frustrating conversation. "Thanks, Emily," you said, your voice softer now. "I'll see you later."

As Emily got up and left the table, a mix of relief and lingering irritation settled within you. You couldn't shake the internal turmoil, the conflicting emotions that came with both the budding relationship with Tom and the unrelenting thoughts of Mattheo. It was as if you were caught between two worlds, neither of which felt entirely right.

The tension in the air was almost tangible as Emily's footsteps faded away, leaving you alone at the table. The flickering candlelight danced on the polished wood, casting intricate shadows that seemed to mirror the complexity of your emotions. You felt like a character in one of the many novels you'd read, entangled in a plotline far more intricate than any you'd ever encountered.

As you rose from the table, your eyes met Mattheo's from across the room, his gaze piercing into your soul with a knowing intensity that sent shivers down your spine. There was something in his eyes, a depth of insight that left you feeling exposed, as if he could see through the layers you desperately tried to conceal. The unspoken connection between you both hung in the air, an invisible thread that refused to be severed.

Making your way to your dormitory, you couldn't shake the memory of Mattheo's gaze. It followed you like a ghost, haunting the corners of your mind as you picked out an outfit for your meeting with Tom. The anticipation hummed in the air, the atmosphere crackling with a strange energy. You opted for a slightly revealing top but still professional, a conscious choice to make an impression, to assert control over a situation that seemed increasingly beyond your grasp.

Walking down the dimly lit corridors of the castle, you felt a knot of apprehension tighten in your stomach. The library loomed ahead like a sanctuary of secrets, its ancient walls holding the wisdom of centuries. As you pushed open the heavy oak doors, your eyes met Tom's bruised face, seated in a secluded corner of the room, the evidence of Mattheo's anger etched into his skin. It was a stark reminder of the forces at play, the dangerous dance you found yourself entangled in.

You moved toward Tom cautiously, your footsteps echoing in the hushed silence of the library. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw the reflection of your own turmoil mirrored back at you, a depth of intensity in his stare that seemed to pierce through your very soul. As you approached, he rose from his seat with a fluid motion, his tall, commanding figure casting a confident shadow.

With a faint, enigmatic smile, he extended his hand in a gesture of greeting. "Top of the evening, darling," he said, his voice velvety and composed, the words hanging in the air with a subtle weight. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

As he spoke, his eyes never left yours, his unwavering gaze drawing you in further. "Evening, Tom..." you replied, your voice catching slightly as you took his hand, a rush of warmth spreading through you at his touch. "Pleasure to see you, as well."

With practiced elegance, he pulled out the chair for you, his movements precise and deliberate, a testament to his controlled demeanor. You allowed him to guide you into the chair, feeling the subtle brush of his fingers against your skin--once seated, Tom resumed his own place, his posture impeccable, exuding an air of sophistication and confidence.

"You're looking particularly lovely tonight," he said, his tone low and smooth, his dark eyes dipping over your chest. "I've been looking forward to meeting with you again more than I'd like to admit..."

Blush flooded your face, warmth spreading through you. "You are much too sweet, Tom...I'm not sure what I've done to deserve such compliments."

"I appreciate your modesty," Tom leaned back in his chair, smirking subtly. "Perhaps that's precisely what makes you so deserving."

As you engaged in conversation with Tom, your mind raced with thoughts of Mattheo, his presence lingering in your mind like a ghost in the room. Your gaze flickered involuntarily to the fading bruises on Tom's cheek, the scabbing split in his lip, and you simply couldn't ignore the discomfort in your throat. Despite your efforts to suppress it, an uneasy feeling settled in your stomach.

Tom's flirting, though subtle, only intensified your discomfort. You knew all too well how possessive Mattheo could be, and the mere thought of him overhearing even a hint of this conversation made you squirm internally. With a subtle shift in your tone, you ventured to inquire about an answer you already knew; hoping to solidify your innocence, your voice laced with nothing but concern.

"I couldn't help but notice the bruises," you murmured gently, your eyes flickering toward Tom's face. "If it's not too personal, may I ask what happened?"

"It was my brother," Tom admitted, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation. "He can be quite...stubborn, and tends to resort to physicality when he feels strongly about something. But it's nothing I can't handle. Sibling disagreements, I suppose. We've had worse."

He offered a small, dismissive smile, downplaying the severity of the situation, although his eyes betrayed a glimmer of frustration.

In response, you nodded, smiling softly. "Makes me glad I'm an only child."

"I imagine it has its perks," Tom replied, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. His gaze lingered on your face for a moment before he shifted the conversation. "By the way, how has your tutoring been going with my brother? I know he's quite the handful...I imagine your sessions are quite...intellectually stimulating."

Your lungs stalled, pulse quickening in your throat. There was something in the way he said it, a flicker of curiosity mingled with a hint of something else that made your stomach twist with unease.

"Oh, intellectually stimulating is one way to put it," you replied, trying to keep your tone light. "He's certainly...unique to work with, but we manage."

The room seemed to constrict around you, the air thick with tension as Tom's gaze bored into your soul, searching for hidden truths. His eyes, sharp and discerning, followed a deliberate path across your face, lingering on every contour as if trying to decipher the secrets etched in your skin. His fingers played with the pages of his book, tracing the edges with a calculated precision, a tangible unease settling between you.

His scrutiny intensified, his eyes dipping lower, skimming over your lips, then your chest, before locking onto yours with an unwavering intensity.

"You know, I've heard what you've done for my brother..." he continued, his voice a mere whisper, yet it echoed with a resonance that sent shivers down your spine. "Improving his grades in just a few short months...it seems you have a talent for reaching him in ways others couldn't, considering how resistant to tutoring he's been..." his tone darkened, a challenge flickering in his eyes. "I can't help but wonder what methods you employ to achieve such...drastic results."

In the charged silence that followed, you shifted slightly in your seat, feeling the weight of Tom's scrutiny like a physical presence. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with tension and unspoken questions--you could tell he was pushing for something, but you refused to even give an inch.

You held your ground, meeting Tom's intense gaze with a steely resolve. "Teaching is about understanding individual needs and tailoring the approach accordingly," you replied, your voice firm. "Every student has their unique way of grasping concepts, and it's my job as a tutor to find that approach. It's not about methods; it's about recognizing potential and fostering it. Mattheo has the intellect; he just needed the right guidance to unlock it. That's what tutoring is all about; guidance, patience, and a genuine belief in the student's abilities."

Tom's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. "A unique approach indeed," he murmured, his voice laced with intrigue. "Understanding someone like Mattheo requires more than just conventional tutoring methods, I suspect."

You felt a flush creep up your neck at his insinuation, his words hanging in the air like a tantalizing threat. There was an unspoken challenge in his gaze, as if he dared you to reveal the depths of your connection with Mattheo, and you were growing increasingly more uncomfortable with each passing second.

"I find your insinuations rather perturbing, Mr. Riddle," your voice dropped to a near-whisper, laced with firmness and defiance, your eyes narrowing in challenge as you leaned in closer, the tension between you palpable. "Mattheo may have a reputation, but he's a student here, just like the rest of us...he deserves a fair chance to succeed, without unnecessary assumptions clouding his progress. Don't you agree?"

The intensity in your gaze dared him to challenge your statement, refusing to back down in the face of his probing scrutiny. His lips curved into a sly smile, his eyes dancing with intrigue.

"Indeed, darling," he replied, his tone smooth like silk. "A commendable dedication to your students. It's a quality not often found in tutors."

The glint in his eyes hinted at a deeper curiosity, leaving you with the sense that he was far from convinced by your response, but when he changed the subject, seemingly dismissing it as though nothing even happened, you found yourself expelling a long breath of relief. You engaged in conversation with Tom for a while longer, the topics ranging from academics to shared interests in literature and the intricacies of magical theory. Despite the undercurrent of tension, you found yourself drawn into the conversation, momentarily forgetting the complexities of your situation.

As the night grew darker, Tom glanced at the time and offered to walk you back to your dorm room. You accepted his offer, and together, you strolled through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts. Emily's words from early bounced around in your mind, reminding you of how good for you Tom could be, if you let him--but despite the intellectual conversations and the surface-level connection, something fundamental was missing, a spark that failed to ignite the depths of your soul.

In the silent moments between words, you couldn't help but compare the encounter with the electrifying energy that Mattheo stirred within you. With Mattheo, every glance, every touch felt charged with a raw intensity, a potent magnetism that left you breathless, angry, and alive. His presence had a way of awakening something dormant inside you, a flame that burned brighter in his proximity.

You could light fires with the feelings you felt for Mattheo--a passionate hate, one inexplicable by words.

When you arrived at the hall leading to your dormitory, Tom turned to face you, his demeanor exuding a dark, enigmatic energy that sent a shiver down your spine. There was a lingering hesitation in the air, a palpable tension that neither of you acknowledged, yet it clung to the atmosphere like a ghost. With a smile that held secrets you dared not explore, he leaned in, his gesture carrying a weight that made your stomach twist with unease.

"I enjoyed myself tonight." His lips brushed your cheek in a touch that was both gentle and possessive, leaving a cold trail in its wake, his hand curling around your waist. "Until next time, little witch."

His voice a mere whisper against your skin, his words sending an aggressive chill down your spine. His stature remained stoic and composed, his eyes holding a darkness that seemed to mirror the shadows lurking within the castle walls as he pulled back--in an attempt to hide your discomfort, you shot him a small smile.

"Goodnight, Tom." Keeping your voice steady was impossible. "Thanks for walking me back."

With one last knowing glance and a chilling smirk, Tom spun around, his footsteps echoing off the cold, empty corridor as he made his way back into the shadows, disappearing from your view. The silence that settled in his wake was thick with unspoken words, leaving you standing there, heart racing and mind clouded with a sense of foreboding.

You spun around, eager to continue your path down the hall, only managing to make it a few strides when the hushed whispers of the night were abruptly drowned out by a sudden rush of footsteps, too swift and too silent to be anything ordinary. Before you could react, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into the shadows.

A door to a small closet was whipped open, and you were abruptly pulled inside, a gasp catching in your throat as you were abruptly slammed against the door as it shut behind you, your eyes widening as you found yourself face to face with Mattheo. His dark, stormy eyes bore into yours, a dangerous glint flickering within their depths. His hand pressed firmly against your mouth, silencing any protest that threatened to escape. The contrast of his icy touch against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and a strange mix of fear and something else, something inexplicably alluring, tightened its grip on your chest.

Trapped in the narrow space between the unforgiving wooden door and Mattheo's overwhelming presence, your entire body roared to life, sparking dormant nerves. It was as though he had uncovered a realm of feelings you never knew existed, leaving you in awe and fear of the power he held over your senses. The memories of a time before his stifling dominance became elusive, fading like distant echoes as you grappled with the reality of his suffocating control.

His influence was a dense, intricate web that ensnared you effortlessly, making it difficult to discern where he ended and you began.

"You're a filthy little slut," he hissed, his words laced with dangerous venom, the lingering scent of cigarettes filling your nostrils. You tried to shake your head, but his hand kept your skull pressed firm to the wood behind it. "God, you're fucking filthy, Raven...look at you, dressed like this to meet with my fucking brother..."

You squealed into his palm as his free hand travelled down your stomach, wasting absolutely no time before slipping between your thighs and grazing over your sex--a low, deep growl reverberating through his chest as he pressed you against the door, suffocating you in a whirlwind of barely-restrained sadistic rage.

"You're so fucking lucky I didn't kill him...you're so fucking lucky I didn't rearrange his face until he was begging me for mercy just for fucking looking at you the way he was..." his grip over your mouth tightened, his words a demonized growl in your ear, your body reacting in inexplicable ways as he slipped his hand under the band of your leggings. "Fuck...I think you need to be reminded of your fucking place..."

You mewled, melting against his body and fusing with the wood of the door as he circled two fingers over your clit, teasing you with a quick swirl before he slid lower, slicking his fingers through your rapidly increasing wetness. When he pulled his palm off your lips, he didn't give you a mere second to gasp for air before he gripped your face and forced your jaw open with his thumb.

"So fucking wet for me already." His thumb pressed on your tongue, eliciting a gag, long fingers stretching over your cheek and entangling in your hair. His voice was a growl against your flesh, teeth grazing your jawline. "Tell me who the fuck you belong to."

"Fuck-" you gasped, crying out against him as he slipped a finger inside your cunt without warning, the blissful stretch inspiring a world of sensations you'd never known to exist--your pussy feeling full beyond comprehension with just one of his fucking fingers, every inch of your body trembling in response. "-you!"

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed, shoving his thumb deeper, hand shifting to grip the bottom of your jaw now, nails digging deep into your skin. "Fucking hell...you're so fucking tight, Raven...you can barely take my goddamn finger..."

A whimper escaped your lips, your hands clenching onto the fabric of his shirt as if it were your lifeline, your legs trembling uncontrollably beneath the weight of his touch, slowing finger fucking you while his thumb twirled over your clit, your entire body spasming with pleasure against him, your chest heaving for air, and your eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy. You couldn't comprehend the overwhelming waves of pleasure consuming you, leaving you in a state of blissful delirium.

"Yeah, that's fucking right...feel that tight little cunt stretch for me..." his voice flowed like molasses, his curls tickling your cheek. "Fuck...how the fuck do you ever plan on taking my cock, hm?"

"Gods..." A haze of pleasure was clouding your vision, drool spilling from your mouth as he massaged your tongue with his thumb. "Oh, fuck...."

"Tell me who you belong to, Raven..." he ordered, voice a deep growl in your ear. "Tell me who this tight little cunt belongs to."

"You-" you choked, voice hiccuped through your moans and squeals of pleasure, words distorted with his thumb still planted between your teeth. "I-it belongs to y-you..."

"Yeah?" He pushed against you harder, lips attacking your neck, his aggressive erection pressing against your thigh, his body heat swarming you, suffocating you whole. "And who am I, princess...say my fucking name."

His fingers quickened their pace, sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. You convulsed in response, beads of sweat soaking the fabric on your back, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless. He withdrew his hand from your mouth, leaving you gasping for air, and shifted it to your chest, groping and squeezing your tits like his life depended on it. His chest was rising and falling against you as he fingered you, brushing his thumb past your swollen clit, rocking his hand against you. Your pulse picked up, your breath coming faster, head spinning with the rapidly approaching climax on the horizon.

"Matt-" you choked, hardly able to string a cognitive sentence. "Mattheo...oh..."

Mattheo groaned, yanking down your shirt until your tits were fully exposed, his hungry eyes burning wounds into the soft flesh, his fingers working your cunt faster, bringing you directly to the edge of pleasure, ready to explode in his fucking hands.

"Mhm...dirty fucking whore..." his free hand toyed with your tits, his chest rumbled with a deep growl, echoing the intensity of the moment, while you struggled to stifle your cries, attempting to maintain some semblance of control over your escalating noises.

Despite your best efforts, your attempts at silence proved futile, shattering into desperate gasps as Mattheo sank his teeth into your neck.

"You want to cum for me, pretty girl? You want to cum on my fucking fingers?" You bobbed your head frantically, throat more arid than the desert. "Use your words, Raven..."

"Please," you whispered into the fabric covering his shoulder, hands clasping his arms. You couldn't get out much else as he grazed your clit again, bolts of ecstasy halting your ability to make words. "Please, please..."

"Please what?" he said, driving his finger deeper into your cunt.

"Let me cum," you said, voice torn with your irregular breath. "Please let me cum!"

At your words, Mattheo exhaled sharply, his fingers retreating from your cunt, leaving you stranded on the precipice of euphoria. The abrupt cessation of his touch left you in a tormenting state, teetering on the edge of an elusive climax, aching for fulfillment. Your frustrated moan of despair reverberated through the room, a raw manifestation of your desire. But before the sound could fully escape, Mattheo silenced you, his fingers forcibly invading your parted lips, triggering an involuntary gag reflex while his other hand closed around your throat, exerting a firm, possessive grip, ensuring your gasps and cries were swallowed in the stifling air of the closet.

"No," he hissed, voice a dangerous growl against your ear. "Only good girls get to cum...and you...you've been a bad little slut...remember when I said bad girls get fucking punished, Raven?"

A soft whimper escaped your lips, a harmonious blend of need and vulnerability as Mattheo's hand constricted around your throat, cutting off your oxygen supply. The exquisite agony of air deprivation was intertwined with a delightful buzz, amplifying the tingling sensation from your cunt to encompass your entire body. You felt every nuance intensely: the synchronized rhythm of your heaving chests, the pulsating restraint of his touch, and the restrained anger emanating from him like a tangible force.

"Wait until I get you alone tomorrow, Raven..." he murmured, voice laced with a promise of punishment. "You just fucking wait."

With a sudden, abrupt motion, he let you go, his grip loosening as he reached past you to pull open the door. The rush of cool air brushed against your skin as he swiftly exited through the door, leaving you in the aftermath of the intense encounter, your senses still tingling with the lingering traces of his touch.

———————————-

Chapter ten here->

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gabessquishytum · 9 months ago

Note

Hob gets kidnapped and as he's slitting the throat of the last person alive, Dream stalks in, full on Nightmare mode, prepared to unleash his wrath upon the fools that dared take his human.

Dream freezes for a second when the scene registers: Hob, knife in hand, near naked, sporting wounds from his imprisonment and successful escape. He’s covered in blood, his own and that of his enemies. Bodies lie scattered across the room. Dream can smell the lingering traces of sedatives and unknown humans on Hob.

He growls.

Dream smashes into Hob with all the force of an undammed river. He lifts Hob, clawed hands under his thighs, without breaking stride until they hit the wall, Dream drowns Hob in fierce, bloody kisses all the while.

Hob drops the knife in favor of gripping Dream's hair, grinding insistently against the erection he can feel growing against his ass. He pulls his head back to speak. “Fuck, I need you in me,” he gasps. “Make me forget every touch but yours.”

Dream drags sharp teeth along Hob's jawline, traces the shell of his ear with a long, black tongue. “Patience, my vicious wraith. Your body will know only me before I enter you,” he croons.

First, he plans to lick the blood from every inch of Hob's body. Then, he will overwrite the wounds others have left with tooth and claw. Only when Hob bears the bruises and gashes Dream has granted him will he tenderly prepare Hob. He will call Hob back from the battlefield with gentle lovemaking, will soothe him with soft touches and playful kisses.

There will be nightmares later, but Hob will rest, safe in the knowledge Dream is watching over him.

Aww hell yeah! Bamf Hob, Bamf Dream, post-kidnap sex. I'm convinced that Dream would to see Hob being unhinged and bloody (although the circumstances could be better). He loves seeing his little human let go of all his civilised restraint and just going absolutely ballshit crazy.

Also, Dream should definitely use the blood of their enemies as lube when he finally enters Hob’s body again. All other traces that the captors left on Hob have been eviscerated but now Dream wants to use them to bring Hob pleasure. They are nothing to him now, nothing more than a tool that he can use to make Hob feel good.

Hob loves it all as much as Dream does (although he would prefer not to have been kidnapped and beaten up). He loves that Dream is so possessive and protective, and it almost makes the whole ordeal worth it when Dream literally licks him clean from head to toe.

And later, when he's in bed and shivering after a bad nightmare, Dream will be there all over again to hold him and kiss him and make him feel safe. They can love each other in so many different ways.

And being fucked up against the wall by his 7ft, sharp clawed lover, is definitely one of Hob’s favourites way to be loved.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw blood

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call-sign-shark · 1 year ago

Text

Pop Goes the Rat || Modern Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: When Arthur Shelby was discharged from the Special Air Service Forces due to his PTSD symptoms, his whole life fell apart. As his mental health declined, his wife divorced, and he became a drug addict. But recently Arthur is more than committed to getting his shit together. He even goes to drug anonymous meetings. If he manages to stay clean and get better, he will be reintegrated into his unit. And if he is, maybe Linda will come back.

That being said, you had never been part of the plan. And yet you're here, ready to wreck his life and rob his heart. Who are you? Where do you come from? How did you end up in the streets? No one knows. What they know though is that you call yourself "Rat".

Words: 2.5k

TW: Mention of drug use, otherwise it's kind of cute and funny. The vibes are grumpy veteran x unhinged punk girl.

Notes:

♠ Even though I tried to keep "Rat" as Y/N as possible, there are two physical traits described: she has blue and long hair.

♠ This is not supposed to be a series but I had to exorcize this idea. If some people are interested in the concept I might write a few blurbs or one-shots for Rat and Arthur!

MASTERLIST

“I see a new face here! Welcome dear. I am proud you joined us in today’s session. What’s your name?”

“Arthur.” He mumbled, feeling awkward.

“Hi Arthur.” The whole participants replied in unison.

Arthur nodded to greet them but remained silent during the whole meeting. At first he was convinced that going to these anonymous groups was nothing else than bullshit, but as people shared their experiences and struggles he had started to feel better. To the point a faint smile flattered his lips. When the chairman clapped in his hands to signal the end of the discussion, Arthur got up from his chair and grabbed the leash of the huge malinois that was sleeping at his combat boots. Hannibal was his military dog, a fierce animal who had accompanied him throughout his most dangerous missions. Most of the time, he was also his only friend. The dog woke up and stretched his body, yawning. Even though the meeting had been a positive experience Arthur did not feel to talk with the other addicts. All he wanted now was to go home, take a hot shower and try to sleep. He left the place to go grab his jacket in the cloakroom. That was when he first saw you, your hand in the pocket of his utility jacket, seeking for his wallet.

“Oi! The fook are ye doing?!”

You jumped, heart missing at least two beats. To be true, you did not know what scared you the most: the man’s hoarse voice or the dog barking at you? But despite getting caught, your survival instincts kicked in and you exited the house through the window with a surprising agility. Arthur did not really bother running after you, for you had left his wallet. Moreover, he did not want Hannibal to tear you apart.

“Bloody hell.” He said out lout, barely processing what he had just seen. Was the young woman and her long blue hair really there or had he imagine her?

The second time you met, Arthur had just got out from the 24/24 shop nearby and was smoking a cigarette in the parking lot. Whenever he could not sleep, the soldier opted for a night walk and a snack or a cigarette rather than staying at home with his crippling anxiety. Usually he would take Hannibal with him but tonight he wanted to be alone, for he felt at the verge of relapsing into his bad habits: he was torn apart between the need to buy cocaine and his will of staying clean.

“I can’t. Fuck, I can’t do that.” He whispered to himself as his throat tightened at the sole thought of snorting some snow. The need was too overwhelming to resist — just one line, it could not be that bad right? Just one line, he told himself. It was at the moment he had made up his mind about whether or not to get high that he saw a familiar face.

A young woman with blue hair rushed out of the shop, a few stolen goods pressed against her chest. Her two long braids were floating behind her as she ran past him like some kind of feral pixie. Arthur frowned as he recognized that naughty little thief from the drug addicts meeting. Maybe that was why he grabbed her by the arm and forced her to stop.

“What the —“ You exclaimed, almost stumbling because of the sudden stop. You flickered on your legs a little bit and turned around in one vivid movement, your heart racing as you realized a man was keeping you from escaping.

“Nice to see you again, thief girl.” Arthur said, one brow raised.

You blinked several times, not recognizing him at first, but when you did your eyes widened even more, “The fuck is wrong with you dude?! Leave me alone!”

“What did you steal this time, eh?!” He replied. As he did his lips stretched in a carnivorous smile that showcased his pointy fangs.

“It’s none of your business, fucker! Let me go! Lemme go or I’ll scream!”

“You must be kidding m—“ Arthur could not finish his sentence for the shop holder hailed him. Truth be told, the man was fuming.

“Here you are stupid bitch!” He roared, one thick vein pumping on his forehead, “Thank you for catching her!” He said to him before shifting his attention back to you, “who’s laughing now? I’m going to call the fucking cops!”

“No, no, please, no.” You started to plead all the while pulling your arm in a desperate attempt to free yourself from the soldier’s grip but his strength outmatched yours. From then, everything happened really fast: first Arthur looked at your face and realized how young you were. Judging by your physical traits, you were in your start/mid twenties. The second detail he noticed was the pathetic content of your loot. Indeed, what you had stolen was literally a pack of menstrual tampons, a sandwich, a bag of chips and a bottle of water. Arthur clenched his jaws and his heart ached a little bit. Despite his violent outbursts he was far from being devoid of empathy. Somehow, it was quite the contrary.

“Listen lad, she’s me girlfriend. We had an argument and she’s a bit drunk. I’m sorry for any inconvenience. I’ll pay for what she took. “ Words left Arthur’s mouth before he could even fully understand what he just said.

The shop owner looked at him with surprise, his thick brows furrowed in confusion, “That crazy chick is your girl?” He asked, his eyes shifting from him to you several times in a row. When he finally looked at you longer, you awkwardly offered him your biggest toothy smile, “Erm yeah okay. It’s fifteen bucks, man. But next time I see her in my shop I’ll call the police. Got it?”

“Hm.” Arthur replied with a grunt and, with his free hand, he took fifteen pounds from his pocket and then handed them to the man. The latter took the bills and left without further ado, leaving the two of you all alone in the parking lot. Arthur, who was still firmly holding your arm, lost himself in his thoughts a few long seconds. That was your annoying voice that snapped him out of his bubble.

“Your girlfriend?” You exclaimed, outraged. With one quick movement you managed to break free from his grip. Wincing, you massaged your sore skin, “I’d rather kill myself”

“C’mon, I’ve saved your ass. The least ye could do is show some respect. Kids these days…” Arthur growled, his piercing blue eyes staring at you.

You replied by poking your tongue out — which properly astounded him. What a fucking brat, he thought, “you want me to thank you and repay you the favor? Spoiler at fucking eleven, I’ve got nothing to offer. And if you suggest me to suck your dick I’ll punch your bollocks off.”

Arthur opened his eyes wide, his sharp face adorned with an almost cartoon-like shock. God, you had a fierce spirit for such a small creature. Yet he had been in combat zones all over the world and met a wide sample group of people, “Bloody hell. Calm down, midget. Yer a kind of psychotic Smurfette or what? I wasn’t going to ask you these kind of things.”

“Oh? Erm. Really? Yeah, whatever,” Once the fury faded away from your pretty juvenile face, all was left was an indescribable adorable pout. Your eyes fled his.

“I’m serious. I wasn’t going to say that. No need to repay it. It’s only fifteen bucks.” A tint of amusement appeared in his blue irises as he observed your facial expression, similar to a kitten caught in the middle of doing something stupid. He slightly tilted his head to the side, observing your more in details. You were irresistibly cute for a little criminal, “the name’s Arthur Shelby by the way, eh.”

“Well, thank you Arthur Shelby.” You finally said a bit reluctantly before walking away. You had barely made a few steps when Arthur’s voice echoed behind you.

“Oi! Wait a minute!”

You did not. Quite the contrary, you ran away before the soldier’s steel blue eyes, who looked at your slim silhouette disappearing in the shadow of the night. All that remained from you was the soft sensation of your skin against his that was still tingling on his fingertips.

What you loved the most about spring was the fact you could sleep outside without freezing. Curled up on a bench lost in the midst of a parc, you tried to rest but Morpheus refused to bring you to his Kingdom. A little growl escaped from your lips as you wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position. But the wood was hard, and your backpack was an awful pillow substitute.

“Doesn’t seem comfy, eh.”

The gruff voice that just talked caused you to sit on the bench in one vivid movement, all your senses on alert just in case you needed to run away from a potential threat. Living in the streets was harsh enough for those who suffered from this life —but when you were a woman, the struggle became even worse. However, your muscles relaxed slightly when you saw Arthur’s face.

“You’re stalking me or what?”

“Fook off, kiddo,” He rolled his eyes, annoyed, then he made a quick head gesture toward his legs. When you looked down, you saw the gargantuan malinois sitting at his feet. Even though the brute did not move, his dark beady eyes were carefully observing you, “I always walk my dog here during the night.”

“That? A dog? Looks like a fur rocket. It barked at me.”

“Ye were trying to rob my wallet, eh.” He refreshed your mind.

“Whatever,” You sniffed and crossed your arms.

Silence fell above you. The only noise that could be heard was the light murmur of the leaves moving at the wind’s discretion. Arthur’s charming blue eyes looked at you a few long seconds as he thought about his next words. Contrary to Tommy, his little brother, he had never been skilled with them. He was too easily flustered and always ended up looking more stupid than anything else.

“I don’t even know your name. That’s what I wanted to ask you last week but you ran away.”

You looked at him, surprised.

“Rat.”

“Rat? Bloody hell, girl. Your parents really didn’t love you.”

“Hey! Fuck you!” You retorted, your eyes burning with a blazing annoyance, “ That’s what people call me! Not my real name.”

“Why do they call you rat? That’s… Fookin weird.” Arthur asked, taking a flat silver case out of the pocket of his cargo pants. Then, he slipped one cigarette between his teeth.

“Gimme one?” Your eyes shone at such a sight. You dreamt about a good smoke for days but cigarettes were incredibly hard to steal.

“The magic word?” He teased, the gravel in his voice coated with genuine amusement.

“Fuck off, Arthur.” You retorted.

“That’s a right answer, stinky rat.” As he spoke, the soldier pushed you with a nudge and slumped on the bench next to your frame. Hannibal looked at his master, then lied down between his parted feet. Arthur gave you a cigarette and lit it up when you brought it to your lips. A sigh of relief escaped from you juicy lips as you exhaled a cloud of smoke from your burning lungs. It did not take long for the pleasant effects of nicotine to alleviate your anxiety. Admittedly, it felt good. Glancing at you with utter curiosity, Arthur could not help but give a faint smile at how adorable you looked when fury left your face, “So, why do they call you rat?”

“Because of him,” Following a show-don’t-tell policy, you slowly moved your left shoulder. Arthur raised a brow and truly wondered what you were doing, twitching your shoulder like that. But his interrogations soon found their answer when a tiny pink snout appeared between two blue hair strands. Then followed the little and furry white head of an albino rat.

“What the — how fookin adorable that is,” Arthur’s face enlightened with awe. He expected you to roast him but all you did was blessing him with a genuine smile for you were delighted by his reaction. Usually, people would were quite disgusted when they saw your little friend, “His name’s Plague.”

“Ah!” Arthur’s loud and hoarse laugh rose up to the sky, “what a cool name. I like him.”

Plague wiggled his pinky snout, smelling the fragrances of both the stranger and his dog. When he was over with it, he just disappeared again behind one long and thick blue braid.

“Yeah, he’s a bit shy. “

“Hm.”

Another silence. But contrary to the awkward previous one, it was pleasant. Almost comforting. It felt like the rest of the world had disappeared in a void, and that all was left was you, him, your pets and this bench. A feeling of surprise dawned within as you caught yourself smiling.

“Oi, Rat. I know that sounds weird, and I don’t want ya to think I’m a kind of creep or something but —“ Arthur paused and exhaled loudly through his nostrils. He could not believe je was going to say that… As he did, your eyes observed the dog tags that were hanging from his neck, “If ye need a place to sleep tonight I’ve got a comfy sofa. The only con is that you’ll have to share it with Hannibal.”

The dog barked joyfully, as if it wanted to agree with his owner.

“Why would you do that?” You asked, palpable hesitation filling your words. Your reaction did not surprise Arthur, who was kind of expecting it. He was well aware his invitation sounded a bit strange.

“The night you ran from the shop and I grabbed you I was about to buy cocaine,”

The vivid memory of your first meeting assaulted your mind, “Wait. But I saw you at the anonymous drug addicts meeting.”

“Yeah, I know,” Arthur paused and looked down at his dog. But you did not need to see his blue eyes to understand the shame that had bloomed within him, “I was ready to relapse y’know. Sometimes me head screams so loud the only thing that soothe me is drugs. But me mind got busy taking care of your bullshit. As stupid as it sounds, you kept me from snorting cocaine and ruining all my efforts.”

“That’s not stupid,” You said in a rather friendly tone, “Well… I’ve got nowhere to go and I see threatening clouds in the sky so… Okay” You answered after mentally weighing the pros and cons, “But don’t say I’m your girlfriend ever again,” You teased with the brattiest grin ever, “Deal, old dog?”

“Deal, stinky rat.” He repeated.

You gave him the finger, but truth was he could not get mad at you, for your smirk was so beautiful it made him forget about the stars.

#arthur shelby #arthur Shelby x reader #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinder x reader #peaky blinder imagine #Peaky blinder angst #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders x reader #arthur shelby x y/n #peaky blinders au #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon

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tragedysorbet · 3 months ago

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Beautiful With You

A Malstarion Story

So, this is the first post of something I've written I've made in, well, years and I actually kinda like it so I'm feeling brave enough to post it.

Most of my stuff is one off stories, so, I may post more if I'm feeling braver after posting this.

CW: Mentions of enslavement and sexual assault, no graphic depictions. Just to set up parts of Malvaeryon’s back story.

Tags: Astarion x Male OC, Astarion X Male Tav. Boys kissing. Mal's terrible self image. Fluff.

The face that looked back at him in the mirror was a stranger sometimes. A person he knew was himself but had been changed so much by pain both physical and emotional that who he once was seemed unrecognizable.

His eyes mismatched, one pale amethyst the other a baleful, bloody red. His once flawless complexion maimed with a large, three pronged scar across his cheek that creeped over the bridge of is nose. Lips cursed to carry the spider-legged mark of the Goddess who haunted his mind.

The face of someone else. Someone who was beautiful once and had been rendered ugly as a punishment. For being born wrong. For daring to dream of a life that they felt was outside of his station. For trusting someone he should never have trusted in the first place. For having the gall to take a hand offered in help to put an end to being tortured and humiliated until the end of his life.

For simply wanting to live.

For so long, he believed he would never see his real face again. The young prince with the sly smiles and glittering lavender eyes. Who looked at the world with bored indifference and who’s eyes never held the manic gleam of an unhinged fury.

Even now, he knew that man had died in the boudoir of Lolth’s High Priestess. Chained and blindfolded and used by Matron and Acolytes alike until no semblance of that young man remained. To resist was to welcome the bite of their snake headed whips, the sharpness of their knives on his skin to drain his blood if he wouldn’t give them what they wanted, their mind altering spells to force him to give that anyway. All that was left when they finally left him alone was shame, agony and fury.

Malvaeryon endured it as long as he could and finally gave up hope. Retreating into himself and disappearing to survive. Even after he was free from one captor, he fell into the web of far worse. No longer the plaything of her priesthood, he became a pawn of the Spider-Queen herself and lost more of who he was as a result.

It all served to make him feel far smaller than he knew he was. He felt undeserving of things such as love and friendship because who would ever want someone so broken? Who could trust him when he didn’t seem to trust himself?

Yet, somehow, some way, he’d managed to do just that. By the sheer luck of having been captured by mindflayers and infected with an Illithid tadpole, he managed to find himself at the heart of a group of people just like him. Each struggling against a blow fate had already dealt them, yet united to each other whether they liked it or not.

Suddenly, without realizing it, he was forming friendships.

Even more suddenly, he’d fallen in love.

He had never intended to fall as hard as he had. His questionable sanity aside, he always felt unworthy to even think of wanting to love someone let alone be loved in return.

Yet Astarion had found a place in his heart so quickly that it scared him. What started as purely physical had deepened into a love so fierce that it was terrifying. Brought together by forces they could not control, they had forged a bond that was unshakable even after confessing that their demons still haunted them.

Astarion everything to him. He loved the way he smiled and the high tittering sound of his laughter. The sight of his face each morning when they woke up in his tent, his head resting against his chest as he mumbled a quiet “good morning” to him made him smile and then lean down to kiss him, whispering the greeting back. His heart full in a way he never expected it would ever be.

He would kill for him. Die for him. Lay the corpses of his enemies at his feet with but one word from him.

He wondered every day why someone like Astarion wanted to be with someone like him.

As he stood waiting for his companions to finish getting ready to set up camp for the evening, Malvaeryon found himself in the familiar position of looking at his reflection in the mirror by his beloved’s tent. Taking in what he felt were his ruined features and wondering once again how Astarion could bring himself to kiss that face or look at those scars.

Compared to the otherworldly beauty of the vampire himself, he felt that he was somehow less than what Astarion deserved. He needed someone strong and beautiful at his side. Not a broken, maimed wretch like him. And yet the thought that one day Astarion would realize that terrified him far more than any nightmare or vision he’d ever had.

He frowned at his reflection, thinking of ways he might change his appearance to look less like something from a nightmare when the feeling of arms encircling his waist and the icy touch of cold lips pressed softly to his cheek pulled him from his thoughts. He was startled, but didn’t flinch as once he might have. Instead, he could only smile and turn his head to catch those lips in a soft kiss.

“Hello, beautiful.” Astarion purred, a sly grin on his face when he pulled back from the kiss and nodding towards the mirror. “Enjoying the view, I see.”

“More like staring at the wreckage.” Mal admitted with a small smile in response, turning away from the mirror to fully face Astarion. His arms draping over his shoulders as he leaned in to press another kiss to his forehead. “I much prefer this view. It’s prettier.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow at that and glanced from Mal to the mirror and back again. He knew he was trying his best to keep a playful front, but Astarion had the most uncanny knack for seeing straight to the heart of him. He could fool anyone on or under Faerûn but he could never seem to fool him. Not for an instant.

When he looked back at him, his hand lifted and touched the Drow’s cheek, his thumb tracing one of the three lines of the scars on his face as he looked at him thoughtfully. Despite himself, Malvaeryon’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the cold touch of Astarion’s hand. Loving any affection given to him, no matter how small.

“Don’t close your eyes, Darling. Look at me.” Astarion said with a slight tut, smiling when Mal’s eyes blinked open in surprise. There was a warmth in his gaze that he had only recently began to show him and it was there now. Soft. Loving. Accepting. Looking at him and seeing him as he was.

“Hmm. You know, that mirror’s not a very good one. I think the silver in it’s warped.” Astarion said, tilting his head to once side as he let his gaze wander from Mal’s face to look at the rest of him. “You’ll need a better one if you want to know what you really look like.”

“Oh?” Mal asked with a faint laugh, his own gaze reflecting back adoration as he watched the vampire looking him over. “I don’t suppose you know where we can find a better one, do you?”

“My love, why ever would you need one when you have me? Follow me and I’ll be your mirror.” Astarion asked with a laugh, slipping out of his arms and taking his hands. He tugged gently, stepping backwards to guide him away from the tent and to a part of the camp that was a little more secluded.

Mal couldn’t deny feeling a little amused. It hadn’t been that long ago that Malvaeryon had done the same for him. He recalled telling him about his piercing eyes and his dangerous smile. When really his heart had been focused on the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed or the way his hair curled around his ears.

He allowed himself to be lead away from the tent, passed the others and up the stairs of the ruined tower they’d decided to stay at before making their way into Rivington in the next day or so. Ravens scattered away in a flurry of dark feathers as they reached the top. The light of full moon shone that night, bright and clear, chasing away any shadows Mal might try to retreat into.

“Perfect.” Astarion said as he looked up into the cloudless night. The light of the moon making the silver of his hair seem like starlight, giving Mal the sudden desire to run his fingers through it if his hand wasn’t firmly held in Astarion’s. It was such a shame that he couldn’t see how truly breathtaking he was. If he could, he’d give up his own reflection just so the man he loved could finally see his own.

“Now. Shall I tell you what you want to hear or would you like the truth, my darling?” Malvaeryon’s attention was once again pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his voice and the question posed go him made him blink. His tone was light but the words made him unsure.

“Because if I tell you what you want to hear, I would say that the scar on your cheek is hideous. Your eyes unnerving. The mark on your lips inspires fear and distrust and makes the whole camp question every word that comes out of your mouth.” He continued, waving a hand dismissively as he spoke.

Mal couldn’t help but flinch as his every negative thought was laid bare. It was strange to hear it out loud. And to hear it all in his lover’s voice made it all the more difficult to listen to. He knew it was what he wanted to hear, according to Astarion. But his self-doubt made it feel as though it were all the truth.

“Not exactly nice things to say about someone I happen to care a great deal about, Malvaeryon.” Astarion tutted, giving him a look as though he were scolding him. Wagging a finger at him disapprovingly. “They’re lies, if I’m being honest. Complete slanders, really.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask the truth.” Mal replied with a faint laugh. Not quite sure if he could handle more after that when the hand that held his pulled him close. The other cupped under his chin and pulled Malvaeryon into a soft, slow kiss. The kind Astarion had begun giving him entirely of his own accord each morning and night.

A promise, he’d said, that he would be there while he dreamed and would still be there when he woke up. A reassurance to the both of them that what they were was real. And that what they were was real.

Malvaeryon’s eyes closed slowly as he let himself relax into it. Kissing back gently, his hand reaching up to hold Astarion’s wrist while the other gripped his shoulder.

“But. That is not what I see when I look at you.” The high elf breathed softly as he pulled back slowly, his lips still brushing his as he spoke. With one finger he traced the lines of the scars on his cheek then trailed it slowly underneath his jawline. The action making him sigh and tilt his face in the direction of the touch.

“What do you see, Astarion?” He asked quietly, letting the words leave him. Lulled into a sense of calm by the touch of his finger tips along his skin. His eyes opened, half lidded, to look at him. His heart and all his hope in his eyes. Suddenly needing to know more than he realized.

“Why, the man I love, of course.” Astarion replied matter of factly. “You should see him. He’s got the face of an angel. With skin the shade of wisteria in perfect sunlight and soft as silk.”

He caressed his cheek with the back of his hand as if to prove his point and it made Mal shiver just slightly. Surrendering to Astarion’s affection. Feeling lucky to be the recipient of something he gave to nobody else but him.

“You make him sound so handsome.” He said with a slight shake of his head, speaking of himself as thought they were discussing someone else. Finding it not the least bit strange. It was no different than the silly hypothetical questions they’d ask each other in bed each night. Asking each other would they still have fallen in love if they knew each other before, when Astarion was a magistrate and Malvaeryon a prince. Wondering what it might have been like if they’d never been on the Nautiloid. If Mal was still an assassin for hire would he kill Cazador if Astarion asked him to.

Would you still love me if you knew how beautiful I used to be?

“He’s so much more than that. He’s an absolute vision. His eyes are like two gems glittering in the dark. One the pale amethyst of a summer twilight. The other a bright red, like blood on fresh snow.” Astarion replied, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from Mal’s face before threading his fingers through it. “His hair is like a stream of starlight. Silver with streaks of ethereal blue catching when the light hits it just right. And his lips… oh, his lips…”

He sighed and kissed him again. It was as if he’d been waiting the whole time they’d been together to kiss him as often as he could. There was no over the top theatrical passion to it as it had been at the start. No need to lure Malvaeryon in. Not when he surrendered his mouth eagerly, his arms wrapping around him, hands gripping lightly at the back of his shirt as he kissed him back. Astarion’s kisses had become soft and slow and lingering. Full of love as much as desire. There was a need to them that was just as great as when he fed on him each evening.

It was as if he needed those kisses in order to live, too.

They were both dazed and smiling when they pulled apart. Astarion giving a short little laugh as he trailed softer kisses along his jaw to his neck.

“You are perfect. Every time.” He said softly nuzzling into his neck. “I’ve completely forgotten what I was talking about.”

“You were telling me about how much you liked the love of your life's lips.” Mal replied, tilting his head back. Exposing his throat almost on instinct after so many nights of being Astarion’s favorite midnight snack.

“I do. They’re soft and oh so kissable. His neck, too.” Astarion’s teeth nipped lightly over the two puncture scars on the prince’s neck as his hands slid from his hair, his arms draping over his shoulders. He reluctantly leaned away from his neck, a hungry look in his eyes that was unmistakable, but there was another deeper meaning in the dark scarlet of his gaze. A sincerity that cut Malvaeryon to the heart.

“You’re beautiful, Mal. One look and anyone with eyes can see that.” He said the faint teasing tone fading from his voice. The look in his eyes commanding Malvaeryon to meet his gaze and not to look away, no matter how much he wanted to blush and look down at his feet.

“Nothing that they did to you could ever change that for me. Because they also could never change what’s truly beautiful about you.” His right hand slipped from his shoulder to rest over Malvaeryon’s chest. His heart beat beneath it as strong as ever. Perhaps it was racing from all the kisses and attention. His gaze fell to where his hand came to rest and it only fluttered all the harder.

“This. Right here. This precious heart that only I get to hold.” He closed his eyes and bent to kiss just over his heart beat then kissed him lightly on the lips when he came back up. “I can’t say that I’ve had much luck at anything in the last two centuries. But every night hold you and hear the sound of your heart beating, I consider myself the luckiest man in the world. Because all of this, inside and out, is all mine.”

“I love you.” He said after a moments thought, as if finally able to say the words after holding them back for so long.

The words seemed to stop his thoughts in their tracks. They were ones they’d said before, half serious. Said only in playful tones and thought over obsessively later on when they were alone. Neither of them brave enough to actually say it.

And Astarion just said them without a shred of irony. No little laugh to say he was joking. No quick change of the subject. He said it first. And the look in his eyes said that he meant every word.

“I… I love you.” Malvaeryon whispered so softly he almost wasn’t sure he had spoken at all. His gaze falling once more to the hand on his heart as he moved a hand to hold it. He lifted it to his lips and soft kissed Astarion’s knuckles. “I love you, Astarion. More than anything.”

There was a tremble in his voice and a sting in his eyes. He felt as if he’d just spoken a long held secret and now he was bracing for the inevitable betrayal. The cruel laughter. The mocking words.

Yet none came. Instead the hand he held only tightened it’s grip and he found himself kissed again. And again and again. Until all that frightened tension left him and he kissed him back. Lost in him. His mind forgetting all about his past and about mirrors and scars.

He thought only of him. Of a future they would share together once all was said and done. He finally allowed himself the luxury of hope. Allowed himself to feel worthy of being loved. And of loving Astarion in return.

When they pulled apart again, Astarion stepped back and pulled him along with him once more. Back to the camp where his tent awaited them both. A promise in his eyes that that wasn’t the last kiss they’d share that night.

Nor the last time he’d whisper those three little words to him.

And as Malvaeryon allowed himself to be lead back to the place they both currently called home, he finally felt beautiful.

Because Astarion loved him.

#astarion x male oc #astarion x male tav #Malvaeryon #astarion ancunin #malvaeryon tet'hys #malstarion #astarion x tav #astarion

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danafinwefeaelenionfeanorian · 8 months ago

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Feanorian Week Day Two: Kanafinwe

538 FA

"What do you mean you want to take in children?" I whisper yell at Kana. "Are you off your rocker?"

"Dana--"

"Kano, we just murdered all the people they knew," Nelyo motions to the blood guts and entrails around us.

Elves of all sizes lay on the ground where we slaughtered them. Many tried to fend us off. It did not work in their favour. All they got was pain and death.

"And?"

"Are you seriously having remorse and regret?" I roll my eyes. Now, he grows a conscience. Three times we've killed kin and now he feels bad? Valar. "Kana, we've done this three times now,"

"And yet we've let them live. What should we do? Be like Tyelko's followers and send them to their deaths?" Kana states. His words a a stab to the heart. We took a vow to each other never to harm children. Now, here we are at an impasse. The only children in this refugee camp are the two we are bickering over.

What happened with Turca's followers was regrettable. But Turca's followers became unhinged, and no one wanted to be on the other end of their blades. Not even me, and I hold rank. I could have reigned them in, but I didn't want to kill one of them to do it.

Then again, I was nowhere near them at the time. I was dealing with Mori's death and Curvo's. I had no idea Turca had died until I found him and Dior lying in a pool of their blood. I heard from Telvo that Turca's followers took the children of Dior to the woods and left them.

I wasn't happy about it, neither was Nelyo. We took a handful of people and searched the woods but found no one.

"Of course not, but raise them? You were barely there for any of our brothers when they were being raised. What makes you think you can raise these two?" I growl at my younger brother.

"I want to do it,"

"Valar almighty," Nelyo sighs. If he could, he'd pinch the bridge of his nose with his free hand, but he only has one.

"I agree with you on that, Nelyo," I glance past Kana and to the small boys huddled on a box. "Fine, let's see how they feel,"

I push past Kana and walk for the boys. They watch my every move, including when I sheath my bloody blade. I crouch down to the boy's height. "Hello,"

"Stay away from us," The one holding the other spits.

"Yeah, stay away," The other states, clutching his brother closer to him.

"My name is Danafinwe. What are yours?"

"Why should I answer you?" The bolder one asks, a growl on the precipice of his lips.

"He has you there, Dana," Nelyo chuckles.

"Shut your mouth Maitimo,"

"The tall redhead is Nelyafinwe, and the other is Kanafinwe. I know this is not ideal, but we do not want to kill you," I gesture to my brothers.

The boys huddle closer together and glare at me fiercely. This is not the reaction I was hoping for, but my words are not as honeyed as I'd like them to be. But such is what happens when I am tired and fed up. At least I'm being nice.

"You know my youngest brothers were twins," I try again. This time, it piques the timid boy's interest.

"What happened to them?"

"One died on a burning ship, and the other died here," Telvo's death could have been avoided, as could Pityo's. If Father had let me onto the ship sooner, I could have gotten Pityo out. I could have saved him. He could have lived.

"Were they lonely?"

"Yes," I nod. Ambarussa only wanted the other for company. They were hollow after Pityo died.

"We promise not to hurt you as long as you are in our care," I smile lightly, hoping it will be enough.

The boys look at each other and seemingly use osanwe to communicate. They nod to the other and then to me. They untangle from each other and take the other's hand. I stand up and look at Kana. 'You wanted them, now we have them,'

I motion for Nelyo to lead the way out of the Havens of Sirion. Out of the carnage, death and despair. The twins slowly follow us out of the Havens. As we approach our horses, the twins pick up speed. It seems they like horses.

I reach my horse and introduce them to him. The horse bobs his head to acknowledge the boys.

"My name is Elros, and this is Elrond." The older one says.

I smile and pull myself into the saddle. "Nice to meet you, Elros and Elrond."

#danafinwe feaelenion feanorian #nelyafinwe #kanafinwe #elrond #elros #feanorianweek2024 #makalaure #maitimo #maedhros #maglor #feanorianweek

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sasorikigai · 1 year ago

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▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The blood is still under his nails, soaked into his characteristic yellow and black Shirai Ryu garb. The salt burns in the wounds he has also retained, and it becomes Hanzo's dark becoming; resolute, vicious, and immediate. There had been no ounce of mercy granted at the trespassers that perpetuated to ransack the bountiful grounds of their sacred land. And Scorpion's chained kunai had been like a firestorm; wild and unrelenting in its beauty, and fierce in a way that calmed only those foolish enough to stand in his wrath. When he becomes enraptured in the harrowing conflagration of his pyromancy, the demons within him become hungry and hollow and just want something to call their own. They are the slaughterhouse, his killing floor, his morgue and final resting. As Scorpion's anger would overwhelm almost to the point of spilling, as much as Hanzo Hasashi's indomitable soul attempts to hold himself upright and still, such disgust, anger, hatred, and wrath always plough and triumph over.

Scorpion's earth often may be heavy; saturated with a sponge of his griefs, dripping of his failures and flaws. His exacted bloodbath may be of excess and extravagance, for the crimson song becomes exquisitely irresistible, consuming all that the demons in his soul desire. And how he still holds the duality of the wind; Hanzo could be such a silent, loving being who kisses gently everything he touches with warm hearthfire. How his air would finger through everything he'd touch, as would two lovers, as he had with Harumi and vice versa. However, Scorpion also has a violence though; with many mood swings, how he would go mad and fierce and uncontrollable. He may be not easily accessed, not bright and lovely; Hanzo Hasashi is a guarded warrior, clad in sunflower yellow garb, hiding the intimate depths of his soul, of his body. There is no tender flesh available for anyone to touch, for he is all shining sheaths, all crimson coats. Yet, pull him apart tenderly and try to rip through his barriers with considerable and truthful efforts, and he will finally become accessed and understood.

Perhaps Hanzo still remains in a secret place; somewhere between half-light and half-darkness, between pain and tenderness, between adoration and contempt for the world, between indifference and love. How his trembling heart has been waiting to be found and touched by someone. The one in embrace touched his heart and soul; perhaps Wanda Maximoff's existence came as surprising as a fiery, fervent might of destruction and wrath, but his fierce and bright gaze saturates the dimming light of the late evening, as the embers of his warmth cast a warm and gentle light. "It is a bittersweet art I have to partake forever, as long as I am stuck in the middle ground of life and death," Scorpion barely feels the echoes of life's sweet refrain, all the grueling grit and pain and determination. He could feel excruciating pain, and yet, it will never be the same as long as he no longer wields mortal flesh and vessel, missing a crucial element humanity could hold.

"Something does feel off about how I have been feeling recently. I can feel frigid coldness thrumming throughout within the guts of this gutted house which is my vessel. The mournful shrieks of a final moment, the sheer, unhinged hunger in my eyes, as I'd watch myself fade away as the soft wisp of darkness becomes the all-consuming naught." Hanzo's expressive, visceral eyes gleam and widen, as his melancholic, fleeting smile etches, then erases as quickly as his surging emotions become the faded pencil stroke upon his lips. How the light blazes around him and he feels lifted by the genuineness of her words. He may be wet and bloody, internally screaming and externally holding himself erect, but he embodies the beating heart of simply existing; being a human despite him not being one. "But I know this is real and this is now. A song so sweet which lies between my cracked ribs." ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

☽◯☾┄─ @sasorikigai || ʰᵃⁿᶻᵒ (ᶜᵒⁿᵗ.)

Wanda hadn't been expected to be left behind by Hanzo when he had gone off to check on the village. She was left behind because he felt he had to do it because he was the protector. She had begrudgingly agreed to let Hanzo go by himself without her, but she told him if he didn't return within an hour, she would join him. Wanda had come here to do a job, and she didn't like that her job was being taken from her when she was tasked to do something. She walked around the compound to ease her frustrations and not be left to her own devices and destroy anything out of frustration.

She, of course, diligently kept track of time until the hour passed so she could fight alongside him. The minutes seemed to go by slower than Wanda liked as she stared at her phone screen. After her walk, she settled to sit down at the base of one of the Japanese maples with a book in her lap. It was a better way for her to pass the time than just standing at the gates waiting with little to no time passing. It was the best way to keep her mind occupied from her worries and frustrations. The hour dwindled by slowly, but it was down to a few minutes remaining, and Hanzo still hadn't returned from the village.

The flaming vortex of Hanzo’s teleportation caught Wanda’s attention as she had stepped onto the footpath. He came back with only a minute to spare, while she was relieved, she was disappointed she didn’t get to go to assist. Instinctively, Wanda ran to Hanzo, jumping out to take him into her embrace. She had felt that she had caused the taller man to stumble somewhat when she jumped to embrace him. He was tense as a bow string the moment her body collided with his. "I just... am pleased to see you, that’s all." She sheepishly, murmured explaining just what this sudden embrace was to him. Her arms encircled his torso, her hands on his back, gripping the material of his Shirai Ryu uniform tightly in her palms.

“I know it’s a part of your duties, but I can’t help but worry about you.” He was doused in blood, no doubt getting some of it on herself as well. Wanda looked up at him with blood smeared on her chin, she had felt of the tension in his form soften somewhat. Her violet eyes stared into his bone white irises. "It doesn't bother me, Hanzo. I'm just happy that you're here." Wanda smiles softly with a tender gleam in her eyes, she meant every word she said to him. As much as he confused and worried her, she did care about him.

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ hellfire fibrillating beneath his skin (iv)#hexsreality

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terrence-silver · 2 years ago

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"All that blood looks good on you, it brings out your eyes.." beloved said. Terry's reaction in different eras ?

Love your work!!

― Twig is a stuttering, mumbling mess. Sure, from one end, post-Vietnam, the connotation of blood brings up uneasy and traumatic memories, but from another end, for a young man eager to be viewed as strong, powerful, capable and even fierce in his own right, being told he looks good splattered in red just...makes him beam, against all better judgement. He knows he shouldn't, but it makes him soar regardless. It feels like he is one step closer to growing into the masculine image he wants to grow into and getting the acknowledgment from his beloved only boosts his little heart further. Of course, he isn't an all mighty King Cobra just yet. He might very easily flutter his long, boyish lashes when beloved utters those words and nuzzle in close to their chest and arms, blood dripping off of his face as he's embraced and embraces beloved back in a vice grip, seeking acknowledgment, care and comfort. Maybe he should’ve bloodied himself even more even sooner. He looks good. Someone thinks he looks good. He's so in love he could explode.

― This is precisely the type of complement Terry Silver in the 80's wants to get. He knows he looks good. He knows his eyes are resplendent. He knows he looks even better bloody. He loves to get bloody. Loves getting others bloody too. He's all self-confidence and cockiness in the most morbid, unhinged ways possible. He knows beloved loves to see it, in some primal, feral, repressed sense that their body craves in the most animalistic, cave man way that clashes with all civilized social norms --- it is admittedly a bit barbaric (and Terry himself is a bit Barbaric too, yes), and now they've said it and he smiles at them, broadly, shark-like, not blinking, cornering them up against the wall where they can see every droplet of blood on him and his eyes, and smell him. All of him. The metallic, salty, sweaty perfume --- it is sex and it is violence. Hormones galore. Smears some of the blood from his face on beloved's own like war paint and has them right there and then rough and hard.

― Old man Terry might give beloved a long, poignant stare unable to believe they've just said that after decades of trying to get clean off of the lure of aggression and his own unhealthy, vice-filled impulses but...yes...why did hearing that, deep down, feel...exuberant? Like a sore he couldn't reach for ages being deliciously scratched for relief? In his own words to Daniel, ironically, echoing back to him, it makes him feel powerful. Free. All man. All capable. In charge of himself. Not neutered, repressed or chronically starved for something he cannot name. Like the weight of the world is lifted off of his shoulders and he's busted out of the cage and returned to his roots, however messed up and twisted those roots are; seen for who he is, at his darkest, worst and most disturbed, out in the open, he is witnessed and still accepted and loved entirely by someone he wants back just as much. It is cathartic. He grabs beloved's jaw, bloody as he is, and pulls them in for a deep, fiery kiss. He is seen. He is known. He is loved.

#terry silver #old man terry #terry silver twig #80's terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #terry silver headcanon #terry silver headcanons #tw; blood #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved

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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years ago

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My two cents regarding this week’s prompts:

heart: I do believe that Katniss losing it when Peeta hit the force field opened her eyes to how much she had come to care for Peeta at this point. While I think that this moment really made her realize the depth of her emotions for Peeta, I don’t necessarily think that she truly figured out the nature of her feelings for Peeta yet, however

mind: I feel like if it weren’t for the interviews being immediately the night before the Games begin, there would have been a good chance of the 75th Games being canceled due to Peeta dropping the baby bomb - but since there wasn’t that much time for a more organized uproar/protest on the Capitolites’s side, it was easier for the Gamemakers/Snow to push pass any objections

soul: I certainly hope that people like Johanna and Haymitch will be able to find some peace and reconcilliation once the rebellion is over, but they lost so much... it’s gotta be hard to move on from this kind of loss; it would certainly require a lot of time and support so they can heal from what they’ve been through... I feel like Johanna would have been working towards the rebellion/etc soon after she losed her loved one; she’s tenacious and fierce that way; with Haymitch I’m not so sure - I feel like he’s more prone to depression and giving up/in than fighting no matter what; he’d probably require a certain amount assurance that their attempt at rebellion won’t be futile

As usual, my thoughts on chapters 19-21 are below the cut:

Chapter 19

I can’t think straight. The image of Cinna, beaten and bloody, consumes me. [...] What are they doing to him? Torturing him? Turning him into an Avox? Obviously his assault was staged to unhinge me, the same way Darius’s presence in my quarter was. And it has unhinged me. All I want to do is collapse on my metal plate. [...] I must be strong. I owe it to Cinna [...] and I owe it to the rebels who, emboldened by Cinna’s example, might be fighting to bring down the Capitol at this moment. My refusal to play the Games on the Capitol’s terms is to be my last act of rebellion. So I grit my teeth and will myself to be a player. - Damn, despite being so thoroughly shaken after witnessing Cinna getting beaten right in front of her, Katniss still manages to be so focused and aware of the task at hand, the intentions and motivations of the Capitol, Cinna, and the rebels and her own role in the bigger picture... Katniss is amazing

I catch a handful of water as it washes in and smell it. Then I touch the top of my wet finger to my tongue. As I suspected, it’s saltwater. Just like the waves Peeta and I encountered on our brief tour of the beach in District 4. But at least it seems clean. - It’s cool to see Katniss being so methodical here; man, I would have loved to learn more about Peeta and Katniss’s stay in D4... Katniss’s last thought here trips me up - is she implying that the beaches and water in D4 are dirty in contrast to the water in the arena or was she simply evaluating the water quality per se, since the Gamemakers could have done anything to the water if they liked?

When the gong sounds, I don’t even hesitate before I dive to my left. It’s a longer distance than I’m used to, and navigating the waves takes a little more skill than swimming across my quiet lake at home, but my body seems oddly light and I cut through the water effortlessly. Maybe it’s the salt. - We will later learn that Katniss feels light because the belts are also floatation devices, but I love this kind of ‘misdirection’ that is built on pretty plausible assumptions (since Katniss had never swum in saltwater, how would she know?

I don’t let the thought of adversaries slow me down, though. I’m thinking like a Career now, and the first thing I want is to get my hands on a weapon. - all that training like a Career paid off, didn’t it?

My eyes instantly home in on a golden bow just in arm’s reach and I yank it free. - so Katniss’s bow has been upgraded to a golden now (instead of silver like in the previous Games; I wonder whether that has any particular meaning... on a interesting sidenote: Artemis, goddess of the hunt actually is associated with a golden bow (instead of a silver one, as one might be inclined to assume considering the fact that Artemis is also associated with the moon, which evokes more of a silver-y color palette, imo)

Finnick, glistening and gorgeous, stands a few yards away, with a trident poised to attack. A net dangles from his other hand. [...] “You can swim, too,” he says. “Where did you learn that in District Twelve?” “We have a big bathtub,” I answer. - Lol, snarky Katniss strikes again 😄 I’m kind of enjoying how Katniss continually mentions how good-looking Finnick is, as a simple aesthetical fact, but it’s still clear that she’s not romantically interested him at all

“You like the arena?” “Not particularly. But you [Finnick] should. They must have built is especially for you,” I say with an edge of bitterness. It seems like it, anyway, with all the water, when I bet only a handful of the victors can swim. And there was no pool in the Training Center, no chance to learn. [...] That gives District 4 an enormous advantage. - Honestly, a water-based arena is just insanely unfair (and yes, precautions were taken so that not 80% of the tributes die immediately by drowning, since that would be ~boring~, but since the obvious disadvantage for the other districts, I’m not that surprised that a water-arena hasn’t really been a thing as of yet, apparently) - I wonder if Plutarch orchestrated because this way, he’s clearly not creating an arena that supports the Mockingjay and also would make Finnick a more appealing ally for Katniss

Then Finnick suddenly grins. “Lucky thing we’re allies. Right?” Sensing a trap, I’m about to let my arrow fly [...] when he shifts his hand and something on his wrist catches the sunlight. A solid-gold bangle patterned with flames. The same one I remember on Haymitch’s wrist [...] Haymitch gave it to him. As a signal to me. An order, really. To trust Finnick. - We’re barely a few minutes into the Games, and Haymitch and Katniss are already back to communicating with each other through nonverbal hints and signals - a new record! ;)

Finnick drops a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get him [Peeta].” Suspicion flickers up inside me [...] “I can,” I insist. But Finnick has dropped all his weapons to the ground. “Better not exert yourself. Not in your condition,” he says. and reaches down and pats my abdomen. Oh right. I’m supposed to be pregnant, I think. While I’m trying to think what that means and how I should act - maybe throw up or somehing - Finnick has positioned himself at the edge of the water. - Good move on Finnick’s part to obviously put down his weapon in order to convince Katniss to let him get Peeta and using the pregnancy card as well (Katniss generally tends to be very aware of how the audience must be perceiving her and her actions, so that way he’s gently forcing her to comply withhis plan); heh, Katniss and Peeta maybe should have considered what the pregnancy card would entail for inside the arena, though - all their meticulous preparation and training, and Katniss’s only idea of keeping up appearances is that she maybe should throw up 😂

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. - It would be interesting to know what exactly made Peeta go with Finnick just like that; he’s definitely better at accepting help than Katniss is and since he can’t swim, it’s not like he has got a lot of options (at this point, they don’t know that the belts are floatation devices); but it’s still the Games; would he have enough trust in Haymitch’s judgment (the bangle) to go with Finnick, would he want to join Katniss as soon as possible, no matter what, or would he trust Katniss to have his back while she’s watching (Katniss does have her bow and arrows at the ready, whereas Finnick is unarmed)?; maybe it’s a combination of all these things - When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land. “Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.” - Peeta always has the best entrances, I swear 😄

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind,” says Finnick. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.” “I’ve got no problem with Mags,” I say. “Especially now that I see the arena. Her fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal.” “Katniss wanted her on the first day,” says Peeta. “Katniss has remarkably good judgment,” says Finnick. - This exchange is interesting: Finnick tries to play Mags’s inclusion cool, being all joke-y but also with a social connotation; Katniss’s reply is kind of downplaying her actual liking of Mags, instead steering it towards Mags’s technical skill and value for the team, whereas Peeta reveals that Katniss genuinely likes Mags, independent of ‘technical value’, which in turn, actually elicits a compliment from Finnick aimed at Katniss - considering that Katniss’s and Finnick’s relationship at this point is the most strained/hostile of their group, that’s some really smooth navigating of stormy interpersonal-relations-waters ^^ Ironically, while Finnick's compliment isn’t completely off, her judgment of Finnick is not really that on the money

I hand Peeta a bow, a sheath of arrows , and a knife, keeping the rest for myself. - If Katniss hands Peeta a bow and arrows, does that mean she also taught him how to use them (it doesn’t explicitly say so during their training montage; I’ve checked), or is this the equivalent of Peeta holding her purse? 😉

I make Finnick go second because even though he’s the most powerful, he’s got his hands full with Mags. Besides, while he’s a whiz with that trident, it’s a weapon less suited to the jungle than my arrows. - Katniss seems to really have a thing for this particular phrase: Peeta’s a whiz with fires, Gale with snares, and Finnick with that trident

The foliage has hidden the wheel from my sight, so I scale a tree with rubbery limbs to get a better view. And then I wish I hadn’t. Around the Cornucopia, the ground appears to be bleeding; the water has purple stains. Bodies lie on the ground and float in the sea [...] Well, what did I think? That the victor’s chain of locked hands last night would result on some sort of universal truce in the arena? No, I never believed that. But I guess I had hoped people might show some... what? Restraint? Reluctance, at least. Before they jumped right into massacre mode. And you all knew each other, I think. You acted like friends. - I think Katniss is especially shaken that the victors were so quick to return to their ‘kill or be killed’-mindset because they all were sorta friends (and we know that Katniss could never do this sort of thing to her friends; considering being forced to harm Peeta and Haymitch is what stopped her in her tracks when she first thought about what entering this Quarter Quell could mean) - I have only one real friend here. And he isn’t from District 4. I let the light, soupy breeze cool my cheeks while I come to a decision. Despite the bangle, I should just get it over with and shoot Finnick. There’s really no future in this alliance. And he’s too dangerous to let go. Now, when we have this tentative trust, may be my only chance to kill him. I could easily shoot him in the back as we walk. It’s despicable, of course, but will it be any more despicable if I wait? Know him better? Owe him more? No, this is the time. - Having seen how ‘easy’ it was for the other victors to turn on their friends, Katniss decides that she has to kill Finnick now, before she can form a friend-like attachment to him; because while this would make it infinitely harder for her to kill him, she has to assume that it would not be an issue for him (since he’s also one of the ‘other’ victors)

But when I land, I find Finnick’s kept pace with my thoughts. As if he knows what I have seen and how it will have affected me. He has one of his tridents raised in a casually defensive position. “What’s going on down there, Katniss? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?” Finnick asks. - Hey, that’s what Peeta did at the end of his and Katniss’s last Games! (he threw his knife into the lake, but close enough) and Katniss followed, dropping her weapons as well - “No, I say. “No,” Finnick repeats. “Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance.” - All these victors did not only win and survive their respective Games, but they have also all kept on going/enduring the horrors the Capitol had ready for them once they were victors - they are all about survival (but not so much living, except-)

He eyes Peeta for a moment. “Except maybe Peeta.” Finnick knows what Haymitch and I know. About Peeta. Being truly, deep-down better than the rest of us. Finnick took out that tribute from 5 without blinking an eye. And how long did I take to turn deadly? I shot to kill when I targeted Enobaria and Gloss and Brutus. Peeta would at least have attempted negotiations first. [...] But to what end? Finnick’s right. I’m right. The people in this arena weren’t crowned for their compassion. - I mean, in that way Peeta is a fascinating example of a victor because he managed to become a victor through sheer compassion (and basically becoming a victor without ever aiming for that status in the first place) - but that also only worked out because Katniss is very compassionate herself; the two of them are a good example of how being kind and compassionate can be a winning strategy - if other people just would go along with it... Also, reading this section makes that scene in which Peeta overpowers (and kills?) that other tribute in the water in the movie version feel wrong...

I hold his [Finnick’s] gaze, weighing his speed against my own. The time it will take to send an arrow though his brain versus the time his trident will reach my body. - Geez-ums, that’s a direct and harsh way of voicing this thought, Katniss - I can see him, waiting for me to make the first move. Calculating if he should block first or go directly for an attack. I can feel we’ve both about worked it out when Peeta steps deliberately between us. “So how many are dead?” he asks. Move, you idiot, I think. But he remains firmly planted between us. - Dang, Peeta’s not playing; I mean, he can be sure that Katniss would never shoot him, but what about Finnick? Has Peeta taken notice that Finnick’s definitely not going to make the first move and is basically just reacting to Katniss? I’d love to know how well he’s been able to read Finnick at this point - [...] “Let’s keep moving. We need water,” he [Peeta] says. - A clever move on Peeta’s part: introducing a common goal (finding water)

“Better find some soon,” says Finnick. “We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight.” We. Us. Hunting. All right, maybe killing Finnick would be a little premature. He’s been helpful so far. He does have Haymitch’s stamp of approval. And who knows what the night will hold? If worse comes to worst, I can always kill him in his sleep. So I let the moment pass. And so does Finnick. - Aside from introducing a common goal, introducing a common adversary is also quite helpful in order to bring people closer together; their common goal(s): find water (+ survive the night); the common adversary introduced through Finnick’s observations of “the others come hunting us” re-frames Katniss’s view of who the in-group and out-group at the moment are (originally: Peeta and Katniss vs. Finnick -> now, revised: D12 + D4 tributes vs. the rest); makes me think of realistic conflict theory and the Robbers Cave Experiment which explored intergroup conflicts over limited resources, but also how to overcome these conflicts

My warning cry is just reaching my lips when Peeta’s knife swings out to slash away some vines. There’s a sharp zapping sound. [...] Peeta’s flung back from the force field, bringing Finnick and Mags to the ground. I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. [...] I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence. - Katniss has a specific spot on which he rests her head on Peeta’s chest; she knows his (steady!) heartbeat like the back of her hand - and it’s not there anymore 🥺😭

Chapter 20

Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. “Let me.” His fingers touch points at Peeta’s neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spines. Then he pinches Peeta’s nostrils shut. “No!” I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta’s dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. - Katniss is absolutely frantic

From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. - Lol, Katniss being all confused about Finnick performing CPR 😂 I wonder how much of Katniss’s surprise stems from wonderment over Finnick’s initial ‘reaction’ to Peeta being dead is kissing him - which, granted, would definitely be a weird thing to do - and how much of it is due to the fact that Finnick’s “kissing” another dude (Peeta!, no less!!); Katniss hasn’t really mentioned any same-sex couples so far, if I recall correctly, so I’m wondering how familiar/aware she is with/of homosexuality; District 12 has more small-town vibes, which isn’t necessarily the most open when it comes to that sort of thing (I’m saying that as someone who grew up in a tiny village and went to school in a small town)

And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. - Oof, that tension! Considering that Peeta is her “dandelion in the spring”, her hope was figuratively dying in front of Katniss 🥺😭

“Peeta?” I say softly. [...] His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” - Oh really, Peeta? I wouldn’t have known otherwise, thank you 😂- I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. “Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” he says. “I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.”- Peeta, hon, you are a talented public speaker, but even you can’t ‘‘tis but a scratch” your way out of here after having literally been just resuscitated - “You were dead! Your heart stopped!”

“Well it seems to be working now,” he says. “It’s all right, Katniss.” I nod my head but the sounds aren’t stopping. “Katniss?” - Peeta, you really shouldn’t be that surprised that Katniss wouldn’t take your death all that well, sweetie - Now Peeta’s worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones,” says Finnick. “From the baby.” [...] “No. It’s not-” I get out, but I’m cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. - Katniss is just genuinely shaken over Peeta’s almost-death (because she loves that boy!); that’s not to blame on any hormonal imbalance (although, in this case, Finnick is doing a Katniss a favor by bringing up the pregnancy card - otherwise, I wouldn’t recommend blaming a woman’s emotional outburst on her ‘hormones’ ;)

He [Finnick] glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “How are you?” he asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?” “No, he has to rest,” I say. - Finnick’s realizing that Katniss actually truly loves Peeta (yay!); Katniss’s fiercely protective response just cements that realization

I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta’s chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask. “Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says. “No, of course I don’t mind.” - Peeta adopted Katniss’s symbol! 😭 I wish the movie version had kept this detail - I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it’s hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder. - Katniss, Peeta just managed to die (briefly) even without flaunting the symbol of his token; if you’re hoping that protecting Peeta will be an easy job - that ship has sailed

“So you want to make camp here, then?” Finnick asks. “I don’t think that’s an option,” Peeta answers. “Staying here. With no water. No protection. I feel all right, really. If we could just go slowly.” “Slowly would be better than not at all.” - Finnick’s being really nice and patient here; and Peeta’s just doing his best, trying to power through - love these boys! 😊

I’m glad Finnick keeps playing the pregnancy card for me, because from a sponsor’s point of view, I’m not handling things all that well. I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect conditions, because it makes me seem more in control. - As so often, Katniss is super aware of how she must be perceived by the viewers and sponsors

“How did you know [about the force field]?” I hesitate. To reveal that I know Beetee and WIress’s trick of recognizing a force field could be dangerous. [...] I have a very valuable piece of information. And if they [the Gamemakers] know I have it, they might do something to alter the force field so I can’t see the aberration anymore. So I lie. “I don’t know. It’s almost as if I could hear it. Listen.” [...] “I don’t hear anything,” says Peeta. [...] “There!” I say. “Can’t you hear it? It’s coming from right where Peeta got shocked.” [...] I decide to play this for all it’s worth. “That’s weird,” I say. I turn my head from side to side as if puzzled. “I can only hear it out of my left ear.” “The one the doctors reconstructed?” asks Peeta. “Yeah,” I say, then give a shrug. “Maybe they did a better job than they thought. [...]” Perfect. Now all the attention will turn to the surgeons who fixed my daf ear after the Games last year - Katniss is very clever! I wonder whether Peeta was just genuinely asking or he caught on Katniss’s trick here and decided to play into it?

I go forward, wondering about Finnick [...] Who brought Peeta back from the dead. Why didn’t he just let him die? He would have been blameless. I never would have guessed it was in his power to revive him. Why could he possibly have wanted to save Peeta? And why was he so determined to team up with me? Willing to kill me, too, if it comes to that. But leaving the choice of if we fight to me. - Katniss is becoming aware that there is more going on than meets the eye

“Finnick, why don’t you stand guard and I’ll hunt around some more for water,” I say. No one’s thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us. “Don’t worry, I won’t go far,” I promise Peeta. “I’ll go, too,” he says. - he doesn’t want to let her out of his sight and instead wants to join her, although he’s already been through the wringer 🥺- “No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can,” I tell him. I don’t add, “And you can’t come because you’re too loud.” But it’s implied. He would both scare off prey and endanger us with his heavy tread. - lol, Katniss just loves to remind Peeta of his heavy tread 😄 But hey, at least she know trusts Finnick to keep an eye on Peeta while she’s gone; that means a lot

Already, swallowing is difficult and fatigue is creeping up on me. I try rubbing my hand across my belly, hoping som esympathetic pregnant woman will becaome my sponsor and Haymitch can send in some water. No luck. I sink to the ground. - Always thinking of how she is going to be perceived 🧠

It’s ugly, all right, a big rodent with a fuzz of mottled gray fur and two wicked-looking gnawing teeth protruding over its lower lip. As I’m gutting and skinning it, I notice something else. Its muzzle is wet. Like an animal that’s been drinking from a stream. Excited, I start at its home tree and move slowly out in a spiral. It can’t be far, the creature’s water source. Nothing. I find nothing. - The protruding teeth and wet muzzle are such a clever, but subtle clue for where the gang is going to find their water

“[...] He [the tree rat] ought to be cooked...” I hesitate as I think of trying to start a fire out here from complete scratch. Even if I succeed, there’s the smoke to think about. We’re all so close together in this arena, there’s sno chance of hiding it. Peeta has another idea. He takes a cube of rodent meat. skewers it on the tip of a pointed stick, and lets it fall into the force field. There’s a sharp sizzle and the stick flies back. The chunk of meat is blackened on the outside but well cooked inside. We give him a round of applause - another proof of Peeta thinking outside the box (also fitting, since he’s generally the one providing the fire normally)... but also quite morbid, that the guy who almost bit the dust because of those force fields now uses them for ‘cooking’ food... what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?

Our conversation trails off because we know what’s coming. We position ourselves in a line at the mouth of the hut and Peeta slips his hand into mine. The sky brightens when the seal of the Capitol appears as if floating in space. As I listen to the strains of the anthem I think, It will be harder for Finnick and Mags. But it turns out to be plenty hard for me as well. Seeing the faces of the eight dead victors projected into the sky. - It doesn’t get easier, this useless and brutal blood-spilling 😢

“Whose [sponsor parachute] is it, do you think?” I say finally. “No telling,” says Finnick. “Why don’t we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?” - How considerate of you, Finnick 😂 - [...] On the parachute sits a small metal object that I can’t place. “What is it?” I ask. No one knows. [...] It’s a hollow metal tube, tapered slightly at one end. On the other end a small lip curves downward. It’s vaguely familiar. A part that could have fallen off a bicycle, a curtain rod, anything, really. - How many bicycles has Katniss seen in her life? For some reason, I can’t really imagine that a lot of people in District 12 would actually have bikes...

I stretch out, pressing my hot cheek on the grass mat, staring at the thing [spile] in aggravation. Peeta rubs a tense spot between my shoulders and I let myself relax a little. - Such a familiar gesture! 💕

I wonder what’s going on back home. Prim. My mother. Gale. Madge. I think of them watching me from home. At least I hope they’re at home. Not taken into custody by Thread. Being punished as Cinna is. As Darius is. Punished because of me. Everybody. - Weeeell... Your friends and family in D12 are not being punished... yet, as far as we know😟 But poor Katniss, she’s always taking on the responsibilty for the atrocities the Capitol is committing against the people she loves

“It’s a spile. Sort of like a faucet. You put it in a tree and sap comes out.” I look at the sinewy green trunks around me. “Well, the right sort of tree.” “Sap?” asks Finnick. They don’t have the right kind of trees by the sea, either. “To make syrup,” says Peeta. “But there must be something else inside these trees.” - I don’t know if I would have been able to figure out what the spile was; the only time I’ve seen a spile and the principle behind it was in a nonfiction book on Native Americans I had as a child... even maple syrup wasn’t really much of a thing when I was small; we primarily had sugar beet syrup

I lie down beside Peeta on the floor of the hut, telling Finnick to wake me when he’s tired. Instead I find myself jarred from sleep a few hours later by what seems to be the tolling of a bell. Bong! Bong! It’s not exactly like the one they ring in the Justice Building on New Year’s, but close enough for me to recognize it. - Huh, so do they celebrate New Year’s Eve/Day in Panem or do they just ring some bells to let people know a new year has begun?

I sit with my bow loaded, watching the jungle, which is ghostly pale and green in the moonlight. After an hour or so, the lightning stops. I can hear the rain coming in, though, pattering on the leaves a hundred yards away. I keep waiting for it to reach us but it never does. - this is already such a good hint for how the arena works (the time limits + space constraints for each horror)! Once you know the arena is a clock it’s so obvious, but when you read this section for the first time, you have just enough information to be able to figure it out along with Katniss and the crew; love these sort of breadcrumbs!

Chapter 21

“Hurry, Peeta!” I urge. I can tell that however much he denied it during the day, the aftereffects of hitting the force field have been significant. - as to be expected, since his heart had literally stopped beating for some time; told you, ti was more than just a scratch, Peeta! - He’s slow, much slower than usual. And the tangle of vines and undergrowth, which unbalance me occasionally, trip him every step. - the tangled undergrowth of the jungle must be so shitty to traverse for Peeta in particular; he wouldn’t be able to feel if his prosthetic leg is entangled until he’d notice the tug, would he? With a non-artificial leg, you would at least feel if there’s something creeping around your ankle or so, but with a prothesis? Must be super difficult... as is later mentioned: - Peeta’s artificial leg catches in a knot of creepers and he sprawls forward before I can reach him.

A terrible impulse to flee, to abandon Peeta and save myself, shoots through me. It would be so simple [...] I remember how I did just this when the muttations appeared in the last Games. Took off and only thought of Peeta when I’d reached the Cornucopia. But this time, I trap my terror, push it down, and stay by his side. - See, Katniss? You’re doing so much better at pushing past your own survival instinct, which is really impressive, tbh - This time my survival isn’t the goal. Peeta’s is. I think of the eyes glued to the television screens in the districts, seeing if I will run, as the Capitol wishes, or hold my ground. - How do you still manage to consider how the rebels and the Capitol will perceive you, Katniss?!!? o.O In that regard, it’s not that surprising how difficult it sometimes is for Katniss to figure out what her actual motivations are (like when she questioning what her motivation for saving Peeta and pulling out the berries was in the last Games) - she’s just always so hyperaware of what the people around her want, that it’s really hard for her to separate them from her own wants (also a reason why she’s having such a difficult time figuring out her boys-troubles)

Finnick, who bounded off initially, stops when he realizes we’re having problems. [...] He shouts encouragement, trying to move us along, and the sound of his voice acts as a guide, though little more. - Finnick’s being a good bean here, trying to help as much as he can

Finnick has Peeta slung across his back now and we move forward, Finnick leading, me following in the trail he breaks through the vines. [...] Although my instinct is to run directly away from it, I realize Finnick is moving at a diagonal down the hill. He’s trying to keep a distance from the gas while steering us toward the water that surrounds the Cornucopia.- Smart move! Finnick is so much more than just a pretty face (and athletic body... which is also an asset in the arena, of course) But I also wonder if, being from District 4, Finnick might be naturally drawn to the water/shore for protection? (We’ll later see how comfortable he feels in the water) - [...] Now I’m so thankful I didn’t kill Finnick, because how would I have gotten Peeta out of here alive? So thankful to have someone else on my side, even if it’s only temporarily. - And Finnick will continue to be a good friend to Katniss (and Peeta!) until his dying breath 😭😢

“No,” he [Finnick] says. “I can’t carry them both. My arms aren’t working. [...] I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t do it.” What happens next is so fast, so senseless, I can’t even move to stop it. Mags hauls herself up, plants a kiss on FInnick’s lips, and then hobbles straight into the fog. Immediately, her body is seized by wild contortions and she falls to the ground in a horrible dance. - Mags 😭😭 And her death must have been painful, too 😢 - I want to scream, but my throat is on fire. I take one futile step in her direction when I hear the cannon blast - Katniss’s instinct was even to go for Mags, into the fog 😩😭

I look up and spot a pair of what I guess are monkeys. I have never seen a live monkey - there’s nothing like that in our woods at home. But I must have seen a picture or one in the Games, because when I see the creatures, the same word comes to my mind. I think these have orange fur, although it’s hard to tell, and are about half the size of a full grown human. - Well, that doesn’t sound like the baboons (mandrills? I forgot) we see in the movie adaptation (although it makes sense; I believe baboons are said to be pretty aggressive); reading this description of the monkeys always makes me think of the ones from the movie Jumanji (1995)

I unbuckle my belt and strop off my jumpsuit, which is little more than a perforated rag. My shoes and undergarment are inexplicably unaffected. - convenient ;) but also, wild how Katniss, Peeta, and Finnick basically spent most of their time in the arena just in their underwear

Finnick slowly begins to revive. [...] I rest his head on my lap and we let him soak about ten minutes with everything immersed from the neck down. Peeta and I exchange a smile as Finnick lifts his arms above the seawater. - It’s cute how Peeta and Katniss take care of Finnick 😊

He [Finnick] dives and surfaces, spraying water out of his mouth, rolls over and over in some bizarre corkscrew motion that makes me dizzy even to watch. And then, when he’s been underwater so long I feel certain he’s drowned, his head pops up right next to me and I start. “Don’t do that,” I say. “What? Come up or stay under?” he says. “Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave,” I say. - Katniss and Finnick’s bickering is just hilarious 😂 (It reminds me a lot of “Shut up and it your pears.”)

Peeta turns to us, panting from his work on the tree. The tone of my request is so odd that it’s alerted him to some irregularity. “Okay,” he says casually. - See? Peeta didn’t just run straight into the monkeys; he had actually caught on that something was going and was trying to get out of the situation as calmly as possible - He begins to move through the jungle and although I know he’s trying hard to be quiet, this has never been his strong suit, even when he had two sound legs. But it’s all right, he’s moving, the monkeys are holding their positions. He’s just five yards from the beach when he senses them. His eyes only dart up for a second, but it’s as if he’s triggered a bomb. The monkeys explode into a shrieking mass of orange fur and converge on him. - Eeek, that description alone makes me shudder 😨

My heart sinks as my fingers draw back my last arrow. Then I remember Peeta has a sheath, too. And he’s not shooting, he’s hacking away with that knife. - So that answers my earlier musings: Katniss must have taught Peeta (and Haymitch, I assume) how to use a bow!

Weaponless, defenseless, I do the only thing I can think of. I run for Peeta, to knock him to the ground, to protect his body with mine, even though I know I won’t make it in time. - You’re not thinking about how the rebels are going to perceive this move right there, right now, or about running away to safety, but you choose to try saving Peeta by throwing yourself in front of him, even when you’re sure you won’t make it in time - that makes you pretty darn selfless, Katniss, so just learn to accept this fact about yourself instead of constantly telling yourself how selfish you are, missy!!!

#thgagain #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #finnick odair #thg meta #my sketches and drawings #thg fanart #catching fire #a little late but I was on vacation and didn't have as much time for drawing as usual #hopefully it's not too riddled with spelling errors

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esseastri · 4 years ago

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TIS THE SEASON FOR MEGAN’S FAVORITE BOOKS OF 2020

No particular order, no narrowing down, definitely a theme, and no, I will not accept criticism at this time. I will suggest you buy all of these from your local independent bookstore and read them ASAP.

--BLACK SUN by Rebecca Roanhorse CROW GODS and BLOOD MAGIC and SEA ADVENTURES, BETRAYAL and LOVE and POLITICS and WORLDBUILDING TO DIE FOR that's FRESH and NEW and characters who I will lay down my life for, give me the second one now please I am dying

--THE MIDNIGHT BARGAIN by CL Polk Historicalish fantasy that is LUSH and DELIGHTFUL, full of girls who are ferocious and will not give up what they want. THERE IS DANCING and they TALK WHILE DANCING and it is so TENDER and BEAUTIFUL and the END IS [cheffkiss].

--COURT OF MIRACLES by Kester Grant So damn CLEVER, grafting Les Mis onto an urban Jungle Book of guilds and knives and promises, with a story about sisters at its heart that had me throwing the book across the room. I love it so.

--QUEEN'S PERIL by EK Johnston People who don't like The Phantom Menace are wrong and this book proves why. Also, I would die for the handmaidens, THEY ARE SO BRAVE, YOUR HIGHNESS.

--THE SCAPEGRACERS by Hannah Abigail Clarke VOICEY and loud, FERAL and frankly unhinged in the BEST POSSIBLE WAY, this book is about GIRLS with razor-edges and magic and splinters and it reads like a scream.

--BEOWULF: A NEW TRANSLATION by Maria Dahvana Headley You might not think this is your cup of tea, but I promise, you are wrong. Bc it isn't a cup of tea. It's an old-timey flagon of mead poured into a line of shot glasses on a bar. Read it out loud like it's slam poetry. Enjoy.

--NETWORK EFFECT by Martha Wells Do I have to say anything about MURDERBOT or is just saying IT'S MURDERBOT enough?

--THE UNSPOKEN NAME by AK Larkwood (god that was this year) David Eddings by way of Gideon the Ninth; witty and cheeky and bloody and so very queer. It's the "Classic" fantasy updated for the new age that I have been WAITING FOR and I am SO HAPPY it exists.

--THE STARLESS SEA by Erin Morgenstern Dreamlike, fairy-tale, mystery, stories inside stories. There were several points where I had to set it down and stare into the distance and several other points where I just shouted "FUCK" too loudly. I'm mad about how good this book is.

--TEN THOUSAND DOORS OF JANUARY by Alix E. Harrow I knew I was going to fall in love with this for being quiet and achy and fierce, but I did not know how much. It is about family and discovery and growing and DOORS and I love it so much. SO MUCH.

--BONDS OF BRASS by Emily Skrutskie AN ADRENALINE RUSH OF A NOVEL that I will never shut up about because it has all my favorite things: Wen, roommates, hotshot piloting, the minivan of spaceships, REVOLUTION, Wen, pining, THAT! ENDING! and did I mention Wen?

--FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD SPIDER-MAN by Tom Taylor and Marcelo Ferreira SPIDER-MAN AS HE SHOULD BE, a complete DISASTER, just trying to help, who cannot do his own goddamned laundry but who can save the world. Or at least his small part of New York. Classic Garbage Son!Peter Parker

Out in 2021: AETHERBOUND by EK Johnston From unquestioned queer rep to fascinating magic, from deep digs into abuse and the value of human life to the importance of choosing family, Aetherbound is practically perfect and my heart is full.

and A DESOLATION CALLED PEACE by Arkady Martine A first contact story with the pacing and machinations of ARRIVAL and the questions of legacy, personhood, self, and memory that were foundational to AMCE. HOW WIDE IS THE CONCEPT OF YOU? GIVE ME MORE MAHIT, ARKADY, PLEASE, I BEG.

#op #books #favorite books #booklr #if you buy these on amzn I will know and I will come for you in the night #just buy from an indie I beg you

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bgnmagic · 3 years ago

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Acceptance a/b/o Merlin Fanfic

Merlin nearly got caught by the guards posted outside Arthur’s chambers as he snuck out. However, having been trapped in the prince’s rooms for nearly three weeks Merlin knew their habits already. Easily distracting the pair with a simple spell, Merlin caused a tapestry to move further down the corridor and they went off like puppies to investigate.

Good riddance. He needed to get outside. Merlin knew his alpha, Arthur, meant well by keeping him hidden, but not getting to go outside was making Merlin go stir crazy. The injuries he’d sustained from when Arthur had rescued him were on the mend. He could walk without a limp now and his shoulder only hurt minimally when Merlin tried to raise his arm over his head.

Hoping he could slip out and away to the forest while Arthur was busy in a council meeting all afternoon, Merlin continued on his way out of the citadel. The hard stone walls surrounding him only seemed to enforce the feeling of being imprisoned. Merlin knew he could leave at any time, the only issue being whether or not Arthur would come with him.

Finding out who his mate was in such a chaotic way only added to the confusion he felt. Arthur had rescued him from certain death after a bandit attack only three short weeks ago. They’d been literally thrown together under extremely stressful circumstances. All of which Merlin was actually okay with, it was the small detail of Arthur’s father being a magic hating crazy man that made things difficult.

Merlin wasn’t sure if he should be happy or worried that Uther hadn’t come to drag him away to be executed yet. The man had seen Merlin’s magic the same night Arthur brought him to Camelot. That had been a terrible first greeting. Welcome to your new home, where we hate magic and don’t like it when people find their true mates. Good luck with everything, get out before we kill you!

Shuddering at the memory, as it was the first and only time Merlin had seen Uther so far, he hoped getting some fresh air would help clear the fog in his brain. It was obvious that Arthur felt their bond very deeply, considering he kept standing up to his father anytime the king came to shout about their budding relationship. Merlin could hear them argue clearly through the closed door to his little room.

Arthur had turned his antechamber into a mini nest for Merlin. His alpha’s reasoning was the antechamber was easier to defend if need be. They’d already gone over escape plans and what to do should Uther come to take Merlin away. It was all quite romantic if you didn’t focus on the reasoning behind it. However, the window with its little cushioned seat wasn’t enough fresh air for Merlin, he needed to be outside, and he needed to feel the earth under his feet.

Avoiding the main courtyard Merlin slipped out through the back gate of the citadel. It was wide open at this time because the maids were doing laundry. Merlin had a view of this particular exit from his room so he knew the schedule. Once his feet hit the dirt path he broke out in a run. Feeling the air rushing past him felt wondrous. The smell of the trees and flowers filled his nostrils. Gods, he’d missed this sensation.

Coming into a clearing a few minutes later Merlin immediately flopped down into the grass and lay there looking up at the clouds floating by. Grinning from ear to ear he let all the worries and stress from the past weeks melt away. It was easy enough to keep going, continue on away from Camelot, never to return. A small part of Merlin wished he could, but the reality was that he’d found his mate. There was a bond there whether he wanted to admit it or not. Arthur was his alpha. The one roadblock they had yet to overcome was Uther’s wish that Merlin be put to death. Arthur insisted that he would run away with Merlin if it came down to that, but he wasn’t sure the prince would be willing to leave his title behind simply for the likes of a peasant omega.

Pushing the thought aside Merlin tried to clear his head. He came out here to find peace not get worked up about Uther being a complete tyrant. Merlin lost track of time watching the clouds and birds fly by. Planning on only being gone for an hour at most Merlin was unexpectedly shocked into alertness by an alarm bell ringing in the distance. Something had happened at the citadel. He’d tarried too long, getting back inside with an alarm going was near impossible. He’d seen it once before when someone had escaped the dungeons.

Standing up in a rush, Merlin tried to think of what to do. He could wait for the alarm to end but everyone would still be riled up, Merlin would be caught for sure. Groaning at his own foolishness Merlin began heading back, he’d have to hide and see if he could sneak back in, though deep down Merlin knew it wouldn’t work. Not without using a lot of magic, and that didn’t seem like such a great idea considering what Uther would do to him if Arthur wasn’t there to help.

When the turrets of the north tower came into view Merlin slowed his pace. Simply walking up to the door he’d left through was all good in principle, but actually doing it was quite another story. He couldn’t stay out here all night! Desperate to know the reason for the alarm Merlin opted to hide behind a large tree and wait. Maybe it was another escapee? The guards could easily claim he was the wanted man and kill him on the spot.

Nothing ever went right for Merlin; he was doomed to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Suddenly stuck with the idea that he might never see Arthur again made his chest constrict painfully. They barely knew each other but Merlin was having a hard time imagining life without his alpha. Damn their bond! Why was it so strong?!

Lost, wallowing in his own misery Merlin missed the frantic shouts coming from the citadel. After a moment he figured he was going crazy because Merlin was sure he could his own name drifting through the air. Peeking out from behind the tree he listened, waiting to hear the call again. Sure enough, someone was urgently screaming his name. Oh shit.

Ducking back behind the trunk Merlin attempted to not die of panic. Why were they looking for him? Only Arthur or gods forbid Uther should have discovered his absence. There was no need to send off a bloody alarm just for an omega. Something else terrible must have happened. Maybe it was time to enact their escape plan but Merlin had ruined everything by sneaking out. Visions of armed men ruthlessly chasing Arthur through the citadel crossed his mind, causing his anxiety to spike further. Uther might try and kill his only son, the man seemed like the type to do it, he was unhinged.

The sound of a door bursting open followed by more worried calls of ‘Merlin’ forced him to look once more. The fading afternoon sun cast the man that came running out of the gate in a halo of gold light. It was Arthur; he stopped briefly and looked around, clearly fretting. When a knight came running out after him, Merlin almost used his magic to throw the man back, but upon closer inspection it was Leon. He’d been there with Arthur when they’d found him that fateful day in the forest.

Leon looked just as worried as Arthur. Unable to understand why they looked so upset Merlin waited a little longer before revealing his hiding spot. If no one else came out after them perhaps it was safe after all. Merlin was about to step out when another shadow framed the doorway. It was the king; he looked much the same as when Merlin had seen three weeks ago. Angry, uncaring, and mean.

The fear of seeing him again made Merlin’s knees weak. He didn’t want to hurt the king, but if he had any intent to maim him, Merlin wasn’t going to back down. Distracted by the figure of Uther, Merlin was unaware that Arthur had stopped walking around.

Arthur took a deep breath and turned on his father, “I can smell him, he’s still nearby. If you’ve done anything to him I swear I’ll --.”

“You’ll what? Arthur, I believe we’ve been over this a thousand times already. I’ve given my word that I won’t kill your mate.”

“Forgive me if I don’t completely trust you on that matter yet,” Arthur spit back before spinning around and heading off into the trees, straight to where Merlin was hiding.

Arthur, Merlin had learned was very good at following scents. Hence the reason they’d even met in the first place. Merlin’s distressed, I’m probably going to die, scent had lead Arthur straight to him, much like it was doing right now.

Unable to hide any longer Merlin leaned out and smiled sheepishly. Arthur was in his space a second later roughly pulling Merlin into a fierce hug.

“Thank the gods, I thought father had you taken away,” he exclaimed with worry. “Are you hurt?” Arthur asked pulling back to gently cradle Merlin’s face in his shaking hands.

“Sorry, I needed some air; I thought you were going to be in your meeting longer. I planned on being back by then.”

“You scared me half to death, if anything had happened to you I don’t – I,” Arthur trailed off with a pained look.

“I’m sorry, I’m fine, I just couldn’t stand being cooped up anymore. Are we safe? Why is the alarm going?” Merlin asked quickly.

“Huh? The alarm, I just told you I thought I’d lost you.”

Merlin’s brain skidded to a halt; Arthur had raised the alarm for him? “What? But why? I’m just an omega.”

“Merlin,” Arthur chided, “You’re more than that, don’t ever think that. Let’s get back inside; I’m sure my father won’t wait on us for much longer.”

Arthur went to pull Merlin along back towards the gate door, but he stopped after a few feet. “Why is Uther waiting? Why is he even here, he looks like he wants to stab me.”

“Merlin, that’s the reason the meeting ended early, we don’t have to hide anymore. I managed to convince father and the council to stop meddling in our affairs,” Arthur replied.

“I don’t understand.”

“Idiot,” Arthur sighed fondly, “shut up and come with me.”

If it weren’t for the smile on Arthur’s face Merlin would have bolted back into the woods. Nodding he started walking again and tried to avoid looking directly at the king. This tactic didn’t work well when Arthur drug Merlin right in front of his father.

“Father, do I have your word that you’ll allow this partnership to move forward?”

Uther scowled but nodded all the same, “Yes, but enough talk, I’m tired of standing here.”

“That’s it? Are you really alright with this now, after threatening to kill me?” Merlin blurted without thinking.

Groaning loudly Uther turned and held his gaze, “My son brings back a wounded, magic using omega claiming he is his mate, how did you think I would react?” the king answered coldly.

“I thought you’d be happy for him,” uttered Merlin. Hearing that Uther didn’t even believe the feelings of his own son was disheartening.

“Perhaps I will in time,” Uther replied. “Consider yourself very lucky that I’m willing to turn a blind eye to this – arrangement, but be warned omega, if you so much as use a lick of magic against us I’ll have you burned.”

Uther’s use of influenced alpha speech made Merlin flinch. He hated it when alpha’s did that, it wasn’t like he was ignoring him. Merlin was in fear of his life. Why on earth would he not pay attention?

“Acknowledge me omega!” Uther demanded.

“Yes, my lord!” Merlin answered, trying mightily not to shake.

The king growled once in response and without another word turned and stalked back towards the citadel. Suddenly feeling exhausted Merlin ducked his head and grabbed Arthur’s hand. The prince squeezed back and then they were all heading back inside. Merlin kept his head down as they walked through the corridors. The king had gone off somewhere and even Leon had disappeared. When the doors to Arthur’s chamber appeared Merlin let out a sigh of relief.

The second the door was closed and bolted Arthur pulled Merlin close and held him tightly. “Are you alright?” he asked softly. “I can tell you’re upset, I mean I know why, my father isn’t exactly an easy man to deal with on the best of days.”

“I’ll get over it; I don’t want to cause trouble, yet that’s all I’ve done despite doing nothing but be me, magic and all.”

Arthur stepped back and pouted, Merlin was learning this meant his alpha was feeling things but didn’t know how to talk about it. For being as protective as he was Arthur was terrible at talking about his emotions. “I know it’s been odd these past few weeks being together with only our bond to rely on,” Arthur sighed. “I trust that you’re my mate but we still have so much to learn about each other.”

At the mention of their bond Merlin began nervously shuffling his feet. “About that, what exactly is the next step for people who find their mates? Obviously we seem to get along, when you’re not being a complete prat of cour--.”

“Hey! I’m not a prat!”

“Yes, you are. Not all the time but you throw things at me and that’s not nice.”

Arthur sighed and shook his head, “You were trying to steal my last sausage for breakfast, you can’t do that.”

“You’re my alpha, I should be able to take your food Arthur.” Merlin had the pleasure of watching Arthur shudder and groan at his use of the influenced word.

“Watch it Merlin, I’m trying my best not to claim you right where you stand. If you keep doing things like that I’m not going to be able to hold back.”

At the mention of claiming, Merlin sobered again, “Seriously Arthur what’s next? I don’t have to stay in your rooms all day so what do I do and how do we become a true bonded pair?”

“Oh, right, um well I bite you and then you can bite me and that’s it.” Arthur didn’t go into any more detail and Merlin felt that there should be so much more to this process.

“Wait, that’s it? We bite each other and we’re bonded for life?”

“I think so, I’d have to ask Gaius to be certain, but I always thought that was how it worked. I know that the paired omega’s I’ve seen around the citadel have bite marks on their gland and their scent changes, or maybe my perception of it does.”

“I’m aware that paired omegas have less trouble with alphas, that would be a welcome change,” Merlin admitted.

“I’ll never let anything harm you Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed stepping back into his space, grabbing his biceps and squeezing.

“Yes, I’ve gathered that, so um, when are you going to bite me?”

Arthur looked confused and went back to pouting, great; his alpha was being emotionally stunted again. “Erm, well, we’ve not even kissed yet so maybe we should try that first?”

Right, all they’d managed so far was massive amounts of cuddling. Merlin had been bed ridden for the first week due to his injuries so all they could do was hold each other. Arthur was solidly built so Merlin had no complaints about sleeping on him. However, the only other stuff they’d done was talk about their lives and hold hands so far. Kissing seemed like fun but that might lead to something more and Merlin wasn’t sure he’d be able to push Arthur away if it came down to it.”

Arthur took Merlin’s brooding silence as a rejection to the idea and quickly back tracked, “We don’t have to obviously, we could lie on the bed and relax. You’ve not had a chance to sleep in here yet. The bed in the antechamber is too small for us to fit comfortably, you can stretch out in here,” Arthur enthused as he gently pulled Merlin over to the giant bed.

“I dunno, maybe we should go do something, now that your father isn’t out to get me. You could show me around the citadel, if you want?” Merlin asked hopefully.

“If that’s what you want, we can go on a little tour, but first, um,” Arthur paused and was pouting again. “Can I mark you before we go out? I don’t want any other alphas to think you’re available.”

Oh, shit. That actually made sense; Merlin didn’t want anyone trying to approach him at the moment. Not that they would with the crown prince accompanying him but it was always better to be safe than sorry. “I guess so; I don’t want any trouble if we go out. How do we?” Merlin asked unsure of who should make the first move.

“Relax and tilt your head, I promise I’ll be quick.”

Merlin did as instructed and waited. Arthur’s scent permeated his senses a moment later as the prince stepped closer. Next came the gentlest of touches on his neck, Arthur’s barely there stubble was touching his bare skin. Closing his eyes to keep calm, Merlin gasped when Arthur held him even tighter and pushed out his scent.

The feeling of euphoria was so intense Merlin could barely breathe. Every nerve in his body was singing in pleasure, nothing else registered to him. His surroundings had blacked out and Merlin was only aware of the desire to be completely joined with his alpha. Breathing deeply Merlin sucked in Arthur’s scent and revealed in its warmth. If he died right now Merlin would be a happy omega, why did no one mention this absolutely intoxicating practice before? Getting marked was pure heaven.

“—lin, Merlin?! Can you hear me?” Arthur’s panicked voice asked, breaking through Merlin’s pleasure induced fog.

��Wha? M’here,” Merlin answered, not sure why Arthur was acting so strange. However, as the room began to come into focus again Merlin found he’d been literally swept off his feet by Arthur. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Are you alright? You scared me half to death!” Arthur asked as he carried Merlin over to the bed.

“That was amazing, we need to do that more often,” replied Merlin.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? I went to mark you and you went limp and I had to pick you up. What happened?”

“This fucking happened you clotpole,” Merlin answered right before he grabbed Arthur’s shoulders, and tugged him down so he could rub their scent glands together again. This time Merlin pushed his scent as much as he could. If Arthur could mark him so intensely then Merlin could too! Arthur’s full body weight collapsing on top of Merlin a few seconds later meant he’d done his job properly.

“Oh my – gods,” Arthur rasped in between breaths. “Is it – it supposed to feel that good? That felt amazing!”

“Why didn’t we try -- this sooner?” Merlin asked trying to wiggle out from underneath Arthur’s bulk.

“Merlin you broke me, I can’t move,” Arthur whined.

“Shit, does that mean we can’t go on the tour anymore?”

“My legs are jelly and my brain is mush, gods you smell so good. What are you doing? Come back here I need you,” Arthur demanded as he chased him across the bed. Merlin’s attempt at escaping failed miserably when Arthur grabbed his legs and pulled him across the covers. “Mine,” was all Arthur stated as he buried his head into Merlin’s thigh.

Giving up on getting free of Arthur’s grip, Merlin sank into the bedding and began playing with Arthur’s hair. The alpha made some sort of noise half way between a growl and a moan. Guess he liked having his head scratched. “Should we at least request dinner before you pass out and trap me here until morning?”

“M’not moving.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whined, “I’m hungry, let’s celebrate not dying and get drunk.”

“Okay that sounds like fun, but you’ll need to help me to the door, whatever you did to me broke me.”

Merlin laughed and smiled fondly at the blond alpha currently trying to squeeze the life out of him. “Promise me we’ll at least get to see the citadel tomorrow, okay?”

“I’ll show you around don’t worry,” Arthur huffed. “Right now I want to eat so we can mark each other again afterward, that was fun!”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33486670

#merlin #fanfic #alpha beta omega dynamics

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vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

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Bro I know I just posted about this on my blog but bro... Villain Sero... like it's just *chefs kiss* idk if you write head cannons for villain versions of bnha characters but if you can that'd be super cool! You can do anything with it really, like aging up Sero and making him leader of a syndicate or by making him the UA traitor and the headcanon could be how it'd happen or the everyone would react! Do what you want, I respect your decision if you decline, have a lovely day Vee! I love you! 💖

~rubs hands together with an evil grin~ Yesh... Villain Sero... I’ve been wanted to dive into villain/traitor/vigilante theories and AUs for a hot minute now... Thank you for requesting, Sunny! <3 Fair warning, these turned out SO ANGSTY. My heart aches for Hanta. TT.TT

Villain!Hanta Sero Headcanons

Hanta is definitely not someone you want on your bad side. The young man seems to be all goofy smiles and lackadaisy, but beneath it all, there’s a fierce, roaring tenacity oh-so-carefully subdued... So what were to happen if this unbridled pride and ferociousness were to be focused on nefarious means?

First, we have to address what could steer Hanta to villainy. Honestly? I can think of one thing and one thing only: Denki dying right in front of him.

Hear me out here; it’s clear that these two are best buds, peas in a pod, close as brothers. Hanta would become unhinged if his best friend were to tragically lose his life, especially as a result of the great war waging between heroes and villains right now. Hanta wouldn’t be able to cope with the idea that heroes are just expendables mean to an end, tools for the governing body to impose their senses of justice on the masses.

Hanta’s mind would literally shatter and he’d spiral into an uncontrollable bloody rage. When he'd wake up, he’d be far away, soaked in blood- no idea who’s. There were a lot of things he wouldn’t know at the moment, aside from two things: he couldn’t go back now, and he didn’t want to.

Hanta would stay underground for a while. His friends would come looking for him, of course, trying to talk reason and drag him back while he still had the chance for redemption, but he’d avoid them. They were his friends once, after all, and he doesn’t want to fight them. Eventually, he’d half-heartedly spar with them, trying to convince them of his way of thinking. When it’s clear to him that he can’t change their minds, Hanta decides that they’re too far gone, and he has to save them from this life of corruption. If they die in his efforts, well... Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, right?

Mina takes it the hardest. She makes it her personal mission to seek him out and either reform him or destroy him. It’d get to the point of self-destructive because she’d come at Hanta staggering on her feet only barely conscious, dripping blood all over the melted pavement. Always, Eijirou and Katsuki would swoop in for the rescue, and it always makes Hanta think that maybe if he’d just gotten to Denki a little bit faster, things wouldn’t have turned out this way. But they did, and Hanta had to live with that.

His new ideology, the painful weight of his own failure, and the burden of “saving” his friends slowly would drive Hanta insane. He’d grow bolder, actively seeking out small-time heroes and trainees for unprovoked fights, and critically injuring many. He wouldn’t kill them if he can help it; that’s not the point. He wants them to live, to see how they’re just thrown to the side as broken tools by an uncaring state. He wants them to feel how he felt when he was told to abandon Denki’s lifeless body and keep fighting... Like his best friend was just trash in the way.

Hanta’s always been a personable, charismatic guy, so attracting a group of like-minded fellows is honestly a cakewalk. Once the news gets clips of him spouting his revolutionary drivel on the air, they come flocking out of the shadows. Hanta would interview them to ensure that their ideologies aligned; he couldn’t have blood-thirsty maniacs tarnishing the name of his political crusade, now. If they fall short of his expectations, he'll them on the spot. Just because he wants the downfall of the current hero society didn’t mean he wants the more radical, chaotic villains to run amok.

Campaigning a political upheaval requires a lot of funds. Hanta finds his niche in smuggling contraband, specifically hard drugs like cocaine and heroin. The secondary violence surrounding such an enterprise is unfortunate, but he abhorrs the idea of smuggling weapons or engaging in human trafficking because he still has some shred of regard for human life. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he looks in the mirror, finding that the grinning, light-hearted boy Denki respected so much has morphed into the hard, unforgiving grimace of a criminal.

Hanta’s business enterprise evolves into a massive syndicate. He becomes one of the world’s most wanted, having to constantly dodge Interpol, pro heroes, and the Japanese military and police. Within a decade of watching his friend die in his arms and being cast aside like his sacrifice meant nothing, Hanta eventually is good and ready to take on the world as they know it with nothing but a charming grin, a silver tongue, and an army to back him. That means taking on the cohort of top pro heroes that he’d once called comrades, but hey, it’s just all in how the cookie crumbles, now isn’t it?

The world let his best friend die, and Hanta just isn’t going to stop until he saw it burn to ashes, or he dies trying.

#villain!sero #villain sero #hanta sero #sero hanta #villain au #my hero academia #mha #my hero academia headcanons #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia headcanons

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writing-the-end · 4 years ago

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LoL Chapter 25- Checkmate

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Captured by Dolios, it’s up to TFC to decide who lives, who dies, and who gets to walk away from the game Dolios plays with them.

Chapter idea credit to @whumpster-dumpster

_____________________________________________

“How about a game of chess, guildmaster?” Dolios waves the hermits into the antechamber of the prison. The death dungeons Galena warned them of. TFC is pushed forward, standing before and alone from his friends. He stumbles and turns, head spinning from the sleep he was awoken from as he looks at them all. Helmets cover the faces of the guards standing behind each hermit, but he can clearly see the knives at their throats. Every single one, a hair’s breadth from death. Some are stoic, like Doc. Unafraid and unblinking to the cold blade. Others are nearly collapsing to their knees- if doing so didn’t mean being cut by the knife.

TFC turns back, a fierce growl rising from his throat “What is this about?”

“I’m trying to be civil, can’t you see?” Dolios sweeps his purple robes to the side, revealing a table and two chairs. Atop the table, crystal and obsidian chess pieces glitter in the torchlight. “I’m letting you decide your team's fate. You see, each piece is a member of your illegal guild. On both sides. Each one that’s captured is eventual doom. Play my game, and decide the fate of your beloved friends. Who is more important, who will live? Who is sacrificed for the good of the cause?”

“What kind of sick game-!” Grian claws his way out of his captor’s grip, biting down on the gloved hand before the masked man regains control over the spitfire.

“And what happens when I win?” TFC puts a hand on his waist and raises a silvery eyebrow.

“You won’t, but just to ease your fears, when you win your friends will get to live. It won’t be a nice time living, but they’ll be alive.” Dolios chuckles. “If you lose, those who are captured are killed and become another husk to add to my army. The rest may leave, in fact. But trust me- I won’t leave anyone alive. I play to dominate.”

“What if I just don’t play?” TFC looks at the chess pieces. He picks up a knight, turning it over. Scrawled on the bottom of the crystal white horse, he can see Wels’s name. One piece, but one real life in this game of strategy. He has to be smarter than Dolios.

“Then we can just make this fast and kill them all right now. I’m giving you the chance to free some, or all! Of your friends.” Dolios pulls out a chair and motions to it, brushing the cushioned velvet flat. “Sit, guildmaster. Let’s play a game. Show me your true worth as a champion guild.”

Reluctantly, he does. He has no choice. This is the only way he can ensure some sort of life for his friends. But at the expense of others. As soon as he pulls his chair in, a blast of air and magic reverberates from the chess board. He winces, his hair blowing back and gripping the chair for support. When TFC reopens his eyes, the prison chamber has changed.

Dolios and him are floating above the ground. Just beneath them, a massive chess board has appeared. The guards are gone, and on each checkered color stands a hermit. Only a few pieces are actual stone. Grian opens his wings, attempting to fly free from his place as bishop. But as soon as he takes off from the ground, his eyes widen and pain laces across his face. He crashes to the stone, black lightning shooting up his skin. Iskall and others step forward, before hesitating. They’re chess pieces now. Pawns. They can only move when the player moves them. Dolios looks down, chuckling. “He’s quite the wild child. Completely different from the last angel I quarreled with.”

“Why are you doing this?” TFC hisses. “This isn’t fair!”

“Since when did things ever become fair, guildmaster? You’re already playing with their lives by challenging me. Now you can see how your own mistakes led you here.” Dolios intertwines his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table. He leans his chin on his hands, a coy smile making his brown beard scratch at his skin. “I’ll let you make the first move, TFC.”

The guildmaster looks across his chess board, as well as below him. It’s not just his pieces that are hermits, that are his friends. Dolios has some as well. Standing deathly still, waiting for the first move to be taken. TFC closes his eyes, thinking. He needs to be smart, to be a better strategist than the magistrate of Lairyon. This isn’t just a game. This is beyond what happens at the table before him. He needs to think of the repercussions each move will make. He has to make the least bloody moves as possible. Save as many of his friend’s lives as possible.

“You promise no harm will come to my friends that survive?” TFC’s eyes open, realizing what he has to do. Without hesitation, TFC picks up a pawn, directly in front of Grian. It’s Mumbo.

“I promise, on my word as the magistrate of Lairyon. May the ancient ones strike me down themselves.” TFC sets the pawn two spaces forward. Below him, he hears Mumbo’s yelp, followed by a cry of pain and feet scrabbling forward. When the crystal mage looks up, Dolios is grinning. “So the game begins.”

He shoves his own pawn forward, moving exactly as TFC wants him to. The one directly in front of the king- of Dolios himself. TFC looks down, seeing Ren shuffle forward. He’s missing a sandal, only one flopping against the cold marble chess board beneath him. Two moves in front of him and to the left is Mumbo, shaking in his boots.

TFC moves a second pawn- Scar. “You have my friends marked wrong. None of them are pawns. They’re all stronger than you could ever hope to be.” Wels is exposed, Scar standing beside Mumbo.

“Tell that to this- checkmate.” TFC straightens his back, staring directly at Dolios as the magistrate shoves his queen diagonally. It’s not linked to any hermit, so a stone statue moves into the corner of the board. Turning and facing the white king. Capturing TFC. “You stupid mining moron! You lost in two moves!” Dolios cheers, his chair knocking backwards as he pumps his fist to the air and stands. “I didn’t even lose a single damned piece!”

“Neither did I.” TFC whispers. “Now let my friends go.”

Dolios stills, freezing mid celebration. His head turns, looking to TFC. He can see the magistrate slowly piece it all together, and the moment he realizes what’s happened. Elation breaks away in seething anger. A rage so bright and hot TFC swears he can feel it from his chair. “You tricked me!”

“No, I played your game.” TFC’s voice is calm, collected. “You just happened to win. What was it you said before… you play to dominate? And dominate you did. Shouldn’t a good leader find a way to win without bloodshed?”

Dolios waves his hand, a black magic circle appearing. A reverberating sonic wave shoves TFC out of his chair, throwing chess pieces all around him. Floating above his friends, he can hear them gasp. Only able to watch. Unable to move, to help their guildmaster. Their friend. Doc reaches out, but the black veins quickly reach back towards him. Towards his heart. TFC winces, sitting up. “You swore on your seat to let them go if I lost! If you go back on your word, everyone will know!”

“Oh, I don’t plan on going back on my words.” Dolios snaps his fingers, and the hermits warp back to reality. The chamber is it’s old dull hall, torches and stone bricks. Hermits collapse together, checking one another for wounds sustained while apart. Grasping to stay together, to piece what happened between their last memory and now. Most only remember the capitol hall, then being woken up by the masked guards in individual cells.

Dolios approaches TFC, setting his grey leather boot on the older man’s chest. Pressing his gilded heels harsh against his ribs. “But you still lost, you were captured. And all the pain your friends avoided? I’m going to do it tenfold to you!”

A black ball of lightning grows as Dolios snarls, hand winding back and aiming directly for TFC. His eyes are wild, unhinged and untethered to reality. TFC raises his hand, a weak attempt to stop the growing dark magic before him.

“Oh no you don’t!” X’s voice is sure, loud and reverberating off the stone walls. Unhindered by his mask. A snap follows soon after, and the dark lightning is dragged into nothingness. Into the void as X’s black hole grows. It threatened to eat up Dolios then and there, had he not taken an alarmed step back.

“How? You shouldn’t be able to do that! You’re weak! My sleep spell should’ve...” Dolios turns, staring down the other hermits. Not noticing that Cub was hidden behind the others, or that TFC was no longer at his feet.

“Nah, I’d say we’re pretty strong. Especially together.” X shrugs, and lets his black hole explode in a miniature big bang.

With Dolios distracted, the crew makes their escape. Wels casts a shield and speed buffs, one hand raised to protect the retreat. Etho disappears down the hall, bouncing through shadows and silently taking out the guards ahead. At the top of the stairs, Mumbo hacks his way into the redstone powered door. Focusing all of his strength into forcing it open. Stress releases a sheet of ice before them, Jevin wraps everyone together into a bundle of bodies, and Impulse takes up a position next to Wels and his shield. Bracing against his friends, he casts his magic. Short spurts of explosions erupt from his hands, jetting the guild down the hall.

Etho appears above the group from an arching shadow, grabbing Doc’s hand and joining them as they careen through the halls of the capitol building. Zipping past guards and wizards before anyone can even realize what they’ve seen, like a roller coaster ride. They don’t stop until they’ve burst out the back doors. Stress still doesn’t stop making a highway of ice, not until they’re well beyond the city limits, skating out into the open marshes that surround Milliara.

Only then does the crew stop, breathing heavily and taking a moment to realize what just happened. And once they come to the same conclusion- they drown TFC in hugs.

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

“Sir… they escaped. Again.” Apatia runs up, his breath heavy as his chest rises and falls. “They’re well beyond the walls. Should we send the Arcane guard after them?”

“No. I don’t want anyone to question why we’re chasing after our champions. Erase all memories to anyone that saw their escape.” Dolios growls, rubbing his hand. Feeling the void still against his skin, trying to tear it apart.

“But what about the illegal guild? They know-”

Dolios turns away from the guildmaster, forcing the redstone door closed. Hiding the dungeons beneath the capitol building. “They are not our main concern. Let them squirm, let them think they’ve won. I have more important things to deal with. I have more power to gain.”

Dolios looks down as something rattles against the floor. He stoops low, picking up the black pawn. It’s chipped, the onyx stone heavy in his hand. The Order of Hermits have captured this pawn, but he’s just setting the stage. Playing the whole field. “Check.”

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magioftheseas · 4 years ago

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Jagged Along The Edges

For @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Broken Angel taken from here.

Rating: M

Warnings: Body horror, violence, gore, cannibalistic thoughts, but I swear to god this is supposed to be hurt/comfort/treating injuries

Notes: Idk why I wrote another Persona 5 fic despite not reblogging p5 content, but shuake’s too powerful or something. Also the power outages are making me lose my mind. Wheeeeeeeee.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Whoever would have thought that angels had fangs? Certainly not Akira, who had just been bitten to shit by the angel he just found and had thought to help.

He had a bad habit of trying to help as a human, and it turns out that habit carried over as a demon, albeit one of a low level. He can certainly imagine the same looks of disapproval as before when people realize that he held out a hand to a supposed enemy of his race, but would he have acted any differently?

Well.

He’s still acting the same now, enflamed bitemark on his arm be damned with the rest of him. His biter is still glaring, snarling, and hissing at him like a feral cat. Quite unbefitting of an angel—except this creature probably couldn’t be called an angel anymore.

Not with its wings ripped off like that.

What was left were mangled, jagged edges of bone and a few bloodied clumps of feathers sticking to the back. It was curled up so pitifully but was still managing quite the fierce little glare. Since being bitten still hurt, it wasn’t like this once angel was completely defenseless. But it was still in pretty horrible shape, and Akira didn’t even know if it retained any level of intelligence.

Angels are always so fucking pompous and up their asses. An angel wouldn’t be caught dead looking this unhinged and disheveled. More akin to an animal, running on nothing more than fear and aggression—but, even so.

Well. Akira half-wanted to pounce, never one to miss out on an easy meal. Especially one with such gorgeous fucking eyes, like hot damn—sorry state or no, the angel had eyes as deep and potent as the finest blood-red wine. Akira wasn’t so noble as to not be tempted. He’s still imagining it. This angel, who’s skittering into the corner it’s been backed up in, would have just the richest taste.

He wants a taste. Just a little.

And the angel hisses, but it’s also cowering. Poor thing. Poor, wretched creature. Its tortured state was so excessive. It must have really pissed off some higher-ups. What a tragedy. He should put it out of its misery.

He should. Especially since the little beast fucking bit him. His arm fucking itches, too. Angels are venomous to demons, but since this one’s so injured, it’s more of an especially annoying bug bite than anything remotely lethal. Most other demons would’ve acted immediately, and Akira’s stuck staring helplessly at this thing while he still tries to formulate a plan to approach it without an attempt made on his throat.

What a pain. Physically and metaphorically.

This stupid creature had yet to let its guard down, too. If Akira had been interested in eating it, he would’ve done so by now. Or he would’ve left. This just wasn’t worth the trouble of staring stupidly with a face scrunched up in concentration—that probably just looked like constipation.

“I...” He drawls. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

No answer. Same as last time.

“You’re in an awful state,” Akira explained like he was talking to a child. “And l don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.”

The angel spat at him, hissy and frazzled. It would be really fucking cute if it wasn’t really fucking annoying.

Ah.

If he just stands there, that angel will surely bleed to death or something.

...

Fuck it.

That angel sure had some lungs when Akira pounced.

One thing he had to admit was that even while mutilated, the angel knew how to fight. Like really knew with how its body moved and how it clearly aimed for weak spots with its nails and teeth. Just when Akira thought he had it pinned down, he had to jerk back before his face got clawed off. And the angel took off the flesh of his nose, leaving Akira to hiss between his cheek and shove them down with far more force than he would’ve preferred.

“I’m trying—to help you!” he got out through gritted teeth. “Let me help you! Who else could’ve injured you like that but a stronger angel?!”

The angel, back against the ground, screeched. No surprise there. Anything against those injuries surely felt like agony, and when Akira pressed harder, he almost immediately jolted back by the next heartrending, distorted scream.

“Sorry,” he whispered, not that the angel could hear when it was now sobbing. That face was twisted in tortured misery, and that expression was far too much to take.

“S-Sorry!” Akira yelped, pulling the angel close. Careful to avoid its back, he frantically cooed and stroked its hair. He minded any tangles and knots, murmuring soft reassurances with shaking shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re okay, it’s okay...”

The angel whimpered, digging its nails into his shoulders. Since it was more out of desperation than anything, Akira allowed it without missing a beat. For added measure, the angel was huddling closer, even to the point of pressing its face into Akira’s collarbone with a pained whine.

“Good...fucking god...” Akira utters. “What the fuck did they even do to you?”

He didn’t get an answer. The angel had gone limp against him, breathing harshly against his neck.

He didn’t have time to lose before booking it to his place.

“Aw jeez, aw fuck, aw jeez... What the hell...”

Akira considered himself fairly proficient in magic, even healing magic. But no matter how much energy he channeled into the angel’s body, there was just no smoothing out the crude edges of bone where wings had once been. He’d have to do so a more old-fashioned way with a really tough grater, which he doubted the angel would respond well to.

For now, he focused on the more treatable injuries. The scrapes from the earlier tussle, some miscellaneous lacerations, and a couple of bruises for good measure. There was some internal bleeding to deal with, but overall, the most damage was situated on the back. The angel wouldn’t even be able to lay down like this.

Akira wiped himself off, sighing and cursing whatever monsters of this angel’s kind had thought this humane much less justified. While he had heard of angels getting their wings torn off before, it was always at the roots. Leaving gaping holes in the back that, while pretty horrifying in their own right, would still be preferable to this shit.

Just thinking about it pissed him off to no end. And maybe the angel could sense him just buzzing with fury because it began to stir from where it was propped up against its side on the wall.

“Ah,” Akira clicked his tongue. “No, no, just...rest more.” His hand hovered by the angel’s shoulder. The angel’s face scrunched up, and despite everything, Akira’s breath caught at just a glimpse at a sliver of deep red from the angel’s eyes. “It’s...uh...”

The angel was staring at him now, and he was left speechless.

Oh, he thought as those red eyes bore into him. Beautiful.

“...f-feeling better?” he choked out as the angel blinked at him. “You, uh... You don’t...seem...to be afraid of me anymore. That’s good.”

The angel kept staring, and Akira let out a strangled laugh.

“Right, uh, you...might still be...”

“You.” The angel pointed at him, slurring its words. “You are an incomprehensible demon.”

“And you can talk,” Akira remarked, with dull surprise. “Great. That makes things easier—but why didn’t you speak earlier? Were you really that scared?”

The angel shook its—his head.

“It’s not that,” with a sigh, he stated, quite clearly. “I just hate demons. They irritate and infuriate me beyond my capacity for speech. And I really hadn’t been in a mood to converse in the first place.” He was speaking like they were just discussing the weather. “Since you helped me, I suppose I owe you now. What is it that you want?”

“I...” Akira blinked. “Your...name...? Maybe?”

The angel’s eyes narrowed sharply and, oh, those eyes were deadly. Akira could get lost in them for millennia.

“Akechi Goro.” The angel turned away the best he could without brushing his back against anything. “Surely that’s not all.”

“Kurusu Akira. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s not that nice.”

“...”

Akechi, huh.

“I... Uh, I did the best I could with your injuries. But for your back, I’d have to...smooth it down...” Now wasn’t the time to be getting nervous and now especially wasn’t the time to notice that the angel had quite a lovely profile. A strong, defined jaw and nose—angels were beautiful in general, but this one... No. Fuck. Akira had to focus. “I need tools for that. So, um, be patient with me.”

“It’s not like I have much else of a choice,” Akechi replied softly and sullenly.

Is this really the same angel I found? Did my feral beast of an angel get replaced when I wasn’t looking?

“Uh...” Rather intelligently, Akira scooted closer. “Do you mind if I...ask who did that to you? You—don’t have to answer.”

“I don’t know who it was specifically,” Akechi said, waving his hand dismissively. “But, as you can no doubt tell, this is punishment.”

“It’s torture.” Akira didn’t waste a second. “Tearing your wings off like this was unnecessarily cruel.”

Akechi seemed to smirk before his face fell.

“A demon with morals,” he said, snorting. “Now I’ve really seen it all.” He leaned his shoulder into the wall. Akira hovered by, uncertain. When Akechi’s eyes shut once more, the spell was broken and Akira was able to distance himself once more.

If Akechi was aware of the effect he had, he didn’t remark on it. But if he did know, Akira had a feeling that it’d be used to the angel’s advantage. Akira had to be careful. Since Akechi wasn’t a mindless beast, that meant...

It meant a lot of things. Akira imagined the other probably had a lot on his mind. Especially with how tense he was around the shoulders. Considering his situation, it was more than understandable. It was admirable, even, that Akechi was keeping his cool like this.

Akechi still had his guard up, which was fine. Akira didn’t expect any different.

“I don’t plan on hurting you,” he announced as if that would serve as a reassurance. Akechi was unmoved, even as Akira stressed, “I don’t plan on eating you, either. I want to help. What happened to you wasn’t right.”

Akechi gave a non-committal hum.

“I’ll do what I can about your injuries,” Akira went on. “Once you’ve recovered enough, you can decide for yourself what to do. I’d, uh, prefer you didn’t kill me afterward though. I’d hate to have to fight back.”

“Demons are wretched, malicious creatures,” Akechi said, rattling off the rhetoric Akira’s heard a thousand other times from countless other angels and humans. “It’s not uncommon for them to toy with their meals. To build them up, tear them down, and savor every last drop.”

The thing is.

Remaining humanity aside, Akira can’t deny how appetizing Akechi looks. And how the thought of Akechi cleaned up and pristine made his mouth water. Even now, Akira stares at the slope of Akechi’s neck, the curvature of his shoulders, his waist, and thick thighs—and his teeth itch to sink in.

It’s in his nature to eat, and Akechi’s a hell of a fucking meal. Angels always tasted best.

With the way Akechi does look at Akira’s mouth, the angel surely knows this.

So, why hadn’t he tried to escape yet?

Probably, Akira’s brain supplied. Because he not only has nowhere else to go but nothing to live for.

How pitiful.

Wouldn’t it be merciful to put this creature out of its misery?

Just because it’s in my nature doesn’t mean I can’t make choices.

“I’ll get something for your back,” he said, turning his back on the angel. Giving Akechi ample time to lash out if so desired. “Sorry. It’ll be a moment.”

He leaves, and he takes more than a moment. More than enough time for Akechi to escape if he so pleased.

When he came back, Akechi hadn’t moved at all, but he was staring up at him with two haunting eyes.

Everything was settled without the need for words.

(Even if Akira was seized by quite the unfortunate desire to pull Akechi close and not let go.)

(For a demon, hunger and sexual desire often got conflated. With Akechi, the latter was bound to become more and more of a fucking problem.)

#Magi fics #shuake #akeshu #bad things bingo #body horror #persona 5

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