#and save dark urge for a future more evil run | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blackjackkent · 3 months ago

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As I have done for the last two major patch drops, here's a collection of things that stood out for me in the Patch 7 patch notes! :D

There's quite a lot of them - and this isn't even close to the whole list of changes, so definitely check out the full patch notes here if you're interested.

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First of all, the things I'm actively excited about:

Introducing 'Evil Endings': Brand new cinematic endings for the truly villainous playthroughs. (Exciting! I've started pondering what my next BG3 liveblog will be - though I might switch to another game for a while first after Rakha is done - and I am starting to lean towards reworking Alexis, my bard, into an evil-run Minthara-mancer. So... intrigued to see more of this in the future!)

Added our very own Mod Manager, which lets you browse, install, and use mods created by the community. (I don't know details about the existing modding process but the new system seems like it'll be pretty intuitive so - hype!)

You can now start Custom Mode games using Honour Mode mechanics when starting a new playthrough. You'll be able to do this via the 'Ruleset' dropdown. (Neat! I may do this as well on my next liveblog playthrough - not the difficulty changes but just forcing me to stick to my choices with one save.)

The kuo-toa that promised to build you an army will now support you in the final battle. Unless they all died in Act I. (Amazing. I'm unironically in love with this addition.)

The help that the Gondians promised for the final battle will now arrive in the form of a friendly Steel Watcher. Apologies from Zanner Toobin for the delay.

Added a dialogue option asking for a kiss in more paths of Wyll's epilogue dialogue.

A bug that had been preventing Wyll’s romance greeting from triggering has now been fixed, so players in Act III who have a stable, loving, and committed relationship with Wyll will now see his romance greeting triggering correctly.

In Act II, Minthara will now react to you having knocked her out in Act I.

Made the romance scene at night with Wyll in Act III unskippable if it triggers to avoid accidentally skipping it and not being able to finish the romance arc.

To improve her chances of survival, Hope now has a new passive called Last Hope that grants her Death Ward for free when she enters combat.

Fixed a bug causing Dark Urge characters to get renamed after using the Magic Mirror. (This threw me for such a loop when I accidentally did it with Rakha.)

When playing as the Dark Urge, if you invite her, Alfira will now actually join your party as a controllable character if there's room for her in your party setup. Temporarily, of course.

Fixed several issues with the portrait that Oskar gives you. Principally, the image on the portrait will now be that of the active character claiming the reward, regardless of their position on the Party Line. (THANK THE GODS. I'm still not over having so many feels about Hector commissioning a portrait of Karlach to have after she was gone, and Oskar cheerfully handing him a painting of Jaheira to look at instead. XD )

Karlach will now tell you her backstory if you reach the point of no return in the Shadow-Cursed Lands even if you didn't confront the paladins of Tyr.

You can now return Mol's eyepatch to her when you find her in the Guildhall.

Fixed the Monastic Robes stretching into a violent-looking point when you wake up on the beach after falling from the nautiloid. (Thank god - this happened all the time with Hector and it drove me crazy. Hopefully this means it's been fixed in other parts of the game too.)

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And then the changes and bug fixes that made me laugh:

If Dror Ragzlin finds himself inside the spider pit [in honor mode], he'll try his best to befriend the spiders residing there with a new spell called Arachnid Compulsion so they can band together to fight the real enemy - you.

Malus Thorm has a new Legendary Action called Grasping Appendage. ( Oh dear. 😬 )

We noticed some of you hiccoughing bubbles, so the action for washing yourself with soap and sponges is now called 'Use' instead of 'Consume'.

You can no longer cheese the Leap of Faith trial at the Gauntlet of Shar by just clicking the final platform and letting your character pathfind their way there. Shar threatened to smite us if we didn't fix this one.

Fixed Minthara's body sometimes turning invisible on the Level Up screen. (We sorta liked the floating-head-and-hands look, but hey.) (Eyyyy, I ran into this in Rakha's run and it made me laugh a lot. XD )

Added a new idle animation for Minsc at camp - Boo may or may not have taught him some tai chi.

Karlach will no longer brush the shaved side of her head.

If you're in holographic form in the epilogue, Wyll won't automatically assume he's talking to Lae'zel.

Companions should now be more sympathetic to Astarion fleeing from the sun.

Fixed several issues (related to resurrecting characters via Withers, restructuring the party at night, and automatic camp night scenes) that would trap you in an eternal slumber, unable to end a Long Rest.

Fixed several occurrences of Wyll still having an exclamation mark above his head when he already told you everything he had to say.

Minthara does, in fact, now have something to say about Orin after you kill her.

Fixed the fade-to-black after Karlach's scene in Avernus at the end of the game, which would give you a very brief glimpse of Game Developer Land.

Fixed some issues with Long Rest: Loading a save made during a Long Rest could cause a crash and you could sometimes get stuck in a Long Rest forever and ever, amen.

Fixed a blocker related to Orin's dagger, which will now respawn near the altar if you hurled her into a chasm and a cultist picked it up before you did. (Because it's bound to her, it would zip back to her corpse in the chasm, lost forevermore.)

Monks' Clench of the North Wind spell now targets up to 2 characters at Level 9. They just have to clench a little harder.

Priestess Gut will no longer hit herself with her own conditions. Silly gob-gob.

We've suggested to Yurgir that when he's invisible he should take advantage of it and actually try to move around a little so that he's harder to find.

Fixed some technical names showing up for each of Ansur's limbs. Naming them all 'Ansur' was the ansur.

Raphael can no longer steal souls from creatures that narratively don't have souls, such as Undead and Constructs.

Kled doesn't have Dror Ragzlin's Legendary Actions anymore. Dror's not one for sharing.

Fixed how the Chest of the Mundane handles item stacks higher than its maximum. (It should no longer gobble up your enormous coin stack and spit back a measly 21 cups in return.)

Prevented summons and followers like Glut from being able to consume Noblestalk. Yes, your Mage Hand probably ate it. No, we don't know where its mouth is.

When Withers resurrects an avatar, the Dream Guardian will no longer immediately prompt another nearby avatar to loot them for a tadpole. Similarly, dead, dismissed avatars will no longer trigger this same prompt. Some decorum, please.

When multiple characters in the party discover a trap or hidden item, only one will comment on it. We figured you don't need four people telling you to watch out for the same trap at the same time.

You can now swap out party members by speaking to the companion you want to replace even if the one you want to replace them with is Wild-Shaped. What your companion will think of you replacing them with a sheep is another story.

Fixed multiple spots where Perception checks were being made through solid objects.

Elminster should no longer react to crimes that don't affect him. (We distracted him with some Stilton.)

Fixed an issue on multiplayer where Gale would briefly appear to be in his undies for the client if the host has the Donate UI open and Gale is wearing magical robes that he can consume.

Fixed a bug that would let you waltz your way through destructible walls without actually destroying them. (You could attempt to attack the wall and your character would pathfind right through it in search of a comfortable spot from which to take a swing.)

Bald characters with the Wet condition will no longer have darker scalps.

You can no longer loot the underwear of non-recruited companions when you knock them out. (Justice for Minthara's dignity! \o/ )

Fixed a split screen issue where Invisible characters would sometimes not render at all for a second player joining the game. We need them to be invisible, but not that invisible.

Fixed a bug where your party members would very quickly change out of their armour and into their cosy camp clothes when you talked to them after having left the Astral Plane. We don't really blame them for being so desperate to hit the hay.

Fixed an issue where resurrecting a mind-controlled Nightsong would cause enemies to become allied to you.

During the final battle, backup companions being called upon with ally abilities will now appear with some clothes on for the occasion.

You can no longer use the Active Search feature to bypass the booby-trapped display case in Ramazith's Tower and pick up the key inside it. Smarty-pantses.

Improved Lumbar support: Lumbar will now stand still after you paid him to hit him.

Fixed a bug where interacting with the crate full of explosive toys in Rivington could cause you to get stuck in an endless loop of crime dialogues (being interrogated and sent to prison) and/or in combat with temporarily hostile NPCs.

Fixed a bug where dropping or selling certain items looted from the Lower City graveyard could cause NPCs to react as though you'd committed the crime of moving a corpse.

Fixed Cordrane the Recent being able to raise a zombie in Sorcerous Sundries when he shouldn't be able to, like when he's dead or Silenced.

Shadowheart is now more engaged with the flora and fauna at camp. (I don't know what this means but I hope it means she plays with the owlbear and Scratch.)

A camp night scene with Shadowheart will no longer trigger if she's not in the party and, uh, also dead.

Fixed Gale's 'splosion sometimes not showing correctly, meaning you'd get a Game Over without knowing why.

Fixed your player character introducing themselves with the wrong name when talking to Mizora.

Fixed Avatar Lae'zel behaving like a companion at the end of the tutorial and telling you (or telling herself) to hurry.

Kagha will now be imbibing if she's at the tiefling party. (I didn't know Kagha could even COME to the tiefling party. O.O Is this if Halsin's dead? )

Fixed Abdirak's self-flagellation idle animation. (Game dev must be a weird job sometimes. :P )

Ward Magmar and Ward Pistle, the duergar at Grymforge, will now make a snide remark if you're playing a small race.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel will now have new equipment if it was taken during the nautiloid escape and they have travelled sufficiently far to realistically acquire it before getting recruited.

Benryn will no longer follow you to camp or leave with you through a waypoint while you're in the process of escorting him out of the burning building at Waukeen's Rest.

Fixed Korrilla being killable in the goblin camp prison after she kills Priestess Gut. This was causing her to spawn as a corpse later on in Act III.

Fixed a bug where leaving the Shadowfell could resurrect an unrecruited Shadowheart and have her turn up at your camp anyway. She just liked the cut of your jib.

Karlach's death scene no longer ends abruptly when a non-gith player chooses to leave with Lae'zel.

Fixed a bug where, if you promised Cazador to bring Astarion to him and Astarion was in your party, you could go to Astarion at camp and tell him to replace himself in your party.

Zanner Toobin will now trigger the self-destruct sequence correctly instead of suddenly forgetting he was supposed to be in a panic because of the Steel Watcher Titan.

Told Devella to be more patient and wait until the end of the dialogue before she moves on to Basilisk Gate after being saved from Dolor.

Jogged Nine-Fingers' foggy memory - she will now recognise you when you bring Jaheira to her after she asked you to.

Shadowheart no longer sometimes still thinks that Viconia is alive after having killed her. Poor thing.

Wulbren will no longer comment on Toobin's daughter being dead if Toobin is not present.

Gave Sticky Dondo more lines to yell to sell his wares in the Guildhall. (Thank fuck tbh.)

Fixed player characters and the Narrator talking over each other when interacting with Minsc's relics in his hidden chamber. (MINSC HAS A HIDDEN CHAMBER? I have some hunting to do with Rakha lmao.)

You can no longer open the barricaded doors at the Crimson Draughts apothecary from the inside. We forgot barricades are supposed to work both ways.

Yoinked Sceleritas Fel's hat back from Helsik's desk.

You should no longer potentially see the great empty void of Game Developer Land after starting the epilogue.

Added more lines for Jaheira and Minsc to exclaim during the battle with the Stone Lord.

Fixed a bug where it was possible to get stuck in a dialogue with the Emperor about killing Gortash if you clicked on Gortash's corpse with Karlach (which starts a dialogue, after which she leaves the party and goes to camp) while, with another character, you also clicked on Gortash's body and sent his gauntlet to Karlach via the context menu right before her dialogue ended and she left the party. Yep. You can read it again if you want.

If you fail a pickpocket attempt at High Hall, your allies will no longer become hostile towards you. We reminded them that the fate of the world lies in the balance and that you play a pretty big part in it, thief or not.

Fixed Gortash's title potentially reverting back to 'Archduke Nominee' when reloading a savegame after the ceremony.

Wyll will no longer talk about hunting down Mizora when she's, like, right there.

The 'Embrace Your Potential' quest will now close if you choose to squelch the Astral-Touched Tadpole beneath your toes like a sentient little grape.

Jaheira's journal could at times say she had something to talk to you about, but then she wouldn't discuss it. She's a bit less tight-lipped now, so you know what to do in the city.

Someone pulled the ol' switcheroo on the Eldritch Knight and Battle Master subclass icons. We've switchereed them back.

Fixed a bug where examining a character and then examining an item would merge both character and item into a monstrous model in a single Examine window. The character would also be T-posing and naked.

Removed the turrets from the ground floor of Wyrm's Crossing since they weren't supposed to be there in the first place and never worked.

Fixed an unreachable fruit porridge in Wyrm's Rock. Makes you wonder how it got there in the first place.

Moved an unreachable book ('On the Greater Healing Potion') at Last Light. (Unironically this has driven me crazy on every playthrough.)

If Minthara's camp trousers get blood on them, the spatters will now be spread across them more tastefully rather than concentrated between the legs. (Holy shit.)

Kerz, the half-orc hireling, was wearing clothes that didn't fit properly. We found a tailor and everything's looking spiffy now.

Fixed some particularly intense and alarming-looking smoke coming out of the chimney at the Rivington General.

Gave a skirt to the chicken lady who mentions a skirt.

Companions in Wild Shape at camp will no longer perform their idle animations as though they are still humanoid.

Fixed the animation for the Crawling Claw's footsteps. (Fingersteps?)

Fixed Brynna's clothes clipping through her arm and revealing her armpit. She informed us she was not, in fact, begging for a tickle.

Fixed the Graceful Cloth and Mighty Cloth looking like crop tops on male halflings.

The magicians outside of Sorcerous Sundries were yelling and casting spells so loudly that it was hard to hear your companions over them if you spoke to them nearby. We've toned this down and cleaned up the mix.

Added death vocals ('uurghghhh's) for dragonborn and half-orc NPCs.

Fixed the name of a decorative pot in the Colony, which was lying about being a cookpot.

Tweaked the spikes on the artefact in the dialogue where it passes from Shadowheart over to you so it doesn't look like it's impaling you.

Fixed your hand clipping into your face while smearing poo on it.

Told Wyll he doesn't need to hold his sword threateningly close to the chest of small races during his recruitment dialogue.

Fixed Mizora's body popping when she comes to pay Wyll a visit at camp. Save the popping and locking for the club.

Fixed Volo's hand clipping into your head while he performs his highly professional and sanitary surgical intervention.

Fixed the Dream Guardian's leg getting all jittery when they kneel down to let you stab them. The facade of stoicism breaks a little when you can see their legs turn to jelly.

Fixed a bug where biting off Crusher's toe and then defeating him in a fist fight would result in a cinematic where the toe was still present. An embarrassing inconsistency in an otherwise realistic chain of events. (I noticed this on Rakha's run and was judging you so hard, Larian. XD )

Fixed Shadowheart sometimes turning her head concerningly far over her shoulder during her recruitment dialogue at the Emerald Grove.

Fixed minor pops when playing as Avatar Shadowheart if the artefact explodes and kills Lae'zel. (This can happen???)

Fixed your character snapping their body backwards and wibbly-wobbling around as though trying to pass beneath a cursed limbo stick in the cutscene where Kar'niss approaches you in the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

Fixed the chalice that you hold when talking to Jaheira at Last Light vibrating suspiciously after you set it down on the table.

Fixed a Reconstituted Duellist's line getting cut off prematurely. He really, really wanted you to hear him finish saying 'come to my inner chambers'.

Dark Urge characters who have not cured themselves of Bhaal's influence or who have embraced Bhaal at the end of the game will no longer appear in Karlach's final scene as though they didn't just stalk off on a mad hunt for blood.

During Gortash's inauguration, Ravengard's head, sword, and legs will no longer leave his body suspended in the air behind him when he walks down the steps. (😱 )

Fixed a cinematic bug where the submersible would approach the Iron Throne and, the moment it arrived, would nope out and appear to reverse back to the surface.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 patch 7 #patch 7 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 patch notes #honestly waht i learned more from the patch notes than anything else was that i still have a lot i haven't found in this game yet XD #this was fun as always to put together #larian seem like fun people

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beastenraged · 2 years ago

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make me evil instead

(KHDR Werewolf AU)

There are two ways to become a werewolf. A beast to be hunted and destroyed, before it in turn destroys the world.

One: to be bit by a werewolf, cursed by the Darkness running through veins and saliva into your own blood. You scream and cry and scratch at yourself as you transform under the full moon’s light, curse calling out to that same moon with an unbreakable cry.

To be bitten is to be scarred horribly. A Dark scar that shall never fade.

Two: to be born a werewolf. This is much rarer than the spreading curse, although much more Dark. Because those that are werewolves from the very womb are the worst kind of monsters, the teachers say. They choose to give into their evil and kill. Slaughter without remorse, for they were born without such.

Born werewolves are never marked. Stories claim it’s impossible for them to be scarred at all, outside very rare circumstances and events.

Neither kind can be spared. Both must be killed, to save humanity from the Darkness beyond Scala ad Caelum’s gates.

Such has been the truth passed down from the very founder himself, the first great Hunter. Ephemer, who legend claims had to slay his own love after they fell victim to the werewolf curse.

If the Founder can be so strong...then it is only right that all future Hunters should be same in conduct. Right?

Baldr looks at his naked body in a full length mirror. Not a single scar to see. Not a single wound that’s still recovering. Blank like fresh canvas waiting to be painted upon.

Not a single bitemark to be seen.

He lets out a heavy breath. Which means...

Baldr lifts one hand. In the mirror, that same hand swiftly becomes furred. Clawed. A werewolf’s paw, with fur as white as his hair.

The mark of the Dark.

A Darkness he can never hope to cured of, one that he was born with.

Should he lose control, he’ll destroy everything he’s ever cared about. His sister, his friends, his city...everything.

But. He can stop it. He has to stop it.

All he has to...

“Never bite anyone,” he whispers to his reflection, just as blue eyed as ever. “And no one will ever find out.”

(Ever find out how evil he truly is, on the inside.)

Resisting the urge to bite...Baldr doesn’t quite manage it in the end.

It is far too easy to sink fangs into his sister’s too still body, with the knowledge that werewolf healing will easily take care of those otherwise lethal wounds.

Easier still to bite her classmates, also covered in blood and injured by the great dragon they foolishly sought to challenge. To shred them like so much meat.

The Darkness within and the darkness creeping into his eyes from his too weak body...

Both overcome him, in that cave.

He opens his eyes to a room whiter than any other he’s been in before. Back in his human form.

Master Odin’s voice echoes from the other side. “Ah, I see you’re finally awake, Baldr.”

Baldr bears his teeth. But doesn’t let the Darkness overcome him. Not yet.

“Why haven’t you killed me? Aren’t I the terrible werewolf?”

“...Baldr, you are of Scala ad Caelum’s original lineages. That...cannot happen.”

Baldr feels his eyes widen. Those times in the past, those werewolves killed...they died because they didn’t have the right blood.

(Something stirs inside at the thought. Something Dark and hungry.)

“Where’s Hoder? Shouldn’t she be locked away too?” he cries out to his Master.

“Your sister...” A pause. A hesitation. “Hoder sacrificed herself to protect the rest of us from her curse.”

Sacrificed. Sacrificed.

(What a pretty name for suicide.)

He can’t tell if it’s the thoughts in his brain screaming or the sound is actually emitting from him.

He can’t tell anything.

(Only Darkness awaits him. Awaits them all.)

After that, well, Baldr can’t bring himself to care.

Why should he?

His own sister died rather than be anything like him. They’ll lock him away rather than admit anyone in Scala could possibly be a werewolf without a bite.

But. They’re used to truly contrite cursed wolves. They’re used to weakness.

Baldr is still strong. Stronger than ever, after expanding his pack. Even one more member increases his strength, an interesting fact about natural werewolves Baldr is sure they only mention to students as upperclassmen.

(Even if his new packmate is...no longer here.)

All he has to do is...

His fangs are bared. He howls with laughter as the shoddy old wards give under his claws.

Nothing can stop him now. Not his sister, not her classmates, not the Masters.

No one.

Far too easy to tag along his own class’ first Hunt for the upperclassman. Especially when the Masters haven’t told any of them what true fate befell their seniors.

It almost makes Baldr laugh.

Scratch that, Baldr does laugh as everyone splits up into pairs. Making it far too easy for him to hunt them down.

Bite them. Force them to drown in the Darkness that dwells within him. Destroy the future of Scala ad Caelum’s Hunters in one final sweep.

(Make them pack.)

He bites them all. Curses them all. Except Bragi, who bleeds out, oops, he bit a little too hard there, haha.

Leaving only Eraqus and Xehanort left.

The werewolf hater and the outsider.

Harder to find than the others, the scent is strangely covered up. Much better than the others, never mind all the lessons they had on it. To avoid the monsters hunting them.

Well, Baldr’s the monster now. Those tricks don’t work on them. Yet, it’s still difficult. Takes time, to track them deep through these tall trees.

Eventually he comes across them. Or he comes across Eraqus and another wolf. Standing between him and Eraqus.

Yellow eyes. Silver fur. Just as silver as a certain someone’s hair and eyes.

It’s...Xehanort. Xehanort, a werewolf!

Baldr can’t help the laugh that escapes his mouth, more of a howl. Eraqus flinches, but Xehanort doesn’t, yellow eyes steady on Baldr’s shaking form.

(He can’t stop laughing. Howling.)

“You...you’re just like me!”

#my kh ficlet #my writing #kh baldr #khdr #khdr werewolf au #or as i like to call it:#wolfing down darkness au #for funsies all werewolves are wolves mixed with another type of canine #baldr's a jackel-wolf for example #luxu after getting bit: oh shit i can't become a werewolf play dead i guess?

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heli0s-writes · 3 years ago

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Your writing is amazing! If you’re taking requests for writing could you do Steve x Reader makeup sex after a fight? You could include the fight if you would like but you don’t have to. Thank you! Have a great one!

a/n: aaah this took so long but thank you for sending it in! this is about desire and self/mutual destruction. see the following quotes for more information on where my brain lives 24/7: (1, 2, 3, 4). and this poem, by Ada Limón.

“perihelion” is the closest point to the sun in a planet’s natural orbit.

warnings: emotions- what are they even! cursing, brief smut & angst. 1.6k words. please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

perihelion*

“You’re an—”

“—idiot, I know—”

“I don’t think you do—" Sharp curses and agonized fingertips, your hand curling around his neck to wrench him away for a second before you shove him back, letting his split lip gush over yours, the dark copper of his blood sending a droplet into your mouth. “The most idiotic thing—”

“—on this side of the universe, I know—” Steve hisses when you bite, pull at his skin until the almost-healed again cut opens up wider, “—shit—”

“You deserve it,” your tongue darts out, lapping at his spit and teeth and the very essence of him as if there already wasn’t enough of it sticking to your palms and fingers and optical nerve each time you close your eyes. “So fucking mad at you.”

You shove him onto the bed, climbing on top and straddling him, yanking at tufts of his hair, fisting it into a rat’s nest until he’s staring up at the ceiling, the jutting point of his Adam’s apple like a buoy in a tempest.

“Honey,” he winces, “honey. Had to.”

He grunts when you shift your weight until you’re practically sitting on his chest to keep him breathless—to keep him from saying anything else so stupid.

You already yelled at him earlier, right in front of the team when your short circuiting brain couldn’t hold it in anymore after watching him rush back in. Deciding that the point isn’t solely for Steve, anyway, but possibly for all of them to quit being such self-sacrificing morons and get their heads on straight because at the end of the day, for all their heroism, numbers and logic never lie.

“If, on average, Steve Rogers saves 800 civilians every year, but runs back into a building rigged to explode to save 1 life, and he dies—how many civilian lives will he be potentially not saving because he won’t fucking be there to save for the next 10 years? 20 years? 30 years? How long is a super soldier’s shelf life? 40? 50? You’ll be 120 and still swing like a battering ram, Steve. So, tell me—is it truly worth it to get your reckless fucking head cracked open for just one fucking person?”

There wasn’t even a shred of dishonesty or hesitation as he confirmed, “yes.” In his dirt-covered, ash-soiled, profusely bleeding from an open forearm gash glory, he stood tall and swallowed thickly, knowing the hell you’d reserve for him later, and he said “yes.”

Because he’s immovable and he’s principled and he’ll always, always say yes.

You want to kill him yourself sometimes. Simply precipitate the heartache you know is in your future as long as you’re with Steve. As long as what you feel for him makes you selfish, makes you want to keep him from the fight and the fury of the open world. From the inevitable, legendary death of Captain America as he perishes— as he’s wiped from the face of the planet, wiped from ever being in your arms again— while saving innocents. Those hapless casualties caught up in whatever cosmic battle of good and evil and since he’s a shining beacon with the power to safeguard them, he’ll do it to his bitter end.

You want to kill him yourself because he’s made you into something of a coward. Because instead of trusting his strength, all you trust is fear—a lodged knife telling you he might never return.

Well fuck that. Fuck that. Fuck all that.

“C’mon,” he urges, hands up in defeat.

He’s smiling into the ugly popcorn ceiling, one side of his lips curled upward, jaw slack, easy and yielding because Steve offers himself to everything like this: headfirst, wide open, like he’s not just a man at the end of the day, and like he can’t die same as those casualties he’s overzealous about rescuing.

“Don’t you think about me,” you ask after a long moment of staring, the anger dwindling down to a soft bewilderment, and you feel wounded just a slip away. One wrong word, wrong touch, and despite the last three hours of incandescent rage, you’d break into sobbing, confused pieces.

Your fingers unwind in his hair, returning to your side and trembling starts from the pit of your stomach before it rises up to your chest, then to your throat where it hovers high and brittle. “Don’t you think about me, Steve?”

“Of course I do,” he replies, still smiling, finally allowed to tilt his chin down to meet you. He reaches to hold your wrists, index and middle fingers on your pulse, letting the feverish beat bleed into him. “I’m always thinking about you…” he trails off, taking a moment to sit up and maneuver until you’re in his lap.

He burrows into your neck, nosing up your ear, and he’s sincere when he says, “and I think that if it were you, and you were trapped somewhere and someone could have saved you—"

You wrap your arms around him, blunt nails digging into his back through the silky stretch of his undershirt to interrupt but he only shakes his head mulishly, “If someone could have saved you, and they died doing it, I wouldn’t blink twice.”

“That’s not the point—”

“It is,” he argues, “It’s the only point, because if they were doing numbers and math and decided that your life wasn’t worth it,” he breathes, focused and vicious, “Sweetheart, you don’t know what I’d do. You don’t know what kind of hell I’d raise. And it wouldn’t matter for a second who it was because I’m more selfish than I look. Especially about you. Always, about you.”

He’s chillingly serious, gone so earnest that you can barely hear him over the sound of the blood in your ears. He says it plainly, clinically, like reading data of scientific research—like he’s pored over every possible outlook, quadruple-checked his work, and firmly came to one enormously irrefutable fact:

“I have to lead by example so that everyone else will do the same. It’s not their fault so don’t yell at them anymore, okay?”

He laughs again, rolling into the bed on his back with you landing on top of him, arms absurdly locked around each other. And it’s all so ridiculous. Steve with his sense of duty, his sense of fairness and loyalty so goddamn fierce and shameless.

You retreat, shoving your hands into your eyes because you can’t stand looking at him for another second. He’s a fulgent blur of midday sun behind your tears, hot and blindingly true and it hurts you to the marrow. A part of you is on the verge of laughing inappropriately, helpless.

“So what you’re saying is we’re going in circles.”

Steve shrugs, only sitting back up and kissing you, nudging your hands free and wiping your eyelids with his lips. Once, twice, five times, like there’s been no fight. He kisses you in quick, joyful pecks, and presses the happy line of his grin into your cheek.

“Yeah, but I’m okay with that, I can handle that. You can yell at me again,” he says, clever pink mouth stamping your skin with each sentence, muffling words here and there. “As long as you want, as much as you want, as loud as you want, and I’ll take it. Yell at me. Fight me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Fuck me until you’re finished.”

You scoff, trying to dodge and realizing you’re only half-heartedly doing so— forfeiting, finished— because he really is the sun, and you’re just a nominal planet caught in his spell, mindlessly circling, forever destined to orbit him. To watch him explode in the distant future and getting caught in the blast because there’d be no way to go on without Steve Rogers.

“Jerk,” you declare, “Jerk. Dumb jerk. Dumb, stupid jerk. Asshole—can you—can you try--” you lurch your face at him, catching him on the lips, kissing hungry and desperate and broken, “—try to stay alive.”

Because I’m in love with you, is what you mean, because I can’t be without you, don’t you get it? I’m sufficient and whole and I don’t need you, but I don’t want to be without you and that’s the ultimate mark of being ruined because of another person and I’m so utterly ruined, utterly fucked.

Steve kisses back, panting now, fumbling at your pants and then his own clothes, stripping until the pile of fabric is a mass at the foot of the bed, trying to entangle his flushed limbs the same way with yours.

“I’m here,” he licks his palm, slicks himself up, thrusting inside wetly at the end of each word like he’s trying to drive the point home into your soul. Quick like a blade, a reflex, a flashfire.

“I’m right here,” he says, at your collar, his teeth clamped over the bone as if hanging on the edge of the earth with it.

“I’m alive and I love you,” he whispers, then moans, then collapses into keening light—too fast, too hot—and you’re destroyed, because what else is there to do but be destroyed by him?

“And I love you,” he says again, as you burn to ashes, “And I love you, and I love you, and I love you.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagines #mcu #reader insert #fanfiction

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haadeswrites · 3 years ago

Text

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it.

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child.

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well.

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call.

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse.

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined.

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her.

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?”

And your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.”

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?”

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression.

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet…

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following.

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading.

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home.

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions.

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain.

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him.

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi.

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part.

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours.

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea.

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well.

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for.

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to.

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight.

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers.

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him.

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight.

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion.

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering.

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms.

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night.

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?”

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be.

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach.

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves.

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head.

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river.

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn.

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired.

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north.

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night.

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore…

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it?

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.”

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island.

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment.

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage.

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside.

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side.

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly.

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head.

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first.

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out.

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes.

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise.

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually.

Time slows.

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at.

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally–

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound.

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips.

It wasn’t him. It was never him.

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.”

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care.

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though.

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch.

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again.

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to.

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you.

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter.

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most.

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood.

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!”

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #cult au #tw: religious themes #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: minor character death #tw: abuse #hades.dark #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

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aminiatureworld · 3 years ago

Text

A Sea of Fragment VI

Word Count: 3.964

Warnings: Slight violence

Author’s Note: I’m back! This chapter was so enjoyable to write, I missed this series so much! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Also yes I did see the 2.1 trailer. Scaramouche’s JP laugh my evil beloved.

After your little interlude of conversation with Scaramouche you had succumbed once more to the blinding heat that was enveloping you. Having little sense of the world around you, waking up to bits and pieces of movement only to be stolen away by the darkness again, you found yourself completely disoriented by the sight that greeted you when you finally woke up.

You were in a tent, that much was sure, though beyond that you weren’t really aware of much else. The bed that you were lying on, though slightly damp, was clean, and the top cover, which remained underneath you, was folded over neatly. There was a large table next to you, filled with what could only be medical equipment, as well as a dresser, a chair, and a bench, presumably there for medical purposes. However the high quality material of everything, the tent, the sheets, the pillow, made the whole room seem much too fancy to be a simple hospital tent.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, too afraid to move in case the world started swimming again, when what could only be a medic walked in. The Fatui emblem was embroidered neatly above his breast pocket, but otherwise he seemed completely, almost unnervingly, normal. The only other thing of note was the Anemo vision strapped to his arm.

“Ah I see you’re awake. Good, I didn’t want to have to call the head medic in again, since she made it perfectly clear already that your case didn’t need her specific supervision. Still, when my lord Scaramouche came in shouting, she couldn’t very well say that, ignoring how banged up you were at the time.”

“Scaramouche was here?” You asked, head still slightly fuzzy.

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that, after all you weren’t the one walking to the medical tent by yourself considering the state you were in. Still the image felt like an odd one. You figured he would’ve found someone else to do it for him. Letting this information rattle around in your mind you mutely listened as the medic asked you to hold out your arm for pulse checking, barely listening to his halfhearted small talk.

“Your pulse seems to be evening out a bit,” he finally said. “Good, you were going berserk for a little bit there. We even had to call in a healer, didn’t want you to die. Thankfully the healing seemed to help, my lord was saying something about your state being magic induced, and we were worried that there would be no effect.”

“Thank you for your concern,” you replied, knowing full well that this level of treatment was likely the result of being dragged in by a Harbinger. Still, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat grateful.

“It’s nothing. Better have you alive then a dead body on our hands after all.”

“Fair enough.”

“Still, you’ll have to take care. Your iron levels were also somewhat wonky, so we’re going to give you a week’s worth of pills for that. Come back in a week and if everything seems alright you’ll be good to go. Okay?”

“Alright.”

The medic nodded before walking out. Feeling still exhausted you flopped down on the bed. A breeze seemed to be blowing outside and a part of it came in through the slits in the tent. Letting the wind fan over you, you closed your eyes. Soon enough your thoughts swam into incoherence and you were dragged down into the realm of sleep.

“My lord.”

Scaramouche jerked his head up from the papers he’d been half heartedly studying. Seeing the medic in front of him he immediately stretched himself up a little taller. At least this wasn’t something completely worthless.

“I assume you’re here to tell me about the condition of the person I left with you.”

“Yes, they have just woken up. Their vitals are no longer in critical condition, and they appear to be alert.”

“Good. That will be all.”

“Yes my lord.”

Scaramouche waited until the medic had left before letting his thoughts roam. You were awake, you were finally awake. Though he wanted to deny it, the relief that flooded through him made it all too apparent how worried the Harbinger had been. When you’d first woken up in his tent he had felt worried, yes, perhaps even slightly frantic. Still, he had assumed that that would be the end of it. You collapsing again had made his blood run cold in a way that rarely, if ever happened. He was Scaramouche after all. The Balladeer, the Harbinger who had no room for mercy in his heart, no time to worry about the lives of other people. After all, does the winter blizzard care about whose house it destroys? Certainly not, it only has to fulfill its goal. Yet he had cared about what was happening with you, even more than that, he’d been worried, perhaps even terrified.

Acknowledging these things left a bitter taste in Scaramouche’s mouth, but he wasn’t idiotic enough to try and deny it. Somehow you had managed to become noteworthy to him, important enough to draw such a reaction out of him. Was this some despicable side effect of your ability? No, it was unlikely. There was no use in looking for excuses or denials. What the Harbinger had to do now was figure out what to do with his predicament. He ought to crush it, to treat you as he would any other low-level lackey, he ought not to have brought you over to his personal section of the medical tents, should have had someone else carry you to the general wing. Those sorts of regrets were too late now however. He had acted out of pure panic, hadn’t even thought of the strict hierarchy that ruled all the lives of those who lived under the Tsaritsa.

Not did your aberrant status help, you who weren’t from Snezhnaya, who had no sense of authority, who had no true place amidst the Harbingers. You were merely there, a shadow that Scaramouche had hoped to command who had instead appeared to have manipulated him in some way.

Yet he couldn’t get rid of you, not now. You were still needed in some capacity, needed to tell him of the layout of the village, the location of the artifact, you had said it was a mirror. Besides, Scaramouche still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Signora would want to inspect you, having brought you to Scaramouche’s attention in the first place. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; Signora had a habit of going where she pleased, deriving satisfaction from the ability to draw irritation out of her fellow Harbingers. The mere idea of her sauntering in to inspect you brought a sour sort of taste to Scaramouche’s mouth. Now more than ever he loathed his coworker’s antics.

Still something had to be done, though what was still up in the air. Pondering this Scaramouche stood up. At the very least he ought to look after you, though whether this was tied into the emotions that roiled in him or simple logic he wasn’t yet sure of. At the very least there would certainly be more talking if he didn’t look on you than if he did. If there was anything that the Fatui loved it was erratic behavior. After all those who could be swayed into doing illogical things were certainly much easier to manipulate. No, better for him to make an appearance, to say that he was concerned you were on the verge of death which would have ruined his plans. This excuse in mind he stood up, urging his inner thoughts to silence as he walked out of the tent and into the afternoon sun.

The image he was greeted with upon entering your, or rather his, tent was all too reminiscent of how you had first looked in that forest where he had first met you. Face pale, a slight sheen of sweat visible on your brow, slicking your hair against your neck. Though your eyes had almost immediately snapped open upon hearing the voice of the medic they were unfocused, and for a moment it seemed as if you were squinting to make the Harbinger out.

It was a pathetic image of a person, and a mix of disgust, pity, and worry swept over Scaramouche. Silently hoping that he himself would never look so weak he sat on the only chair in the room, dismissing the medic with a wave of his hand, keeping his focus on you the whole time.

“So,” he began when you two were finally alone, “you have been saved from the teeth of death. If I had known the spectacle you were going to cause I would have never asked you to do such a thing.”

“Most visions don’t go that way,” you replied, voice husky and cracked from lack of use. “It was, it was because of the mirror.”

“You mentioned that before. This mirror, I presume it’s what we’re looking for.”

“I won’t look for it anymore,” your voice seemed to tremble slightly. “Even if my vision it was terrible. It warped the space around it, even from the future. If you were to get into the same room as it, were to try and touch it, I, I don’t know.”

“We must get a hold of it. If it is the Tsaritsa’s wish we would sacrifice a whole reserve for it.”

“How can you say such a thing?” you replied, voice quiet. The dispassionate tone sent a lance through Scaramouche, and for a moment he found himself unable to reply, knowing full well the answers he ought to be giving you, the total loyalty demanded by the archon he served.

“Still,” he finally continued, “you have showed me that you’re certainly not strong enough for this. From now on I will no longer provide you information about this mission, nor will I ask you to do anything to bring it about. All I need is a report about what you saw, if you wish you can write it yourself. There are other things that you would be better suited for.”

“What things? I don’t think you understand. I’m the only one who has seen what could happen, what seems very likely to happen based on the fragments that were lined up in front of me. The best outcome I saw was that you were unable to find it. The worst,” you took a deep breath in, “the worst outcome is that the village goes up in flames.”

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Scaramouche, feeling irritation rise up inside of him. “I thought you would be grateful to hear that you wouldn’t be required to look into the future again, instead you insult me, insult the Fatui.”

“I am glad that you aren’t going to try and force me into the future. I don’t think you could truly convince me to anyways, but I’d rather not fight about it. Still, I want to be there, to make sure that this doesn’t happen. I have to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to know anything. I don’t owe you information or position, you’re only here at my pleasure.”

“Yes! I am only here because you forced me to be here, only here because you asked me to do something I didn’t wish to do. And now you take the advice I give you and trample all over it! Why, why are you acting so irrational?”

“You’re the one acting irrational!” Scaramouche shot back, feeling a wave of panic shoot through him. The idea that you had managed to somehow divine the odd emotions that he was currently experiencing seemed unlikely, but that you could sense something was out of place was alarming. “I just need the report,” he pressed, feeling his voice raise in irritation, wanting this to be over.

As you stared at him, silence being your reply, the thoughts that whirled inside the Harbinger’s head seemed to get louder. Why was this suddenly so complicated? All Scaramouche’s career he had easily ordered his way around and over people. Deals were only made with other Harbingers, who quickly stepped aside to let the Balladeer do his duty. Never had someone simply refused his orders. The idea that you would do so, would turn down something so easy and to your benefit, was absolutely infuriating.

“I would like to rest a little more,” your voice finally broke through the thick silence. “I’m tired.”

“I would have gone a long time ago had you just listened to me,” Scaramouche pointed out.

“Please,” you shot him a look, “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to fight either. I really don’t. It’s the last thing I want to do. I wanted to thank you in fact, for bringing me here rather than letting me lie on the ground or trying to slap me awake or something. But, but you just, you never listen. That’s what makes it so hard, what makes all of it so hard. You never listen so how, how are you ever supposed to hear me?”

The plaintive tone of your voice struck another blow, as Scaramouche found himself suddenly, suddenly what? He found himself leaning out of his chair, the urge to walk over to you so intense it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. He wanted to do something, though what he wasn’t entirely sure of. To apologize? To demand? To scold? To, to console? What a stupid thing to do. Yet all these things he suddenly wanted to do. Of course he couldn’t do nay of these things, couldn’t push you any farther, couldn’t pull himself back. All he could do was lean forward, as if that might in some way convey what he was feeling.

“Is there something you want?” You asked.

“No,” Scaramouche stood up. “There is nothing more I wish to say to you.” What a lie that was.

Making his way over to the tent flap Scaramouche stopped. Quickly, almost in rebellion with his mind, he turned and walked over to you. Taking your wrist he pressed his fingers to it.

“Your pulse is still irregular,” he noted.

Spinning around and walking out of the tent the Harbinger fought the urge to scream at himself, scream for such an irrational act. Yet part of him wasn’t thinking about that at all, was instead marveling at how warm, how comfortable your hand had been in his own.

It seemed like an hour had passed by the time your pulse managed to right itself, though surely only a few minutes must’ve passed. You held your wrist in your other hand, staring down at it, as if willing the scene that had just passed to reappear before you. What was that, what in Teyvat was that? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, could barely acknowledge that it had indeed happened at all. Scaramouche, the Harbinger, the man who had only moments before been berating you, that Scaramouche had walked over to you and checked your pulse, held your hand in his, if only for a moment. It seemed laughable, seemed so surreal as to have been a dream, yet it had surely happened.

Of course maybe to him that had been a completely normal thing to do. After all, the medic had told you that your pulse had been irregular. Surely Scaramouche would have noticed that too. Perhaps his self-righteousness had caused him to want to make his own judgement on the state of your health. Still that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat the moment it had happened, hadn’t stopped you from feeling like you were, for very different reasons than before.

You cradled your wrist, still able to feel the slight pressure his fingers had exerted on it, as if he had somehow branded you. His fingers had been surprisingly soft, not at all rough as you had expected it. Perhaps that was only natural, you knew that he sported no sword hilt, and there were no sharpening stones in his tent, meaning in all likelihood he was a catalyst user. Still, it was unexpected. His fingers had been surprisingly gentle, his palm with which he held your hand was soft and warm. You wondered for a moment what it would be like if he were to hold your hand properly. A small part of you wondered if you might yet do so in the future.

Almost immediately you shook yourself violently, willing those thoughts out of your head. Even now the idea of doing something so domestic, so intimate, with Scaramouche seemed odd, almost heretical. He was a Harbinger, a bloodthirsty man, one who evidently had no problem with a village going up in flames. And yet, and yet…

You sighed, lying back down on the bed. You should sleep, you were exhausted. Everything was going fast, oh so fast. You couldn’t keep up, couldn’t keep up with your feelings, with Scaramouche’s logic. All you wanted to do was block it out, to sleep. As you closed your eyes one final coherent thought floated through your head. He had, despite it all, not asked you to do it again.

You never realized you were dreaming until about halfway through your dreams. Even then you had no power to stop them, they pulled you along, like a riptide, waiting to drag you down into their depths.

You weren’t exactly sure how you got into the village, the all too familiar landscape. It was hot, and your thoughts seemed to melting along with your legs, as you tried to run towards the now blazing rooftops, yet found yourself hardly moving. Yet you kept moving forward, intent on something, though on what you weren’t sure of. Something very important to be sure. If only you could reach it.

Reaching some sort of back you shinnied your way between the burning. The flames licked at your clothes and at you, but you couldn’t feel them, they certainly weren’t any hotter than the rest of you. In fact the only side effect that seemed to be happening was how close the walls were becoming, so much so that you were barely getting through. Still you kept going, and eventually you found yourself out of the seemingly endless tunnel.

There were a few men in the distance, men who seemed to be barreling towards. Unease spiked through you, somehow you knew that whatever happened they shouldn’t catch you. Yet another part of you dismissed them as no important enough. No, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, there was something else. As you thought that they seemed to suddenly fade away, or perhaps it was that you had suddenly found yourself somewhere else.

Walking down this road that seemed so busy and so desolate you found yourself in field. Not questioning the black sky above you, the fact that there was a field in the middle of a tiny village, you approached a figure in the middle of the field. Somehow you already knew who it would be.

You had never really thought about the space that Scaramouche took up before. He was simply there, a man, a Harbinger, a person. Just there. Now however he seemed all too small, almost puny. His head was turned to the side, so much as to be unnatural. A slight dribble of blood pooled from his mouth, and his eyes stared with the glassy intensity of the dead, the kind of stare that would forever haunt. You seemed to float above him, high, high above. Yet you wanted to lower yourself, to shake him, to see if he was just pretending. Everything felt glassy and distant, like a play that you were part of but not actively participating in. Soon enough he’d pick himself off the ground and start yelling at you. Soon. Yet someone was wailing in the distance, and for once the voice seemed eerily familiar.

You opened your eyes, at first seeing nothing before the cloth ceiling of the tent finally revealed itself to you. Lying there, not daring to sit up or roll over or do anything, you replayed your dream. Before it had seemed so distant, so disconnected from you. Now however it close, all too close. Your back was sticky with sweat, and the sudden heaving of your chest, cause panic to flood through your mind, revealed how truly shaken you were. You had seen Scaramouche dead before, had seen his fallen frame in your visions. It had been so different then however. Then he had just been a Harbinger, just been a demanding man. Now however he was, something. Something else.

All this time you had worried about your feelings for Scaramouche, worried that they were just some figment of imagination that stemmed from your visions of the future. Perhaps that was partly the truth, perhaps those visions had indeed provided the fuse for your emotions. Yet somehow you had lit them, or more aptly somehow Scaramouche had. The image of him lying there, dead on the ground, filled you with such distress that it seemed liable to drown you. Even if these feelings were somehow made up, the result of some imagined Scaramouche in the future, some need to line yourself up with some possible path, they were still real. Painfully so, if this was a sign of anything.

Finally sick of lying in one position you sat up. Though the tent was opaque enough you could see little bits of light through the slits of the tent, and the slightly warm air had the distinct feeling of it being at least midday. Standing up you made your way, somewhat hesitantly, over to the flap of the tent. You needed to see Scaramouche, if only to try and convince him again not to go through with such a ridiculous plan. You needed to make sure that your dream didn’t become a reality.

Walking through the tented hallway you quickly ran into the same medic as before, this time pushing a tray with food on it.

“Oh good you’re up,” he said, voice slightly bored. “Maybe you’ll be able to leave tomorrow then.”

“I need to talk to Scaramouche,” you said, words tumbling out and running into one another. “It’s something of the greatest urgency.”

“I’m sorry but my lord isn’t here.”

“Isn’t here? Then, he…”

“He went off on a mission, he said if you were ready to leave before he came back to move you back into your tent tomorrow and to wait until he returned for further instructions.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.” The medic replied, seemingly slightly impatient.

Turning around you fell right back onto the bed. Ruining the hospital corners you ripped the blanket over your head, willing it to block out all the light. You needed to get out, you needed to go find him. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Even if you wanted to you doubted the medics would cross Scaramouche’s orders to keep you here until tomorrow. Even more so you had no information on what exactly he had done, though you were almost positive that he had gone to the village. Even if he hadn’t though you had to go check, go make sure. What he was doing was madness, running into a situation without fully comprehending it, what in Teyvat was he thinking?

Anxiety welled up inside you, consuming any and all thoughts you might’ve had. In their place was fear, pure distilled fear. Fear for the Harbinger that you didn’t want to die, and fear for the future that might not come to pass after all.

#genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin scaramouche #series #my writing

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5-puthyyy · 4 years ago

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Thin Walls - Chapter 9

a/n : i’m not evil, i swear...we only have 3 chapters + an epilogue left, don’t kill me 😅 - also, i’ll be taking requests when i’m finished with thin walls, so join my taglist here for future works and don’t be afraid to fill my inbox rn :)

summary : wanda is awakened to the truth about who she is and you formulate a plan to save everyone, running headfirst into danger yet again

warning/s : death and violence + WandaVision spoilers + language

<---chapter 8 / chapter 10—>

natasha romanoff x reader masterlist

Opening your eyes is harder than it should be because of the pounding in your head, the ache you feel in your back, and when you do finally open them you’re not even sure if they’re open or not. It’s dark, so dark you can barely make out the pillars around the room. There’s only a little light streaming in from a window and that’s when you realise you’re probably in a basement - from the shape of the thin rectangular window.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” You jump at the low voice beside you and turn to see Wanda giving you a small smile, eyes tired and guilty. “I tried, but I can’t get us out.” Her accent is back and strong, almost soothing with her gentle tone. She sounds like she’s been crying so you lean a little closer to brush your shoulder against hers.

“How long have we been out? Or me, I guess.” You stumble to your feet and brush the dust off your clothes. There’s branches wrapped around the room, leading upstairs where you already know the door is locked. There’s runes around the room that you notice from your studies. You already know what they’re for but you glance down at your hands that refuse to radiate yellow energy, just to make sure.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t even know how I did all of this.” She sounds panicked and you turn to her with a soft smile, trying to keep her calm. You’re just happy to know she’s not doing any of this on purpose. But she’s still doing it, and you’re not understanding where this power even comes from. No one can get this powerful from only experimentation.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out, and eventually get ou-” You freeze when you catch something in the corner of your eyes as you’re glancing around the room. Is that…no way, it can’t be. You stand up and walk over towards the ancient look radiating a strong energy, swirls of orange twirling around it protectively. You don’t dare touch it, knowing what it can do to a person.

“What? Do you know what that is?” She asks, obviously having seen it before you but dismissing it since she has no clue what it is. She peaks with curiosity but you keep her behind you, just to be sure.

“The Darkhold. I’ve read about it years ago, and then more so with Strange.” You take a step back after you feel the urge to open it. Wanda watches you carefully, eyes glancing between you and book behind you now as you turn to face her. You didn’t realise just how close too you she was standing, nose to nose for a second before she steps back with her arms crossed over her chest.

“What is it?” She demands to know and you let out a sigh, running your hand through your hair. It’s so stuffy in here you can barely breathe, so dark you can barely see. You have a pounding headache that just won’t go and it got worse when you stepped closer to the book.

“An ancient book of spells. It’s made entirely of dark matter. God, I knew I could sense dark energy here. This is worse than I thought.” Your tone is a little too harsh but you can’t really help the frustration at being locked down here. The dark magic isn’t good for you; it’s fuelling the darkness already in you, egging it on, forcing it to come to the surface and Natasha isn’t here to keep you calm.

“I don’t understand.” Wanda whines out and her naivety is starting to frustrate you. What would Agatha, a witch, want with Wanda? Her powers are purely from experimentation. There’s runes, there’s the Darkhold, there’s skulls and magic objects locked in the cupboards around. This isn’t HYDRA.

“She’s a full blown witch. What in the fuck is going on? Wanda, I thought you were experimented on?” You’re almost yelling at her and she cowers away from you, flinching at your harsh tone. You close your eyes for a second to calm yourself down and open them to see her with a confused expression.

“I-I was. That’s how I got my powers.” Wanda claims but before you can demand she tell you the truth, the woman appears out of thin air in the middle of the basement. You both turn to her alert and ready to fight. She laughs at the two of you wickedly.

“I don’t think so, hun. Goodie! You’re both awake.” She says as she walks circles around you both. When you glance over her, you know there’s no light in her left, just pure darkness. It’s all you can feel.

“Where are my children?” Wanda demands in a shaky voice, trembling, scared, confused. Her hands remain held out in front of her but you drop yours, knowing your powers are useless here. The witch glances at Wanda’s hands with a wide smirk.

“Ah, yes. Vision, your boys, this entire reality you’ve created. Tell me, Wanda, how did you do it?” She asks curiously, stepping closer to Wanda. She’s still smirking but there’s an eager tinge to her voice, a desperation in her eyes. She wants this power, this power that is too big for someone small like Wanda, someone young and uneducated, and undeserving. She thinks she deserves it, she’s earned it after years and years of practicing magic.

“Who are you?” Wanda demands, which confuses you slightly because you thought they knew each other by the way Wanda seemed comfortable with her touch earlier. It must have been an act all along. Wanda hadn’t realised this witch was living under her hex, manipulating her, observing her the entire time. How did she not sense the power, the darkness radiating off her?

“Who are you? These complex spells, this level of power, this takes years, decades to perfect! And you don’t even know how you’re doing it!” She’s screaming now, seemingly frustrated with Wanda’s lack of cooperation, not because she won’t talk but because she can’t talk. She has no clue how she’s done all this and that breaks your heart; it’s all her trauma, her pain manifesting to burst out and create this reality that was supposed to be her deepest desires. She just wanted to be happy, she just wanted Vision and a family, a place to grow old in.

“Where are my twins?!” Wanda screams out, pushing her hands out. But nothing comes out. She tries again, tears threatening to roll down her cheek as her powers refuse to work. The witch laughs loudly at her, rolling her eyes again at how inexperienced Wanda is.

“You really know nothing about magic, huh?” She asks patronisingly and you can’t take her ego anymore, speaking up to gain her attention.

“Runes. Only the witch that casts them can use her magic in the specific area.” She turns to you, her smirk falling a little but she composes herself quickly. Wanda’s looking at you too, confused to how you even now all of this. She just wants out of this place.

“Ah. A smart one. Where’ve you been hiding?” You refuse to answer her, narrowing your eyes and stepping closer to her to show that you’re not intimidated. She raises a brow at you, lips stretching into a smile.

“Why are you doing this? You have the Darkhold, you can get whatever you want.” You demand and she falters again, this time stepping back and turn around, no doubt trying to hide the shock on her face. After a second she turns to face you again, this time impossibly close to you. Wanda pulls her hands in front of her again, ready to protect you but it’s useless here. She drops her hands down with a frustrated sigh.

“You’ve done your research. What exactly are you doing here? With her? I can see the darkness within you. You’re like me.” She’s close enough for the purple to start swirling between the two of you, your eyes flashing between purple and yellow. She can see the internal battle you’re having, grinning as she tries to push you to the dark side. But you think of Wanda terrified behind you, you think of Natasha probably angry but waiting outside worried about you. You fight for them.

“I’m nothing like you. Just tell us what you want…” You trail on, realising you don’t know her name yet. She smiles and takes this opportunity for her dramatic introduction.

“Agatha. Agatha Harkness, pleased to meet you, my dear.” She bows and cackles, twirling around. She turns her attention away from you and back to Wanda, not bothering for distractions anymore. You don’t have what she wants. “What I want is for you to tell me how you did this, Wanda.” She demands again, voice stern and low.

“I already told you, I don’t know how.” Wanda shakes her head, stuttering a little.

“I guess we’ll have to take a trip down memory lane. As for you…I think a nap will do you good.” Just as you see Wanda’s eyes widen, everything goes dark.

By the time you wake up, Wanda and Agatha are still gone. It gives you enough time to look around the room but no matter where you drift off, you’re drawn back to the Darkhold. You know better than to touch it, knowing it has the power to corrupt its owner. But you do raise a hand, just to feel its energy. It suddenly flicks open to a page in a language you don’t understand. But the second you blink and open your eyes again, you can read it. The myth of the Scarlet Witch. Harbinger of chaos and destruction, destiny to destroy the universe. You’ve heard of her, which is why you call it a myth - it’s only ever been talk, likely a story made up to scare baby witches and direct them away from their desires to dip into dark magic. But then you read on and on until it hits you. How else could she have done all this? How else could she have this much power, power that only grows with her trauma, with her chaos? Chaos magic.

Just then, Wanda bursts through a door you hadn’t noticed was even there.

“Wanda. You okay?” She looks frazzled, cheeks wet.

“She-She said I did this. She says I was born a witch. Y/N, I don’t under-” She’s interrupted by the cries of her twins and you both run towards the door, storming out. You stray behind a little, watching in shock as Agatha holds the two of them by their necks with her magic. You look down and see purple radiating around your hands and you try shove the idea away, knowing this would either corrupt or kill you, but you can’t think of a better option than this.

“All this power and you have no clue what it is or how to use it. You’re supposed to be a myth, a being capable of spontaneous creation. Here you are, wasting your powers on sitcoms. This is chaos magic, Wanda. And that makes you...the Scarlet Witch.” You whisper it at the same time as Agatha does, gasping at the confirmation. Wanda turns to look at you, a confused expression on her face. She’s overwhelmed and from what you know that makes her even power more unstable. You run to her side and try reassure her.

“It’s okay.” You whisper to her before turning to face Agatha with angry eyes glowing yellow. “Let them go! Leave the kids out of this.” You scream out but Wanda doesn’t want to use words so she blasts Agatha with her magic instead. The second you see her thrown back, you notice what the magic does to her. She’s absorbing it. The you realise her plans; she wants to absorb Wanda’s magic, draining the life out of her. “Wanda, stop!” She doesn’t listen to you and blasts her again, at which Agatha cackles.

“Boys, inside! Now!” They rush inside using their powers. Agatha’s still on the floor so you turn to Wanda and quickly whisper what your plans are. It’ll work, you know it will. You just hope you can take it.

“This is it. This is our chance!” Hayward screams, telling his agents to drive into the hex as it opens. Natasha watches civilians running out, Sam and Bucky helping them get to safety. She wants to get to you though, that’s all she can think of.

“I’m guessing you’re not going to listen to me when I tell you to stay here?” Strange says with a sigh as Natasha shakes her head at him. He knows what’s going to happen next and he doesn’t want Natasha to have to watch that, but she’s too stubborn to sit still.

“No chance in hell.” He opens a portal and gestures for her to walk into it. But she stops in her tracks when she sees two little boys walk through the hex, covered in yellow magic. Your magic. “Oh my God.” She runs to them, Strange following her. “Billy? Tommy?” They look up at her with tears in their eyes. “How is this…how is this possible?” Natasha turns to look at Strange. He knows but he won’t say.

“Mummy’s friend told us to walk through and said you’ll be here to help.” Billy stutters out and Sam is behind Natasha in seconds, guiding the twins away from you and Strange.

“Y’all better fix this shit. I’m tired! We’re meant to be on vacation!” Sam shouts out as he runs away to help and Strange opens the portal again, chuckling at his antics.

“Let’s go.” They walk through, ending up in the middle of the square where Wanda is standing with her magic shooting out of her body towards the sky. She’s groaning in obvious pain, but still pushing through. Natasha looks up when she hears a cackle and sees Agatha floating in the air. Just when she sees Vision disintegrating on the ground, she starts to run towards him but a hand pulls her back.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” You shout angrily at her, worry written all over your face. She’s not meant to be here. You don’t want her to see you like this.

“Y/N.” She whispers and pulls you into a hug, taking a shaky breath in and out that you can feel on your neck. “What is wrong with you? Why do you keep running into danger the second you see it? Do you not care about-” She’s screaming at you with angry emerald eyes filled with tears, eyebrows scrunched together, hair waving around from the wind, and she’s just…she’s beautiful. You interrupt her with a kiss so passionate it has your lips trembling against hers, tears falling down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper against her soft lips, and she shakes her head at you with a watery laugh.

“I forgive you, just stop doing stupid things.” She pecks your lips again but you pull back and look at her with a guilty expression. Her smile falls.

“Baby…there’s one last stupid thing I have to do. I’m so sorry but there’s no other way.” You rest your forehead to hers, breathing her in one last time, kissing her lips as soft and gentle as you can to try and communicate how deeply you feel for her.

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” You shake your head at her, letting go of her hands and walking backwards. You look up and see the runes Wanda has cast. She absorbs her power back before Agatha falls to the ground. “Y/N!” Natasha screams one last time, not being able to do anything but watch you run to danger yet again. There’s angry tears falling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Natasha.” You run back and look up at Wanda who’s still floating. “Now!” She gives you a sad nod and whirls her hands until the runes have gone. Agatha takes a sharp breath, stumbling up to her feet with manic laughter.

“You’re not meant to remove them, you naive little girl!” She screams and shoots her magic at Wanda who’s stood next to you now, but you jump in the way of her just like you planned. You throw your head back, screaming, groaning, gasping as you absorb the magic. Strange is holding a hysterical Natasha back as you manage to turn your head to look at her one last time. “What…what are you doing!?” Agatha screams, gasping for air as her life is slowly drained into you. Your eyes are wide and bright purple as you let it take over you, let the darkness consume you hoping it will kill you in the process. If you die, the darkness dies with you.

“It’s okay. She chose to do this.” Wanda tells Natasha in an attempt to soothe her but her cries are loud and you can’t help the tears sliding down your own face at the sound of her screaming. It feels like the purple is wrapping around your throat choking you out. It slides into your mouth, your eyes, nose, taking over your body until Agatha lets out a final gasp and drops down with a thud. You manage one last look at Natasha, eyes blank, mouth hung open as you let out a final breath. She breaks out into another sob the second your eyes close and your body hits the ground.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow #wanda maximoff #wandavision #wanda maximoff angst #wandavision fanfic #natasha romanoff angst #wandavision spoilers #avengers #avengers fanfiction

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autisticsupervillain · 3 years ago

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I don't talk about my inFAMOUS hyperfixation enough, so here's some stuff.

Dark Danny and Kessler are basically polar opposites of each other as far as Evil Future Me villains go.

Kessler: I fucked up, destroyed the world, and lost everyone I ever cared about. I need to go back in time and make sure that doesn't happen.

Dark Danny: I fucked up, destroyed the world, and lost everyone I cared about. I better go back in time and make sure that does happen.

It gets me wondering... what if Dark Danny was The Beast that Kessler wanted Cole to destroy?

Let me introduce the inFAMOUS Phantom AU.

The year is 20xx in the not so distance future. Danny Phantom finally dropped his heroic charade and embraced his ghostly nature, going on a rampage from Wisconsin to Amity Park, decimating all he sees. The Guys In White only manage to capture and contain him using their newly aquired Conduit unites. Conduits are humans who have the Conduit gene, a genetic failsafe that, when activated, could give the bearer extraordinary powers. The Conduit gene was only able to be activated recently thanks to the advancements pushed by their head scientist, Cole MacGraph.

Cole is put in charge of containing Phantom. His technology is several years ahead of the rest of the world, after all, and it's jis discoveries that unlocked the secrets of the Conduit gene and allowed Phantom to be captured to begin with.

However, Phantom is incrediblybclever and quickly thinks up a plan to escape. Taking the form of his younger, human self, Danny Fenton, Phantom tells him of his origins. Of the ghost portal that turned him half ghost, of the grand heroic adventures he had.... and of how his parents kept trying to kill him, despite his heroic deeds. Phantom claims that his ghost half and his human half have separate personalities, and that his ghost half came to despise the human race for their hatred of him.

"Please... I just want to go home. I miss my friends... I miss my mom... Wait, my parents... the Fenton Ghost Catcher! You can separate my two halves! That way my ghost half will dissolve when separated from his host!"

This is all an elaborate lie, painstakingly sprinkled with enough truth to be believable. Daniel Fenton is dead. All that happens when the Ghost Catcher is used is that the ghost (Phantom) is expunged from his non-ghost containment chamber. Phantom uses the opportunity to possess Cole with an invisible duplicate while the Conduit team recontain him. He then uses Cole's notes and free access to the facility to carefully plan his escape, whilst assassinating the Conduit team to ensure they don't stand in his way. He also kills Cole's family, both to keep them from questioning his odd behavior and to give his own strange behavior an excuse. Of course he's getting strangely close to the Conduit team, he's grieving and needs companionship.

Fortunately, Phantom didn't plan for Cole having friends outside the GIW. When Zeke Dunbar strangely stops receiving Cole's calls, he goes undercover to investigate. Putting together what happened from Cole's notes on Phantom, Zeke frees Cole with the Fenton Ghost Catcher in front of what remains of the Conduit team. Cole and Zeke escape as Phantom slaughters what remains of the Conduit team, as well as the rest of the GIW.

Zeke urges Cole to help fight off Phantom, but Cole instead becomes obsessed with resurrecting his family. He ignores Zeke's attempts to reason with him, runs away again every time Phantom shows up wherever he's hiding. Until it's to late. To late to fight back. To late to do anything. As far as Cole knows, he's the last man on Earth when Phantom sends Zeke's battered body flying through his door.

Phantom recognizes him and laughs, taunting him over the sob story he had about his family. "The best part is that it's all true, to a degree. I didn't even have to lie to trick you."

But, as soon as Dan tries to blast him, Cole is saved by two words.

"Time Out."

Clockwork appears and gives Cole a Time Medallion, before deciding to strike a deal with him. He offers Cole the chance to go 20 years back in time in order to prevent this future. Cole accepts. Taking the name Kessler upom arriving in the past, Cole gets to work.

Firstly, Kessler rejoins the GIW under his new identity, quickly rising through the ranks with his forehand knowledge and scientific prestige. He pushes development of the Conduit project ahead by several decades, giving himself powers and creating a cult of personality around himself in the process. Anyone who opposes his hostile takeover is quietly disposed of and Cole MacGrath finds himself expelled from college on mysterious grounds, never getting a chance to join the GIW.

Kessler creates a weapon called the Ray Sphere, a device designed to explode and kill any non-Conduit caught in it's blast. The Conduits will have their powers supercharged by the bio-electricity absorbed from all non-Conduits killed in the explosion, artificial advancing their development.

Kessler manipulates Cole into detonating the Ray Sphere in Empire City, before using the GIW resources to launch a hostile take over the city to "control the damage", all whilst having the government create a cover story so that Phantom doesn't get involved. Cole is forced to adabt and become stronger to survive with all the odds stacked against him, exactly as Kessler intended, forging Cole into the hero that he himself was not. After Kessler kills Cole's girlfriend to keep him from getting distracted from his mission, he challenges his past self to a climactic final battle to prove he's become as strong as he needs to be.

Cole emerges victorious and Kessler uses his final breath to show Cole visions of the future. Of the massacre of mankind, of the death of his family, of the sob story that Phantom manipulated him with. Cole is sent reeling from the revelation that Kessler is his future self and it is now up to him to save the world. As a reminder of the task he must now uptake, Cole grabs the Time Medallion off Kessler's body, not knowing it's true significance.

But, of course, that is only one path thay the parade might take. There is an equally valid timeline where Cole takes the opposite lesson from all the hardship he endures. He learns not to be responsible, but to be strong. Not to be compassionate, but to be vengeful. Not to save lives, but to gain power. While in one world Cole becomes a FAMOUS hero, in another, he becomes an inFAMOUS villain.

Both Coles set course to Amity Park, with their best friend Zeke by their side. One hoping to save the world, the other hoping to destroy the competition. Good Cole takes the sneakier approach when challenging Phantom. He has Zeke create a distraction for the Fentons by claiming to be an investor interested in their research, while Cole sneaks downstairs. MacGrath trashes the ghost portal, alongside anything else that might be useful to Phantom in the fight against him, before carving "meet me in Central Park, Phantom" into the wall with lightning.

Evil Cole takes the more direct approach, instead blasting the Fenton building apart with a giant thunder bolt. What Cole wasn't prepared for was for the Fentons to survive and for their ghost weapons to be able to harm him, forcing him back long enough for Danny Fenton to transform into Danny Phantom.

Either way, Cole MacGrath comes face to face with a Danny Phantom who is varying degrees of pissed.

Their fight is suprisingly even and both end up bring good counters to the other. Cole's resistance to mind control is sufficiently enough that he can ward off Danny's possession, his Radar Sense counters invisibility thanks to homing in on Danny's bio-electricity, while his own projectile versatility is strong enough to match most of what Danny can throw at him and then some. Danny, meanwhile, has actual flight to counter Cole's gliding, shapeshifting and Intangibility to dodge attacks, and is a better close range fighter when compared to Cole's over reliance on range. Evil Cole also has in edge in that he's willing to leverage civilian lives to give himself an edge, either by using them as hostages or by outright draining their bio-electricity to heal himself. Either way, it's a long fight that sends the two flying and fighting across all of Amity Park.

It comes to an end when Sam and Tucker and the sidelines realize Cole's weakness to water, spraying him with a hose to incapacitate him long enough for Danny to get close. Zeke rushes in to help, as do Sam and Tucker, but Danny ends up grabbing Cole's time medallion, sending the five flying off to meet Clockwork.

When there, the five witness Danny's evil future firsthand, with even Evil Cole suprised by the raw power on display by Dark Danny. Clockwork appears and explains how he sent Kessler back in time to alter history and prevent this future, but that plan "failed" so now he's going to "kill" them. However, Cole is able to quickly deduce the importance of the medallions and throws one on him and Zeke. Evil Cole only gives more to Danny and Friends upon Zeke's insistence. The five run into the future, coming face to face with Dark Danny himself.

Dan recognizes Cole, Zeke, and Clockwork's medallions, commenting about how "even dead, MacGrath's a pain in my ass". Cole and Danny try to fight him, but neither can get any good hits in, and the five are forced to run away. Cole only manages to save Zeke at the last second by blasting his time medallion, causing him to do the same to the rest of the medallions to keep Dan from following them into the past.

Cole initially thinks that that's the end of it. Danny saw his future self and was just as horrifed as they were. He's scared straight and won't be a problem anymore. Evil Cole, meanwhile, immediately goes back to trying to kill Danny to eliminate the competition. Either way, Sam and Tucker interrupt and point out that Dark Danny could still come back. He has the time medallions and if he puts them back together, he could travel back in time to prevent his past from changing. Indeed, Dark Danny is trying to do just that, as he has enough Vlad in him to try putting the advanced tech back together.

Cole and Danny are forced to train together to defeat Dark Danny, giving Danny the opportunity to learn who Cole is and what his deal is. Especially seeing how destroyed all the Fenton tech, so teaming up is the only real option. This gives Cole the opportunity to test his mettle against Danny's villains, from stomping Technus by draining all his technology to working together to beat Vlad.

Within the span of a few months, Cole and Danny are stronger than ever... and they'll have to be, because Dark Danny has arrived. The Ultimate Enemy is here, and they're the only ones who can stop him.

#danny phantom #infamous #danny fenton #cole macgrath #dark danny #kessler #zeke dunbar #sam manson #tucker foley

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inb4belphienaps · 4 years ago

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warnings: demon hunter au, monsterification (?), blood, gore, fighting (physical), death word count: 2028

Through the sounds of one man’s grunting and the clash of metal meeting hardened flesh, the ground of the forest shakes. Whatever birds had remained in the wake of the battlefield signal to one another (warning not just their own, but also the other inhabitants) that the current fight taking place could have devastating repercussions. More devastating than the smell of iron continuing to linger in the area.

As the earth shifts, flashes of bright light mingle with green smoke, creating a pool of fog that, were it privy to the eyes of outsiders, would hint at sorcery being afoot.

Magic holds its weight here in these lands. Depending on where your loyalties lie, you are either the hunter or the hunted. The former is normally trained in combat and taught to wield their powers as well as their swords. The latter, on the other hand, is feared, for the reasons that they are hunted are rooted deep in their very nature.

They go by many names – creatures of the dark, harbingers of evil, infernal bearers of sin. The list continues. And the stories grow. Generation after generation, children are taught to fear them. They are…demons. Children too in fact, of the King of Hell.

A royalty shrouded in mystery. The legend says that those who look upon his face never again see the light of day. And, since, no one has been able to confirm nor deny the numerous depictions of him, littering the books of those whose teeth chatter at the very mention of his title and covering the walls of the temples erected in honor of those who fight against him, he is better thought of as the very embodiment of your worst fears.

The soldiers are easier to motivate that way, more willing to be shaped into obedience. Whether that is seen as the mangled bodies of their loved ones or heard as the cries of the innocent, they are to never show mercy to the beings that do his bidding.

However, there are those who (baring the markings of a heretic), believe that these monsters were once human. That they sold their souls and gave into the darkness. That they were swayed by sweet words of promises unkept and in the end only saw suffering.

There are also those who, in the same manner, believe that these monsters take on the forms of humans. Either the humans they’ve converted or humans that they are to ravage, soon-to-be victims of a plague that cannot be cured or forgotten.

Dangerous thoughts like these are what make the difference between a good soldier and an immovable hunter. If there is doubt or a shadow of sympathy when facing these beasts, you may very well find your head removed from your body, and then, shortly after, consumed in its entirety.

(Yes...they feed on humans.)

Blood mars the surrounding trees and smothers the leaves, painting them an ugly copper. Where the dirt turns black, Simeon knows a struggle took place. How valiantly his brothers and sisters must have fought, he thinks. And how unsavory a death they must have met.

With this in mind, he steels his resolve and focuses all his energy into the magic materializing in his hands, imbuing it into his sword. He’d perfected his techniques. Trained until they’d become an extension of him and his will.

“Why”, the creature says, “they didn’t tell me they were saving the best ‘til last.”

Simeon neither flinches at nor acknowledges its voice. A voice that would otherwise send humans fleeing, pushes him to carry on, to increase his speed and thrust forwards with accuracy.

“But I suppose I should’ve known. The ones before you were far too weak to stand against me.”

He lunges, twisting half-way when he’s met with a swipe of a giant arm and a lash of a bright-green tail. Green. The color of evil. Green. The color of sin.

“They never had a chance.”

“Quit your blithering, monster. I have no intentions of hearing you speak.”

The creature smiles. Though its features are ghastly and covered with remains, Simeon can make out the ends of its mouth and how they curl upwards.

“You’ll have to cut out my tongue then, hunter.”

With each instance that their magics meet, the world around them becomes all the more obsolete. The serene landscape is instead transformed into an arena, of which only the strongest contender will leave from unscathed.

Simeon has hunted many of these puppets in his time. Cutting their strings and burning their shells, he’d gotten used to the smell of them. Except their appearance is another matter entirely. This creature that stands before him is a testament to that.

Its scales shine in the sunlight, like jewels beneath clear waters. Its limbs are strong and impressive. Its horns, like the antlers of a magnificent stag, demand his attention. Disregarding the loathing he feels; the creature is almost beautiful.

Almost.

He creates some distance between them, reconfiguring his stance and propelling himself off the scarped face of a mound of rocks piled atop one another just so.

The creature is quick to respond and close in on him, running on all fours at him head-first, like a raging bull. Its strides are far and wide, causing Simeon to abandon future attempts at discouraging close combat.

There is a menacing, contained kind of anger that permeates from the creature. He senses it every time its magic brushes against him be it the patches of exposed skin or his armor. There’s a heat to it too. A hot measure of lethality that reminds him to be careful.

Demons are after all, tricky beings with a history of dabbling in the dark arts (necromancy was nothing to them). These are experienced fighters, unhinged and free to do as they please without their need for self-preservation or the need to maintain their dignity getting in the way.

The sheer force of their clash resounds, akin to a clap of thunder and the sparks that fly as its talons scrape against Simeon’s metal gives ode to the lightning that would normally accompany it.

When they part, following a further exchange of blows, Simeon is panting, and the creature seems excited by the notion.

“You are a creature of the dark. You take solace in the shadows, so you may attempt to flee from your sins but make no mistake, beast”, he hisses, jutting his chin out defiantly with a type of pride that the creature knew all too well, “I will have your head.”

The creature laughs and bares its fangs. Only…the hunter in front of him pictures how they’d glint on his neck, to serve both as a reminder and as a medal for his efforts.

Taking this monster down and fashioning his remains into something wearable? It was the least he could do for his companions who had sacrificed themselves and died fighting. Hell itself would have to freeze over before he’d admit defeat in any sense of the word so that their deaths would not have been in vain.

Suddenly, something splits in the air, the fractures dissipating in a myriad of pieces that could pass for shattered glass and Simeon is temporarily rendered immobile. His eyes widen, and he feels the creature within him. It was invading his mind.

Sentiments of nights spent practicing on his own and memories of harsh winters spent in front of crackling fires cause his shoulders to shake. There, amidst the confusion and horror, his friend’s cheerful visage startles him back into reality.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?”, the creature chides. “It’s dangerous to go looking for the dead.”

So, the creature knew his intentions. To find his friend and give him a proper burial. His friend, who was probably now disfigured beyond recognition, was waiting for Simeon to find him. He could feel it. His friend, the one who had been there to see him through the hardest times of his life, was calling to him.

“Silence”, Simeon spits, venom coating his demand as he hurtles daggers and magic alike at the looming silhouette shrouded in mist. Each one ricochets off of its hide, and he clenches his jaw. He wasn’t focusing hard enough.

“I’ll give you two seconds to prepare yourself”, it says.

The creature then comes to a standstill and Simeon feels the first inklings of dread. A sentence like that meant that he was either going to be met with a resistance he had no hopes of fathoming or it had a trump card up its sleeve – another nasty trick it could use to its advantage.

“One.”

Wind rustles the foliage above and carries his scent towards it. He tightens his grip on his trusty weapon and tilts his head to the side to crack his neck.

“Two.”

With inhuman speed, it leaps, first into the thickets, disappearing from view, then to his side, grabbing him by the scruff as he’s rendered helpless.

Simeon squirms, his sword doing little to better the situation, and he kicks at the creature’s torso. The dull sounds of his foot colliding with its build send a rush of panic through him. And then-

And then he is falling. And the creature is smiling, eyes narrowing in satisfaction as he looks down at the devastation tainting his features. The creature stands at the edge of the cliff, watching him descend into the abyss.

“What a shame”, it says. “You put up such a good fight, little hunter.”

As the creature turns his back, its ears twitch and it swivels around in disbelief. Was there a humming noise? A buzzing? A ringing in its ears?

It doesn’t have the chance to come to a conclusion. Simeon surges upwards from within the depths, colliding with its giant frame, and crushes it to the ground, with the same foot he’d used to kick it just moments before firmly planted on its chest.

“You…you have wings”, the creature whispers.

Simeon resists the urge to shiver. He hadn’t known he’d had them. He hadn’t known he was even capable of conjuring such things.

In its moment of weakness, he plunges his sword into its chest, watching the expression in its eyes change from bewilderment to indifference. Perhaps this was its way of dealing with death. Upon realizing that it too, like him, is capable of it, perhaps it resigned itself to its inevitable fate.

“What is your name, hunter?”, the creature rasps.

He hesitates. It is said that once a demon utters your name, you are forever cursed. And yet, with the outcome of the battle decided, he’s willing to take his chances.

“My name is Simeon.”

The creature nods once and sighs, as if vaguely fatigued.

“And what do they call you? Do your kind even have names?”

It snickers, and Simeon removes his sword, the severe movement causing it to stiffen and clutch at the fresh wound, talons covered in its own sanguineous substance. He feels no remorse or contrition at the pitiful sight, and he digs his sword in once more, eliciting a grunt. The creature assesses his hands – vigorous and seemly, and baring a ring too.

“Satan. That is my name.”

As the sun sets on the horizon and bathes the scenery in twilight, a shadow emerges from the edge of the forest close to the border. His clothes are ripped, and his blonde hair is covered in mud.

He stands, taking a deep breath in, and closes his eyes. When next he opens them, they glow a vibrant chartreuse – its yellow and green hues mixing together to create an uncanny image. The dust has settled and so has the blood running through his veins.

A body lies beneath his feet. Its uniform indicates that the man was once a solider. And as he turns him over, a familiar-looking ring falls out of the soldier’s pocket. He stoops down to pick it up and admires it in the low light.

Yes, those seemly hands and those crystalline irises that’d shown unwavering tenacity.

He will return. If only to cradle that hunter’s pretty little head in his hands.

#when i first considered this pair #this concept was FAR from what i thought i'd write them in #also that lrb was too perfect not to have come before #might have to edit this when i wake up omg #obey me au #obey me writing #obey me angst #obey me simeon #obey me! simeon #obey me satan #obey me! satan #satan x simeon

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theemptyskies · 4 years ago

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So I was sitting, trying to work on a bit of art, when my mind took a left turn and was like "How would you turn Katara evil?". So over the course of three hours I wrote this. It's intended to set the ground work for what the rest of the story would be should I decide to continue it. Any future chapters would be much more detailed as that's where the bulk of the story truly begins. TWs: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Execution Style Murder, References to Early Childhood Trauma. I think that's all of them.

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Blood's Calling

Absolute Power Corupts Absolutely. It was a foolish thought which had once caused Katara to swear never to bloodbend again. It was a memory she could recalled clearly, as if she was reliving the moment. She remembered sensing Hama's veins and arteries, flowing like rivers throughout her body. She remembers desperately grasping those rivers, ripping the will of thier controller away. Forcing the old master to submit to her. It was her first taste of power. True power.

She was no longer the weak child who watched as her mother resigned herself to death. She was no longer the young teen who froze in shock as a Fire Navy vessel slammed through her villages wall. She could use this. She could prevent other young children from being orphaned. She could...

That night the thought stopped there. It wasn't the power that scared her. No aspect of waterbending has ever scared her. What terrified Katara, was that she enjoyed it. She enjoyed forcing Hama to release her friends, saving thier lives. She loved the control, knowing she would never be helpless again. It felt wrong at the time, relishing in such a thing. Subjugation was what the Fire Nation was fighting for. So she swore never to use it again.

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That promise was not long lived. Storming the Southern Raider vessel was an opportunity she never believed could be a possibility. How could she possibly turn away the opportunity to bring her mother justice. To stop whatever future, monsterous actions these beasts were sure to commit.

Under the light of the full moon, her blue eyes, darker than the ocean's deepest abyss, bore into the ship as she flew closer. Calling out with her bending, nearly the entire crew was swept out to sea. Boarding the vessel, she made quick work of the few men left on the deck before storming inside, water trailing behind her. Katara had almost forgotten the former Fire Prince was with her until he stopped a solder attempting to enter through a door they were passing.

As the captains door was blasted open, she gave him no time to retaliate. His blood called to Katara, and she answered. The fire in his hands flickered out immediately as she turned his body against him. Images of her mother's body, charred unrecognizable. A smell of burnt flesh seared into her mind. As the memories assaulted her, Katara was left feeling one desire permeating her being. She would make him suffer.

She cramped his hand immediately before dragging him around, slamming the appendage into the floor. Katara smiled slightly, savoring in the power she now held over her mother's killer. She forced the captains arms behind his back, contorting the joints to near dislocation. His blood was singing to her, and unlike the first time, she was not afraid to grasp it.

Zuko's questioning of the man broke through her rage. Lifting him to look her in the eye, she knew within a moment that it wasn't him. As if being snapped from a trance, she realized what she had done, nearly torturing an man who'd never wronged her. Quickly releasing him, Katara heard the identity of her target as she walked away.

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She believed that was the last time she'd ever bloodbend. She was wrong. Since that day, the urge to bloodbend was stronger than before. Every full moon, she could sense the steady pulses of her sleeping friends, like faint whispers begging her take control. She chose not to of course. Katara couldn't imagine subjecting them to such a power again.

Time passed, the war finally ended, Zuko ascended to the throne. On the surface, the world was at peace, or so it seemed. Her epiphany came a few months after the wars end. It was a couple hours past sundown on the night of a full moon. Once again the desire to bloodbend filled her senses, withholding sleep from her grasp. Katara's recent appointment as ambassador to the Southern Watertribe brought her to Caldera, assisting in negotiating a trade agreement between thier Nations.

With sleep alluding her, she decided to walk through the the main city, hoping the cool night air would help clear her mind. Passing an alley, she heard an odd noise. Stepping into the darkness and turning a corner around the building revealed a sight that made Katara's blood boil. Backed into a corner by a man wielding a knife was a young woman, a small child was hugging the back of her pant leg, large innocent eyes reflecting fear. Looking at the child, her mind flashed to another little girl, standing in an igloo, not knowing that was the last time she'd hear her mother's voice.

Katara wouldn't let that happen again. Grasping the man's blood, she lifted him into the air, sending him crashing against the wall.

"Take the girl and go." Katara's voice lacked the passion that it typically carried. Instead, a cold voice, sharper than any blade of ice came from her.

She didn't give the man a chance to rise as she seized him again. Katara brought him to his knees, arms bent behind his back, forcing him to look up at her. Drawing water from her pouch with her off hand, a large icicle hovered in the air.

"Please..." His voice quivered with fear. The same fear that was in the child's eyes mere moments ago. She directed a dark glare at the man.

"How many have begged you the same way your begging me..." It was a whisper, however the words cut through the air like a knife. She didn't give the creature a chance to respond. With a swift motion, the icicle flew threw the air. A sickening thunk echoed in the alley, as the ice slammed into the monster's heart.

A crack of thunder preceded a downpour during her walk back to the palace. A sense of detatchment settled over Katara. Of course she considered it to be more of an awakening. Despite thier efforts, ending the war, negotiating treaties, writing laws, people were still suffering at the hands of monsters impersonating people. The legal system is slow and flawed. It let's too many slip through, allowing them to continue thier torment.

'I will never, EVER, turn my back on people who need me!'

The memory echoed through her being. An oath she swore, resonating from the core of her being. The legal system failed repeatedly but she would not. Katara had power. The idea of what true power was is something Katara never understood until now. The ability to take dreams, desires, and force them into reality. She could change things. Bring justice to people who've suffered and protect children from the horrors that still plagued the world.

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A year passed and one thing became evident. Katara needed to get stronger. She'd made strides in eliminating the beasts that stalked and preyed upon the innocent. But it wasn't enough. There were too many for her to only take action once a month. Traditional waterbending was too loud to use against them. If she was caught, her friends wouldn't understand. She needed to do this, to protect the people. She needed bloodbending.

The training started much how Hama had described inventing the bending form. She started with small animals, which she mastered rather quickly unsurprisingly. The larger ones, like the tiger seals, proved to be a much bigger challenge, one she eventually completed. The lack of the moon's light was a difficult obstacle to overcome Yet as she stood before the kneeling moose lion, whining in pain as it failed to break from her will, she knew she was ready.

The next year was far more successful. With the growing population in her own tribe, Katara had to make sure the vermin were weeded out as soon as possible. Patrolling every night she was home allowed her to remove sixteen threats to her people. She found another twelve during her trip to the Northern Tribe, where she helped negotiate an alliance with them. The corruption there ran deep. Extra effort would be made during her next trip.

The Earth Kingdom is by far where Katara made the greatest impact. Twenty three criminals were slew in Omashu, another thirty one during her month long stay in Ba Sing Se and fifteen bandits who tried to ambush her during her travel between the major cities. It was an interesting observation, how quickly the eyes on these creatures shifted from arrogance to fear once they no longer held the power. Not unlike the one in the alley that first night. So many of those beasts have been removed by her, and she knows she protected countless people in the process. Katara knew she was doing the right thing, hearing children playing outside only reaffirmed her resolve.

Katara had only been back home for a few days when Aang landed at her village center. Running out of her igloo to greet him, she hesitated at his serious expression.

"Aang, it's good to see you."

"You too, Katara. I wish it was under better circumstances though." Katara tensed at his words as Sokka exited thier igloo behind her.

"Hey Aang. What's up?"

"Zuko needs our help. There's a group of rebels in the Fire Nation. According to his letter, they call themselves the New Ozai Society. They want to dethrone him and restart the war." Aang said. Katara didn't give any outward reaction to his statement. She hadn't been to the Fire Nation since that first night in the alley.

"We'll help. Come on Sokka." Katara immediately cut in as he finished speaking. Turning, she headed back inside the igloo, lost in thought as she began packing. Her neglect of the Nation was clear. How could she allow those scum to coalesce into such a threat. She would make up for it during this trip. She needed a way to learn who all was involved and where they met. Someone who could get inside thier ranks. Who wouldn't report her own involvement to Zuko or her friends. Her thoughts led her to one person who would be accepted by them with no problem. She wasn't happy about it, but it couldn't be helped. At the very least the visit would be interesting. After all, with all of Katara's travels, she had yet to see the inside of an asylum.

"Appa, Yip, Yip!" Aang called, begining thier journey across the sea.

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So, as you can see, the route I would take to make Katara a bad guy would be to take a core aspect of her character (in this case "I will never, EVER, turn my back in people who need me." Still one of my fav moments for her character btw.) And twist it into something dark. I took the helplessness surrounding her mother's death to foster a craving for control within her which connected to bloodbending. I tried to depict a steady dehumanization of criminals in her eyes through the time skips. I felt really awkward writing dialogue but hopefully you all enjoyed my take on a Darker Katara :)

#dark katara #katara #princess azula #bloodbending #death tw #murder tw #atla fanfic #avatar au #avatar fanfiction

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arminty7 · 4 years ago

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𝘚𝘸𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘦

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Mermaid!Jungkook x Reader [Part 2]

Trapped in this life of expensive wine and judgemental eyes Y/N met an unusual lady who offered her a job at an aquarium a few towns away. Despite being hesitant and uncertain for the future she decided to take the offer as it was her only way out, not knowing that many dangers might come her way.

Jungkook swam his way through the small tunnel in wonder. He didn’t realise what he was ‘walking’ into as he took the entire night to explore a tunnel. He thought it might lead to you, how naive. It is only when he heard the piercing sound of drilling from the small tunnel entrance did he know what was happening, he was trapped. With that, his instincts took over.

Chapter: #2 Swimming in Wine

Words: 4181

Warnings: Mild Swearing // Fluff // Eventual Smut? Idk maybe depends // Jungkook obsessive // Evil Namjoon (im sorry guys) // It might be a little messed up.

AN - So I know I havent updated in a very LONG time but I am now updating regularly. I have changed the pov and increased my writing ability.

This work shall not be copied, reproduced, translated and/or modified in any way without my permission. In a case where this might happen, legal action will be taken as it would be a criminal act under the law and breaching these terms. Upon reading my work you are acknowledging that this work is mine and that you know the consequences if this work is copied, reproduced, translated and/or modified in any way without my permission.

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You awoke abruptly as a slam of the car door next to you made you nearly jump from your seat. You sat up and looked around as Julie stepped out of the car onto the wet road. Your head feeling cloudy as you noticed you were parked in a parking lot next to a tall building in the middle of the bustling city. Your eyes then followed Julie who walked across the road towards a small bakery. You could smell the food from here as your stomach grumbled loudly. You closed your eyes again, hearing the cars go past as their tires hit the puddles on the ground. The distant honk of horns and the bus going past made you feel somewhat tranquil, wanting to stay like that forever. You were ready to go back to sleep before the sound of the car door opening made your eyes open again.

"Oh, so you're finally awake?" Julie looks towards you with a smile on her face as she ducks her head under the car roof and gets in. She closes the door firmly beside her, with a bag of pastries in her hand.

"Uh yeah I guess. How long was I asleep for?" You don't even look in her direction as you rub your eyes, feeling sleep try to invite you in once more.

"No more than a few hours, although we are just about there. We are staying at my place for a while. Just out of the city in Taelin Shore" (I made it up with the idea of "Tail", it's not a ship name). She looked at you, shaking the bag of pastries in her hand that you didn't even notice till now.

"So when do I start work?" You look at the pastries and then back at her, wanting to focus on what's important. She places the pastries on the backseat and starts the engine, before driving out of the parking lot.

"Well, you will have an orientation on Monday at the aquarium which starts at 9 am till 2 pm. It's only small but I think it's just for showing you the ropes and letting you explore the building." She continues to drive out of the city down the coast, heading for Taelin Shore.

"Wait Monday? That's only three days away. They didn't even give me an interview yet" It seemed unreal at the most, how could they have that much faith in you?

"They don't need an interview. I told you, I know the owner. He trusts my word more than anyone." She smiles, the brown locks of her hair tied back into a messy bun, something you never thought she would wear. At the dinner party, she seemed so elegantly dressed like the other woman there. It was weird to see her in casual clothes and indulging in sweet pastries.

You look at her once more in disbelief, feeling hesitant about this situation. "I barely know you. I heard that you knew my mother but forgive me if that in itself makes me even more concerned". She chuckles slightly, gripping the wheel tightly as she turns another corner. "You might barely know me, but I was around ever since you were born. I just want to help you. I love your mother, but she puts too much pressure on you."

You sighed as you looked out the window realising you reached the coast of Taelin. It seemed beautiful and serene as you drove through the town, going past, looking at the view of the ocean. You were excited but nervous. What if you don't like it here? What if it is the same as back home? A place that kills every good part of you, forcing you to feel paranoid about everyone you meet? You didn't want to be near that. You wanted to be free.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the car going up the hill on a small dirt path and parking next to a small beach house that was facing the ocean. "We're here, how do you like it? Nice view huh?" Julie smiles in awe as she exits the car, slamming the car door behind her. You do the same as you both look out towards the view of the vast ocean and the mountains that surround the small town.

Julie points down towards the pier urging you to look over to see a massive building next to the docks. "That's where you will be working in the next couple of days." She smiles, "don't worry, everyone's friendly. It's different here".

You look over at her in doubt, "What about you? How do I know you're different than the rest of them back at home?".

She chuckles before turning back towards you, "I got you out, didn't I?" she pats your shoulder before heading inside. She leaves you with your thoughts.

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[6:43 am]

It was early in the morning, the light from the sun started to shine in your room as you soon noticed that you - again - forgot to close the curtains. Although awake, instead of you getting up to close them, you laid there for a while. The sound of the waves crashing was distant, but you could almost feel the pressure and the weight of the water crashing onto the rocks. You imagined what it would be like to be that rock, every day having to go through the same cycle. Every morning the tide would try and crash down and attempting to break through on the rocks until it is time for the water to come back in. The water could never break the rocks, perhaps that was even more torture.

You sighed, not even understanding your own thoughts sometimes. You groan as you get up from the warm and comforting bed, heading towards the shower. You undressed and turned the shower on, watching the steam build-up in the room, covering the mirror. You preferred hot showers.

After your shower, you left to walk along the beach. Upon stepping outside the two-story house, you feel a gush of wind. The cold pierces your body as the wind flutters through your clothes. You walk down the steps of the patio and walk over to the edge of the cliff, looking down at the water that once again crashes through the rocks violently.

You weren't afraid of the ocean and had spent your whole life in the water. Although, something didn't feel right here. You watched the water down below. I looked peaceful yet restless. With every second it became more violent, the clouds grew dark quickly, and you noticed a drop of water fall onto your forehead. You sighed and looked back down the cliff before seeing a small splash in the water and something with a scaly body. But it was nothing like what you had seen at the aquarium. You felt yourself getting dizzy and started to wonder when the last time you had eaten something. You cursed under your breath for rejecting those pastries Julie got yesterday. You stumbled, backwards and forwards as your vision started to spin. The dark cloud's now covering the sky completely. You had tried to balance yourself, but you had ended up stepping forward to much, descending over the cliff and crashing down into the ocean. Your vision went black.

The water was cold, too cold. You felt the cold sinking into your skin, grasping onto your bones, coating them in ice. You didn't bother to open your eyes as you felt yourself crashing in and out of the water. You could hear the waves and thunder as you reach the surface, before getting pulled under again. Suddenly strong arms wrapped around you from behind. Your toes and the back of your thighs could feel the slimy tail that was swaying beneath the surface. You tried to look over at what has a hold of you. Although it was strong, and you could barely move your body. You could feel its cold hands enveloping around your chest and your waist as your body swayed in the current. You could feel its hot breath on your neck whispering things in your ear before you passed out from exhaustion.

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[Two days later]

Monday - 8:45 am

The morning was quick, slipping your shoes on as you try to make your way down the stairs of the beach house into the lounge room. You couldn't stop thinking about that day. The day where you

woke up on the beach and Julie insisted on calling the doctor even though you assured her everything was fine. It was surprising, to say the least, that you didn't even get hurt. There were tons of rocks as the current was nearly ripping you apart. That was before that thing showed up. It felt like death was surrounding you. Ironic really that it may have saved your life.

"Hurry up Y/N, I told them you'd be there by 9. You're lucky we don't live far away from the Aquarium". Julie watches you run around the house as you find your bag and keys. You ignore her comments as you rush out the door towards the car, opening the passenger side and getting in.

"Why don't you let me drive?" You groan, looking at your watch. She gets in beside you and starts the car. "Because dear Y/N, you’re impulsive and from what I heard, it took you seven times before you passed your driving test and you haven't driven since." You roll your eyes as she drives down the dirt road and onto the main road.

You look out towards the ocean, seeing the waves crash onto the rocks on the mountains, slamming on the rocks violently. Your mind wandered for a bit. You could almost feel the hot breath against your neck again, ice-cold arms wrapping around your body. The memory of that strange creature is still vivid in your mind. You didn't tell Julie, of course. She'd probably think you're crazy.

Your eyes wander towards the open sea, seeing the birds glide over the water, how free they looked. The thought of being free sounded appealing, oh how you wanted to be one of those birds, flying across the water, without a care in the world.

But even you knew that in reality, those birds still needed to fight to survive, even they sometimes had to turn against each other.

You sighed, looking towards the road as you see small fish and bakery shops already opened and full of locals. A few minutes passed as the car turned into a car park. "We're here." Julie parked the car.

"You're not coming in with me?" You looked at her pouting a little as she chuckles "Do you want me to?" Your eyebrows furrowed, quickly grab your bag and open the door.

"No" You quickly answer and slam the door, feeling as though she was mocking you a little because you didn't want to do it alone.

"You don't need her Y/N" You tell yourself. "She's just like the rest of them. Just take advantage of the situation until your good on your own. Then let her go. She's just using you"

You make your way towards the entrance, going past the two waterfalls with statues of dolphins spitting out water. The glass doors opened as you enter, and you look at your watch, it was 8:57.

You walk in following the tunnel entrance towards the reception although you couldn't help but wonder where everyone was. Wasn't it opening today? Were you mistaken? You continue towards the reception, seeing a young handsome looking man in a suit typing away on his computer. You clear your throat and the man looks over at you.

"Oh, my apologies miss. We are not open today due to a technical issue, but we will be opening tomorrow at 7 am. Do you wish to make a booking early?" The handsome man looks over at you, his broad shoulders prominent. You glanced over at his name tag labelled "Kim Seokjin".

"Uhh, no thank you. My name is Y/N, Y/N L/N. I'm here for my induction." Your words came out less confident than you would have liked as you looked down at the floor.

"Y/N!?" You flinched, hearing your name being called. You looked over as another man in a black suit walked towards you. He was tall and had blonde hair, slicked back and styled. He held out a hand to you, "Hello, my name is Kim Namjoon. Julie told me so much about you." He smiled at you, displaying his two dimples on each side of his face. Just like the receptionist, his visuals were prominent.

You shook his hand, blinking a few times before realising, "You're... my boss??" you stammered out, his firm strong hands wrapped around your tiny ones. You have to admit, he was well built and his smile was to die for. He chuckled, letting your hand go before directing you past the reception and into the food court of the aquarium. You look back towards the reception, wanting to say goodbye to the receptionist but it was too late as Namjoon led you down the hall.

As the two of you entered the food court, the room was wide, and it looked like a massive underground restaurant with fish tanks surrounding it. You have never seen anything like it.

"So, Y/N, as you might have guessed this place is quite empty at the moment, just a small a technical issue but it hopefully will be fixed in a few days" Namjoon leads you across the room letting you take a look at everything. You suppose that this is going to be your tour.

"Ah yes, so I've heard" Namjoon smiles while continue walking as you went past an enormous tank that looked like it connected with the other tanks. You glanced at his attire, classic black suit and tie with a white shirt underneath.

Namjoon had stopped and glanced around the room. "This is the food court, although most of the time when you are working you won't be needed here." It just had occurred to you that you didn't even know what position you'd be in. All you knew was that it was a job away from your mother and paid quite a lot of money. Julie was right, you are impulsive.

"So, what am I going to be doing here?" You look over at him as he continues to walk, heading towards another room with a big smile on his face, showing his dimples.

"Well, Y/N-"

"Namjoon! There you are, we have a situation..." A man with a white coat entered the room. He had a concerned look about him but as soon as he saw you it changed into a big smile and you couldn't help but want to smile back at him.

"Hello! My name is Jung Hoseok. You must be the new girl that will be working for us?" You looked at him and couldn't help but feel special as he gave you all his attention. Namjoon looked over at you while you smiled back at Hoseok, you dont know why but you just felt so comfortable around him.

"Ah yes... I guess everyone knows about me, huh" you shyly answered, suddenly finding the urge to fiddle with your earring. It was a nervous habit. "My name is Y/N L/N. It's nice to meet you" Hoseok smiled again before Namjoon cleared his throat, regaining our attention.

"Hoseok... Did you want to speak in private?" Hoseok's smile immediately dropped and he looked at Namjoon with a more serious expression.

"Yes, of course, Regarding our technical problem, there is some important information you need to know." Namjoon nods his head and looks over at you. "Excuse me, Miss L/N".

You watched them walk out of the food court. You wondered what the technical problem was. Even the receptionist was vague about it. You sighed and took a seat at the cafe. You sat there staring at a fish in a tank. The food court was big and round. The walls surrounding it was just glass tanks, with one in the middle of the circular room, acting as a pillar. You sat in your seat quietly, your mind started to wander back to those callous hands that feel like they never left your body. You felt an ice chill, it petrified you. It felt like you were marked by death.

You heard Namjoon and Hoseok walk in as you quickly stood up and pushed your chair in neatly. "Everything all sorted?" You press your lips together, trying to get that thing off your mind.

Namjoon looks at you curiously before frowning, 'I'm truly sorry, I don't think I can proceed with this tour. Something very important has come up". You nod, understandingly.

"No, No, I understand. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure I can navigate my way around the place." You take a glance around.

This place is way too big...

Namjoon looked over at you. "That won't be necessary, I have organised one of the staff members to come and give you a tour, you will be a trainer just like him. He will be mentoring you. His name is-"

"Hello Y/N". His voice was sweet. Angelic, but not innocent. A sultry like voice that sounded like a whisper of temptation. You looked over your shoulder to see an elegant looking man with light brown locks walking over to you. His style was neat as he had black-skinny jeans and a white t-shirt, following by a Chanel bag. "My name is Park Jimin," the man said.

Damn the wage must be crazy then huh...

Namjoon sighed and looked at the floor, that was the second time he had gotten interrupted. Namjoon looked over at Jimin and then at you, before stating "This is your mentor".

Jimin looks over at you cocking his head as he smiled at you. "Come on, let me show you the place! Oh yeah, and you can meet Tae! He'd love to meet you." He grabbed your hand, locking your fingers with his as he dragged you out of the food court. "Goodbye Hoseok and Namjoon! Nice meeting you!"

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You sat there next to the water on the platform that stretches over the dolphin's tank. Jimin had taught you how to feed them and the different signals you can do with your hands. When you first saw Jimin, he seemed to like this neat good-looking guy that wouldn't work at a place like this. But here, now looking at him as he is feeding the dolphins with the biggest smile on his face, his hair fluffy and eyes glued to the water, he looked like he belonged.

"Jimin-ah!" you heard someone shout. Jimin stood up quickly and ran off the platform onto the concrete towards a tall looking man, well at least taller than Jimin. "Taehyung-ah! You are 3 hours late! You know you can't always get me to cover for you. You are lucky Y/N was there when I ran into Namjoon today, he for sure would have asked me about you. You know I can't lie to him!" Jimin and Taehyung walked back on the platform and you could finally see Taehyung features.

"Hi, my name is Kim Taehyung. Nice to meet you" he bowed and smiled. His voice was low, that was the first thing you noticed about him. The second thing was his fluffy black hair and you suspected that he recently had a perm. He was soft in every way except he had this dominating presence that could be seen through his eyes. He smiled at you, his box smile making you smile.

"Hello! My name is Y/N. Quite late, are you?" You smiled, and he chuckled. "I swear this doesn't always happen." Jimin scoffed and you tried to hold in your laughter.

"Oh yeah, did you show her around yet?" Taehyung came and sat down on the platform. We joined him, watching the dolphins. Jimin looked over at you "Well we did look around a little, but we haven't been to all the off-limit areas yet".

This intrigued you, "Ooh, now I’m excited. " You spoke with enthusiasm and Taehyung and Jimin smirked at one another. Jimin looked your way "Okay so we can’t get caught there though, it's off-limits to everyone besides Namjoon and Hoseok."

You nodded, curious to see what those "off-limit areas" are. Taehyung sighed, "I don't get why it's off-limits. Those poor fishes all alone... No one to talk too..." Taehyung pretends to cry and puts his hands over his face before taking them off and smirking. You were confused about his comment.

You look over at Taehyung. He was a character that's for sure. He seemed more carefree than Jimin. Perhaps he didn't like his job as much as Jimin liked it? You weren't one to judge though. You did, in fact, move away from home with barely any knowledge where you're going or if Julie was trustful. You were pretty carefree yourself. But thats because you feel like you have nothing to lose.

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"Come on! Come on! Hurry up Tae." Jimin whispered loudly.

Taehyung was dawdling behind as you and Jimin were making your way downstairs in the back area of the aquarium. Towards one of the rooms that were "off-limits". Jimin and Taehyung said they have been working here for years and they have a special key for one of the rooms down here. Apparently it came from the bartender that worked in the food court. Jimin said that the bartender had found it while cleaning and decided to keep it.

"Ah yes, the bartender... watch out for that one" Taehyung chuckled as you guys went through the door using the key. "What do you mean?" you answered, watching Jimin use the key on the door.

"Don't scare her Taehyung! It's her first day, I'm sure he will like her." Jimin sighed but smirked slightly as he opened the doors. As you walked inside you noticed the walls looked like they were made out of stone with little windows that revealed the ocean. There was a long hallway, the ground was made out of sand and as you went down the pathway you could see a moonpool of some sort that had fish in it.

"My little fishes! How have you been?" Taehyung yells out and Jimin shushes him.

"I can't believe this is down here," You say, getting closer the glowing moonpool. Taehyung walks past you, "well no one comes down here anymore. As we said, we have the key. No one has been in, so we figured we are the only ones who have a key to the place."

“But, like how is it here? Under the aquarium?” You wondered, sitting down next to the moonpool.

“Its connected to the mountains. The aquarium is on the shore but the back of it is connected to the mountains that surround Taelin Shore and this just so happens to be here.” Jimin states, looking around it awe.

Jimin smiled and looked over at Taehyung, "Its our little hideout but now I feel like it should be Y/N's..." Jimin smiled as he spoke, visably excited and leaned onto Taehyung. You suppose they have been friends since their childhood. You could have sensed it on them.

You gave Jimin a confused expression he looked over at you and handed you the key, "here". You looked at him and stood back. "Wait what? Why are you giving me that? isn't it yours?". Jimin shrugs and puts it in your other hand. "I was once new here as well. I know how it feels, sometimes you just want some peace and quiet." Taehyung then chips in, "It may not seem like it now but when it gets busy, it can be stressful. Besides, we haven't been in here for a while, we don't have any use for it.

You smiled, you did need this. With Julie at home and these two at work, you knew you're going to have your hands full. Just the other day, you wanted time alone... By the end of it, you fell off a cliff and nearly drowned. Perhaps this could be a place for you to be alone. Everyone needed a hideout, right?

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It was the end of the day and Jimin and Taehyung were finished giving you their tour. You were surprised that you felt so comfortable around them. Julie was right, the people here are different.

You stood outside of the Aquarium hugging and saying goodbye to both Jimin and Taehyung as they walked towards their cars to go home. You weren't planning to stay for this long, truth is your orientation ended hours ago. You just wanted to spend more time with them.

You walked over to the pillar at the steps, waiting for Julie to come to pick you up. You sat down on the steps quietly before hearing someone raise their voice as they were heading up the steps. You hid behind the pillar, sittiing there silently. Thankfully, they didn't see you.

You heard Hoseok's voice "You don't understand! We got him! We got him, you hear me? This is a breakthrough of the century! Do you know what we could do now that we have him? The possibilities are endless. This creature is-"

You heard someone interrupt. It sounded like Namjoon, "This creature is the only thing we have going for us right now so would you be so kind to stay quiet! I know you're excited, but we can't let anyone know about this, he's dangerous."

They both went inside. Leaving you to your thoughts.

Honk Honk

"Come on Y/N, It's late!" Julie yelled out from the car. You got up and grabbed your bag before running over to the car.

"I'm coming!"

Tags - @mjlock

AN: Tell me if you like it!

- Minty ⚘

#bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #mermaid jungkook #siren jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts images #bts scenarios #masterlist #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #bts x reader #sirens #mermaid

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Darkest Of Nights

Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How to Get Away With Murder)

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Vomiting, Swearing, Spoilers for Season 1 of How To Get Away With Murder

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship

Summary: On the night of Sam’s murder, it’s safe to say everyone is traumatized, looking for comfort and solace. However, one of them gets the complete opposite: Michaela is only offered more pain and trauma, bringing her to the brink of insanity.

Requested by 🐢 Anon, but also meant as a birthday present for an Anon who recently reached out to me. Happy birthday dear Anon! Hope you have the best one yet! Here’s the fic you requested - I hope it lives up to your expectations! It’s been such an honor to be the person to write you a birthday present and I can only hope I’ve done my job well! Love, Vy ❤

She’s still in utter shock and disbelief. She’s shaking like a leaf as she navigates the roads back to her apartment. It pains her that she’ll have to pass by the Keating house again tonight, knowing what happened there just hours ago. She squeezes the jacket tighter around herself, glad to not see any familiar - or rather any faces at all. The bonfire has gathered every college student, graduate and fan of the sport around itself, giving the streets an emptiness Michaela hasn’t seen before.

Michaela Pratt has always liked planning out her life, having her future laid out in front of her always at her disposal for changing and modifying. She’s always seen herself a successful, envied lawyer in the future, someone other lawyers fear and all wrong-doers want. Because who doesn’t want freedom? She’d pride herself on being the one to bring them that freedom. She’d pride herself on owning a title like Annalise’s - a bitch, a beast and a boss in the courtroom.

However, just like she had everything laid out in front of her eyes, she’s watching it all fall apart. Fall into that very bonfire her and her classmates went to take pictures at to own their alibis. To save themselves from possible suspicion. To paint the picture that they aren’t murderers.

That realization will never soften its blow to her chest and stomach. Every time she repeats the word ‘murderer’ in her mind, her heart skips a bit and her stomach turns, threatening to make her release everything in it onto the pavement she’s walking on. She feels disgusting and dirty, not only because of the ash and mud she has all over herself following the venture into the woods where they dismembered Sam’s body, but because she took part in it. She may have stood aside, crippled by shock, disbelief and disgust, but she’s now a part of it nonetheless.

With her heart and mind racing faster than she’s able to comprehend, she finds herself unable to turn that corner and get onto the street which the Keating house is on. She feels that if she sees that place she might just faint right there on the street and if that doesn’t raise a few questions, nothing will. Instinctively, she continues ahead, heading down the street that will inevitably lead her to where the mob of drunk or half-drunk people are surrounding a huge fire, celebrating something Michaela is less than disinterested in. She feels it’d make for an extra alibi in case the pictures they posted aren’t enough proof of their faux innocence.

Michaela squints her eyes at the brightness of the fire nearby, sensing both a cough and a sickening feeling climbing up her throat. There are reporter trucks everywhere, ones she sees as the perfect hiding barriers to prevent her from being seen by anyone in case that sickening feeling morphs into an urge to throw up. She quickens her pace, eager to find herself in the safe space between two of the reporter trucks and attempt to calm her heart that’s threatening to beat out of her chest. She’s still visible to anyone walking along the street, but as it was established earlier, the street’s vacant and it seems it’ll remain that way for a little longer so she feels almost invisible and tiny in comparison to the two truck that serve the purpose of her protectors in this very moment.

Placing a hand on the wall of the truck, she doubles over, preparing for the inevitable when she hears a whistle from somewhere close by. Or, more specifically, directly behind her.

“What a view baby!“ A drunken slur of a male voice follows that whistle, causing her to straighten up and turn on her heel as fast as possible. “Is that how women ask to get some nowadays?”

Her stomach’s now in knots and she can’t find her voice to say anything. She’s frozen with fear of the man’s silhouette that’s now approaching her. His features aren’t visible in the dark so even if she did know him - which she’s sure she doesn’t - she wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Not that it matters, recognizing him or not, this man’s intentions are more than clear and more than threatening.

“Silence means yes in my book, babe. So...why don’t we have some fun?“ Before she can even register his proximity, he’s grabbed her wrists and pushed her against one of the trucks. The disgusting fucker holds her wrists at either side of her head, firmly holding them there, ridding her of any chance of escape.

The events she’s had to go through have already weakened her enough but even with that put to the side she’s no match for this guy - he’s a lot stronger and bigger in size. He’s basically towering over her like a predator looming over its prey, toying with it before going in for the kill. And when he does, when she feels his lips on her neck, that’s the final straw.

The need to relieve her insides finally takes over and she starts gagging, causing the son of a bitch to pull away and let go of her. And then she throws up, all over him, earning her the perfect distraction that will buy her enough time to get the fuck out of there. Despite the shaking of her legs and her still-turning stomach, Michaela takes off running, feeling sweat drops forming and running down her forehead. She can hear the cursing of that gross fucker behind her, but luckily she doesn’t take notice of another pair of running footsteps, suggesting she isn’t being followed. Even with this knowledge, she doesn’t stop running. Her brain understands she’s somewhat safe but her heart is racing, her heartbeat echoing in her ears warning her that there’s danger all around. So, she keeps running until she’s less then two blocks away from her apartment complex.

Her adrenaline levels refuse to lower but her legs have basically turned into jelly and she can’t find it in her to even keep walking, let alone running. She collapses, a mess of tears, sobbing and fear on the sidewalk. It’s too much. All too much and all too soon and all out of nowhere. She feels violated, vulnerable, unsafe. She feels both fragile and like she’s already been broken into shards. She feels alone and worst part is, she feels like she deserves it. She sees what happened between those two truck as a punishment for having participated in a murder and the gruesome disposal of a dead body.

Michaela Pratt always knew karma would catch up to her, she just never expected it’d be this cruel.

She got taught the hard way that in the darkest of nights, the most evil of demons attack.

* * *

Connor Walsh is known to be laid back and nonchalant to the point of irritative. However, right now, he’s anything but.

He’s anxious, he’s nervous, he’s still under shock and in mild panic mode. He’s restless, pacing the living room of the Keating home while running his hands through his hair, desperately trying to ignore and push away the memories of the events that took place in this very room less than twenty four hours ago.

“Where the hell is she?!!“ He takes a portion of his anger out on the wooden coffee table with a punch that will for sure bruise his knuckles. His eyes skim over the two other accomplices who have never looked so out of it: dead, bloodshot eyes carrying a thousand yard stare, neither of them reacting to his rage nor sharing it with him. “How the fuck are you so calm?! How can you just sit there and-!“

“Cause there’s nothing we can do!“ Wes suddenly snaps, “You heard Annalise - she called in, saying she wouldn’t be able to make it. So what, you want us to exhibit even more suspicious behavior by thrashing and yelling all over the place?“

“No, no, no. She had said she couldn’t make it because she had something to take care of. That ‘something’ could be reporting us, how do you not understand that?!“ Connor lashes out again, his fists only tightening this time, not finding a victim to take their hits.

“Michaela wouldn’t do that, she’s not stupid. It’ll immediately tie her to it too. She’ll go to jail like the rest of us.“ Laurel says, much calmer than the two men in the room though it probably has to do with the lack of energy due to the lack of sleep.

“You never know what’s going on in the brain of that selfish woman!“ He mutters, suddenly getting up and grabbing his phone. He storms out into the hallway, already dialing Michaela’s number.

With the device pressed tightly against his ear, the dial tone piercing his head like a screech straight from hell, he runs a frustrated hand over his pale as a sheet face, squeezing his eyes shut. The call eventually goes to voicemail, but that doesn’t stop Connor Walsh. He keeps trying, each attempt falling through, each call getting sent to voicemail after about five rings. Each time his anger boiling hotter.

“The hell do you want?! Can’t you catch a hint?!“ His seventh attempt is proven successful when a familiar female voices answers from the other line.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess. Am I bothering you? My most sincere apologies! I just wanted to know if you feel like ratting us out to the police, but if I’m calling at an inconvenient time, please forgive me.“ He sneers, his sanity restraints breaking one by one under the pressure of frustration, fear and the anxiety attack that’s been building in his chest all day today.

“Listen here, Walsh.“ Michaela hisses threateningly, though Conner doesn’t fail to pick up on the fact that there’s something off about her voice. He doesn’t dwell on that, too over-occupied with his worries of future jail time to care. “I’m not in the mood for your selfishness or for dealing with any of what happened last night so save your shit-talking for a more decent time. And as for the ratting part, I ain’t that kind of scum, though karma will catch up to each and every one of you. Just like...“ her voice suddenly cracks, the words sounding more like a sob than a threat, “Just like it caught up to me last night.“ That sentence is spoken through a cry, which is the last thing Connor was expecting to hear from the woman he deemed so high and mighty and so full of herself she can’t see the world around her nor how she’s affecting it with her selfish decisions.

That last sentence of hers is what the call ends on and what anchors itself in his head. Connor’s left standing in the hallway with a sickening feeling in his stomach that wasn’t there before and a little voice telling him that something is very wrong with Michaela. Her words were all her trademark, expected and explainable phrases but her tone, and that final statement were odd and far too out of place for him to just brush off. That last line she spoke felt like the most sincere and vulnerable thing she’s ever said to him. To anyone, really. There was no show, no tough act in those words. It was nothing but the confession of a broken girl who’s never felt like her life isn’t her own until now.

With that alarm ringing throughout his head and no good explanation, instead of turning and heading into the living room like he originally intended to, Connor storms out the front door of the home with fast and determined steps, heading for the destination he never thought he’d go to.

* * *

Having ordered food twenty minutes prior, Michaela doesn’t find the doorbell sounding throughout her apartment to be weird or unwelcome despite the fact it made her jump and shudder in her seat. With the comfort of the tiny pepper spray bottle in the back pocket of her jeans, she makes her way to the front door, resting one hand on the handle before pushing up on her toes to check through the peephole that the person she’s expecting is indeed the one who’s on the other side.

Her stomach drops and frustration rises through the roof when the peephole reveals the familiar, somewhat distressed face of Connor Walsh.

“GO AWAY!“ She yells turning and placing her back against the door, now not at all willing to open it.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on with you!“ She hears his voice coming from beyond the door, sounding strangely honest and deeply concerned.

“Why do you care anyway?! I already told you I won’t rat you out, you’ve got nothing to worry about!“ The lack of hostility in her voice seems to encourage Connor to speak a bit more freely.

“Come on, Shooting Star. Students who kill and dispose of bodies together share problems together.“ He says sarcastically but with true gentility behind his words.

That hint of honesty and a bit of harmless humor is what makes her slowly inch her hand toward the doorknob once again. After briefly hesitating, she pulls the door open, not at all bothered by the fact her rival is seeing her the most unpresentable she ever remembers being: hair a mess, homey clothes she can’t even recall the age of, no make-up, eye bags - the whole pack.

“Don’t like a Princess or a Shooting Star, do I?“ She attempts the same amount of humor he used but coming from her it sounds rather dead and flat, not that it’s not to be expected after everything she went through.

“You look like someone who has seen and been through some shit.“ He says truthfully, still standing in the hallway, unwilling to go inside until she gives him the green light for fear she might suddenly snap at him. “And I’m not only talking about what happened with Sam.“

Michaela’s eyes gloss over with tears immediately, mentally cursing herself for being so obvious. In order to avoid eye-contact, she steps aside to allow him inside.

“Thank you.“ He mutters as he makes his way past her and down the hall, arrogantly comfortable in the new surroundings.

By the time Michaela has started regretting her decision of letting him in, she realizes it’s already too late so she shuts and relocks the door before following after him in the living room where she finds him already situated in the armchair like it’s his 100th time visiting. Hell, like he owns the place.

She takes the seat on the couch closest to him, not bothering to offer him any hospitality in the form of drinks and snacks. Such offer feels ridiculous under these circumstances. Speaking of ridiculous, the circumstances themselves are ridiculous - her biggest rival, and now one of her partners in crime is chilling in her living room with a smug look on his face.

“Karma’s gonna catch up to me, huh?“ He suddenly speaks up, reminding her yet again of how bad of an idea inviting him in was. “Yours caught up to you, you say. Though to me it seems like it beat and battered you too.“

Michaela’s never been a crier. In fact, she’s guilty of silently judging people she’s witnessed crying, thinking of them as weak and spineless. But here she is, fighting back tears at the memories she’d much rather forget.

“It did, but it had the opposite effect. I’m glad we ridded this world of a piece of scum like him. One less man who feels entitled to everything. Who feel free to take anything he wants anytime.“ Her throat feels dry as her eyes fill with tears despite her best attempts at holding them back, “Take a girl’s virginity, take her dignity, her safety, her life, take everything away from her. And all that when she’s most vulnerable and scared and helpless and...“

Her words come to an abrupt halt when she finds Connor has repositioned himself and is now sitting next to her on the couch, has turned to face her and has placed a reluctant hand on her shoulder, “Michaela, what happened to you?”

That’s when she breaks down for the fifth time today. Since that breakdown on the sidewalk on her way home, she’s found it infinitely harder to hold her tears back, keep her emotions at bay. So, instead of easting her energy holding back, she’s been wasting it sobbing into the comforter she had wrapped around herself like a safety cocoon until Connor rang the doorbell.

Instinctively more than intentionally, Connor wraps his arm around her shoulders as she tries to get a few words out in-between sobs, “This guy....h-he t-tried to....” she can’t even finish the sentence without the entire scene playing out in front of her eyes, causing her stomach to tighten and her sobs to grow louder. “But, I-I got away in time. But Connor, what if I d-didn’t? Oh God, what would’ve happened to me if I didn’t?”

“It’s ok, you’re ok now. You’re safe.“ He murmurs, pulling her closer until her head’s resting on his shoulder, “You’re ok. And don’t you ever think of it as karma, you hear me? You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. That was in no way your fault or your punishment. That guy’s gonna meet his punishment if I ever lay my eyes on him though, that’s for sure.“

“I-I didn’t see his face, i-it was too dark.“ She manages to say through the subsided sobbing that has now reduced to crying with the occasional sniffle. “I just heard his voice.” Despite having calmed down, she surprisingly doesn’t feel the need to pull away from Connor, create some distance between them. She doesn’t even dwell on how out of character this is for the both of them, nor does she dwell on the slightly off-putting thought that she’s actually glad to have him by her side. To have someone comforting and reassuring her that what happened is not a result of her own bad actions. That thought haunted her all night, preventing her from even thinking about falling asleep.

“Well, if you ever recognize his voice anywhere, you know you have three experienced killers and dismemberers you can contact to, you know, do the job.“ He says comfortingly, his tone light but still serious.

She can’t help but scoff, “One kill and you’re suddenly hitmen?”

Connor chuckles, “When someone messes with one of our own, we sure as hell are.”

That sentence feels like a bandage on one of Michaela’s many invisible wounds. That one of our own line fills that hole her loneliness drilled into her last night on that sidewalk when she felt so lost and alone and broken. When she felt she had no one to turn to and no one to seek comfort in.

Among the many things she saw, heard and learned, the most valuable lesson these past twenty four hours have taught Michaela is that after the darkest of nights still comes morning. A bright morning, a new beginning and a helping hand with it. A helping hand, a safe embrace and comforting words. Bonus lesson is that one can never guess where, or rather from who those three elements will be given. These two are a crystal clear example: never did Michaela think she’d find a helping hand, safe embrace and comforting words coming from Connor Walsh. But here they are.

It may be odd and it may be temporary, but she’s not complaining, he doesn’t appear to be doing so either.

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onthemeander · 4 years ago

Text

ACOTAR Review

I have to start off by just mentioning that this book was heavily suggested to me. I only ever heard praise of the plot, characters, and the romantic message at its core. I feel this needs to be brought up because it was the fuel for the utter frustration I felt while reading this book. A frustration at my core that drove me to write my first ever review, so thanks for that.

Let’s start with the Pros of this book.

It is an easy read. I can inhale 300 pages in only two days. It is a good relaxing read if that’s what you are looking for. The kind of book you can curl up with on a rainy Sunday and just pass the free time if you're burned out on binging Netflix.

Okay, that’s it for the Pros. Now onto the Cons.

This book, a loose reimagining of Beauty and the Beast, feels like it has been written by a 50 shades of grey fan who hates Disney princess movies because the princesses are not “tough” enough. This novel comes off as the edgy version of a fantasy world that wants to include all the dark sides of life but doesn’t want to address the life long lasting implications of those dark actions. I am looking at you Ryhsand. Oh and I will go in on him later but first let's talk about our heroine.

Feyre is a young girl whose family has fallen onto hard times and it is her single minded goal to keep them all alive. They live hand to mouth, off the game she manages to hunt in a rather inhospitable forest. One day while trying to kill a Doe she sees a massive wolf and decides to kill it as well, as it was making eyes at her doe and a girl is hungry.

She kills the massive creature and takes both animals home to skin and prepare for meals. The money and food ensuring that her family won’t starve for at least a few weeks if they ration properly. Days later another more terrifying monster comes to her cottage, a Fairy in beast form by the name of Tamlin, who says she killed his friend. Now, because she killed a fairy, she can either die or come live with him for the rest of her life. She takes the later… obviously.

Feyre is a fine enough protagonist, bland enough that you can imagine yourself in her position and fantasize about having two hot men chasing you. In my younger years, I would have happily daydreamed about being in her world, surrounded by magic but being personally skilled enough to not need the aid of magic.

A pet peeve, a totally personal bias, is that to her everything is just the worst. Her Sisters are awful, her dad useless, the cottage disgusting, hunting she hates it, the fairies vile, the Spring Court a prison, and so on. The issue isn’t so much that she has a negative mindset, that is human and that can make for an interesting shade of protagonist but in this novel, it is so one-note. Everything is described with the same level of disdain. Which makes moments where she talks about having to protect her family or Tamlin honestly confusing because with how little she seems to like them the reader is left wondering why? Because of a promise she made? To a mom she hates?

Listening, family relationships are complicated. The best line I’ve heard about a relationship similar to Feyre’s, comes from the movie Ladybird, where the titular character tells her mother “I know you love me but I don’t think you like me.” Maybe it’s the fact it’s a movie and the way it is said but it is hurt there. There is a pain in the girl’s voice that her mother and she are at odds.

Feyre at no point talks about the personal pain that comes from being so distant from her family. She just resents them. Even a short moment of remembering the better days, little memories of when her and Nestia playing together as kids or Elane showed her something in the garden. Something that shows that there is, even for the briefest moment love in these relationships.

Without those moments, Feyre’s flip-flopping between going home and staying at the Spring Court feels more like padding to extend a book that saved all of the interest for the last 3rd.My bigger issue with Feyre is she doesn’t seem to really think so much as exist and react in the world. For a series that many have commended for being about feminist agency, Feyre lacks more agency than a rock in a river. At least then the water has to move around the rock.

A story based around Beauty and Beast is always going to bring into question the nature of female agency. This French fairy tale was written in 1740, in a women's magazine, meant to help teach girls about their ultimate futures. In a society where women were the property of fathers and husbands. It urged girls to look at their “beastlike” husbands and try to find the good in them. To become okay with the fact that who they marry might treat them terribly but means well… maybe this book is a perfect adaption of that idea, but I digress.

Feyre is whisked away to this magical world and through her, we learn about the fairy world. A world of violence, court games, and so much sexual assault.

While in the spring court she is tricked by a mirage of her father, nearly eaten by Naga’s, threatened multiple times by basically everyone, sees a fairy die from its wings being ripped off, finds a severed head in the garden, and so on. Whenever she expresses confusion on what is happening there is always a Fairy there to monologue away the day with detailed pages long exposition.

She readily accepts any explanation of the fairy world a man, in particular, tells her. Its exposition for the readers but for a girl who has grown up in a world that believes fairies are violent and enslave humans she is so quick to accept everything they tell her. She doesn’t stop and questions intentions and if she does wonder about the intentions of a character she usually ends on the side of being favorable to them, l especially if they are attractive.

It's clear that Feyre isn’t there to be a character but a vehicle, an avatar for the reader to travel from point A to B. She never reacts to things in a way that a person of this world with such polarized groups would react to being forced to live in the enemy camp.

Then there is Tamlin. He is fine. Your standard brutish romantic interest that is cursed to be ugly forever, by way of the phantom of the opera mask. He is demanding and haughty and thinks he knows better than everyone. Your standard High Lord ego makes for the verbal back and forth that toes the line between sexual tension and toxic relationships.

He does that standard bodice-ripping shtick, while hopping up on fairy dust, he pins Feyre to the wall and bites her neck. She says no, he ignores and then runs off. With a lovely little moment later blaming her for leaving her room, therefore, he can't be held responsible.

While Feyre has probably never listened to a single rule in her life that is still a huge red flag.

Lucien, an interesting play on the Beast’s servants. He is torn between wanting Feyre around to break the curse but also hating her for killing a friend. Honestly, I think this could have been the most interesting relationship if there was more time devoted to it. That happens a lot in this book, interesting things happen too fast and a lot of time is just devoted to Feyres’ water bowels.

Finally Ryhsand, oh dear Rhy, how I wish I could cut you from my mind just as easily as you pop other Fairies brains. Rhys is not a bad character but his introduction into the book is right when this 400+ novel went from bland but inoffensive to outright infuriating. He is the triple threat of assault; Mental, Physical and Sexual.

We first meet the Lord of the Night Court at the Fire Festival (or in honor of Maas naming conventions Fyre) where he saves Feyre from a trio of Fairies that wanted to assault her. A fine enough intro, maybe a bit overused, but I liked the Howl’s moving castle vibes with the playboy swagger and not knowing why this guy is helping at all.

I was excited at first when he showed up, I couldn’t help but get online and see what fans had to say about the books and instantly noticed that the top pairing from the series was Feyre and Rhys. Not just a fan-loved pairing but an actual canonical couple. I was interested to see how the story went and how the author would hint at this future couple while the current story was still very much pointing to a Tamlin happy ending.

Imagine my surprise when the very next scene that Rhys pops up in, ends with him physically pinning Feyre and mentally assaulting her. I believe she refers to it as a talon in her mind ready to rip her consciousness into oblivion. What a great love interest.

To add insult to literal injury, he then mentally violates her and reveals all of her more adult desires that she has been thinking about Tamlin.

He blackmails them all, threatening to tell an evil queen, Aramantha, about Feyre’s existence unless Tamlin kneels and begs. Even then he demands Feyre’s name. She lies and gives him a girl’s name from her village.

Later we learn that the village girl, Claire, has her family burned alive in their home and is dragged to the Fairy world where she is brutally tortured, mutilated, and put on display like a bear pelt. This cruelty is all the result of Rhys not keeping his fat mouth shut about Feyre being in Tamlin’s court.

The author thinks it's okay to excuse this innocents girl's murder away and make Rhys seeming cunning, by saying that he knew that wasn’t Feyre and lied to protect her. A logic so backward I am surprised my spine didn’t snap in how far it had to bend to dodge the fact that he caused her endangerment by telling Aramantha about Feyre to begin with.

Things get darker than the night court once we enter under the mountain. There, while trying to survive Aramatha’s trials, Feyre breaks her arm to the point that the bone is exposed. A day later, bleeding out, in pain, and feverish from infection, Feyre has to talk to Rhys in her cell. He offers to heal her arm in exchange for her living with him every month for two weeks.

Feyre is not interested in his deal and tells him to leave several times. What does our future perfect mate decide to do then when denied what he wants? He grabs Feyre by her exposed arm bone and twists. This man. This sexy dream boy that so many people say is their model for relationships, grabs an injured woman’s exposed bone and tortures her. Just so she will promise to live with him. He is the little boy kicking the dog because it didn’t follow his orders.

After being physically assaulted in a way that is so painful I am sure most people would black out, Feyre agrees to his deal. However, she bargains the time down to one month. He agrees and seals the deal. Just like that Rhys becomes the male embodiment of a period, complete with all the emotional distress, muscle cramps, and blood.

So does the torture end there? Oh no. For several nights after that he makes servants strip her, paint her and dress her in fabric so thin that she is basically naked. Why paint you ask? Rhys claims it is so she and he knows if anyone touches her. Though I will say that while he states this he touches her shoulder and the paint magically fixes itself. So You know it will show if anyone but Rhys touches her.

He then parades her publicly in front of the entire court like a toy. She is forced to publicly expose her breasts and genitals to a crowd of people that from day one want to see her die. He reduces her to a sex object in a crowd that already does not see her humanity.

Then he drugs her. Not an exaggeration, he even admits to it later in the book. He forces her to drink wine that makes her blackout. The next morning she can barely remember anything and has to rely on Lucien to tell her what happened. While blacked out she is forced to dance practically naked, giving Rhys lap dances and just sitting in his lap. She is exposed so throughout that Lucien even comments that he has seen more than he ever wanted to.

All of this culminated in a moment where one-night Feyre gets a moment with Tamlin, the man she loves, and they kiss and touch each other. The paint is smeared and Rhys finds them. He tells Tamlin to leave and then pins Fyre again calling her a stupid human. Then shoves his own tongue down her throat against her will as she thrashes. Aramantha finds them then and makes sure everyone in the court gets a good laugh at Feyre’s “promiscuity”.

The act is disgusting but what really made me want to burn this book was the scene directly after this. Where Rhys shows up and gives his “reasoning” for abusing her. He was just protecting her because Aramantah would be mad if she found Feyre and Tamlin kissing. He was using her nude dances to try and anger Tamlin so he would fight back when he can. He drugged Feyre so she wouldn’t have to remember the humiliation of being someone's harlot. He did all of it to help her and him.

It's okay that he abused her because it was all for a greater plan. It's okay cause he is hot.

This is the moment when I have to step away from the book review and talk about what I have seen surrounding this novel. I have heard several fans explain away Rhy’s abuse by saying “but it was in her best interest” and “that’s what war does'”. So, let's unpack that, first “in her best interest” is basically the catchphrase of every abusive partner at this point. There will always be a reason for the abuse, it’s a gaslighting tactic that ensures that abusers can deflect any blame from themselves and onto their victim. This creates complicated emotions that will paralysis the abused person from leaving the relationship altogether.

If you find yourself in a relationship where you are always rationalizing away mistreatment then please take a step back and question why there are so many excuses to begin with.

As for the but war does that. I would like these same people to say that while looking at photos of real war atrocities. To look at images from the Nanjing Massacre or the Wounded Knee Massacre and say the same thing. Those acts of violence against men, women, and children were done during the war. Does that make it okay then if the violence was done by an attractive soldier who was deep and brooding?

I have a tendency to write my own preferred scenarios which I know is kind of pointless for a published book but fix fit fiction is a thing so hear me out. Or don’t, that’s fine you can stop reading here as the review is over. I just have one simple idea that could fix a lot of my problems with this series.

Separate Rhysand into two separate characters.

Make the man she meets at the Fyre Festival and the guy who threatens her in the mansion and under the mountain just different guys.

You can keep the dark cunning mystery man of the Fyre Festival, maybe not even name him until he shows up again in the court to help. Have him come to her cell and offer his help. Have her say no and instead of grabbing her exposed arm bone he just says it’s the only help she will get. Hell Feyre talks herself into anyways after he grabs her bone so let's just skip that violence. Have her agree just as he is about to leave and give her the stupid arm tattoo and save her life. Then that’s it. He shows up at the end to help her but that’s it.

The man who meets her in the cell does not need to be the same man who forces her to do stripteases in front of hundreds of people. Make it Attar or some other male henchman of Aramantha who makes her do the dancing and drinking and everything else.

You still want him to be cunning and calculating? Maybe have a little bit of the grey morality that makes us all squirm? Great than keeping the scene with the forced kiss (not great but whatever). That is easier to overlook than drugging, sexual harassment, and assault. He can be forcibly kissing her to protect her and hell let's throw in an apology for fun.

Then you set up a situation where you have this dark and mysterious figure who we still don’t know why he helps her.

I know people say wait till book two and I do plan to read it. I got to see what excuse the author comes up with that seems to explain away so much abuse. What could she possibly say that makes me sit back and say “You know yes he pimped her out and yes he pulled on an exposed bone but you know what he just suuuuuuch a good guy.” If she is that good of an author then she should become a PR writer who makes spin articles for R. Kelly and Harvey Weinstein.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #feyre #book review #book reactions #I had to get this out of my system #random rant #maasverse #long post

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aclosetfan · 4 years ago

Note

hi so like

“i saw this and thought of you immediately”

if you want to for any ship HDHDHDHDHD

@over-under-through1 Okay, so, I gave ya greens last time, and you said ANY ship, so I decided to give my rare pair some love. And it’s just sweet pure brain rot. Anyway, as always, thanks for the prompt!!!

Prompt: “I saw this and thought of you immediately” from the prompt list of ways to say “I love you” without actually saying it 😊 that whole list makes me go soft. Pairing: brick/bubbles

Word count: 4696// this was supposed to be a drabble :)))))

Summary: I’ve got nothing witty to say. Bubbles just gives our boy a gift and he almost hemorrhages.

(Bubbles’ love language would totally be gift-giving based on how crafty she is, my love language is definitely NOT gift giving so I hope this isn’t horrible)

Brick licked chip crumbs from his fingers as he flipped through the tv. On the floor, next to the recliner he had deemed his for the afternoon, his journalism partner—one seemingly disgruntled Blossom Utonium—was busy organizing their project into five hundred million different tasks. She was dividing them evenly, and despite her warnings and threats, he had already resigned to do his two hundred and fifty million assigned mini-steps last minute like usual. It was the same song and dance they did for every project they were paired up for, which was incredibly often and, frankly, not by choice, though now, he supposed he'd be a bit insulted if she went and picked a new partner after everything they had been through together.

Investigative Journalism 302 was supposed to be another blowoff class he had decided to take solely for the credits. Still, when it became clear to the professor that Brick wasn't going to be taking their class seriously, they had gone out of their way to ruin his life and pair him with Blossom Utonium. Despite the good A-quality content they churned out, it had not been an easy go around the first few times they had been paired together. They were too similar and too different in all the worst ways. She was too type-A to his type-B, and they were both too stubborn to admit when they were wrong. But, him and Blossom both had a penchant for sticking their noses in places they shouldn't, so somewhere along the line—probably around the time they had broken into More Co. to follow a lead and diffused a hostage situation at the Mayor's Manor—they figured it was easier to be friends, not enemies.

They were chalking up to be Townsville's resident Sherlock and Watson, except they both fancied themselves Sherlock and the other Watson, but, eh, what relationship was perfect?

This time around, they were investigating some strange chemical. The only lead they had come from Blossom's own father. He had apparently said something "cryptic" over Sunday brunch that had launched Blossom into overdrive. Eavesdropping on one of her old man's telephone conversations, she had listened to him mutter about the letter X, failed mutations, a strict deadline, and an explosion that may or may not have been the same explosion at the 'abandon' smelting factory two weeks ago.

She took the information personally since it involved her father, but Brick had met the man before and didn't think there was an evil bone in his body. The lab he worked for, though, was an entirely different story. H.I. Mechanics was one hundred different kinds of shady.

Three days from now, Blossom had decided that he would need to have the, again, two hundred and fifty million preliminary tasks done before their big stakeout. She’d be lucky if he decided to do three of them, but he entertained her ramblings anyway because the longer he stuck around her place, the longer he got to bum her cable.

That had become their routine. Meet at Blossom's place, let her rant like an anal madwoman, ignore her in favor of the reality trash tv that he loved but could not afford at his own apartment, and then have whatever painstakingly thought-out plan Blossom had concocted backfire on them in the near distant future. The process was like clockwork.

"—and if we go in at that time, really, why would they refuse us entry? The records we're looking for should technically be public record, though they're no doubt redacted. We're going to have to—you're not listening to me, are you?"

"Yeah," he hummed, more focused on the reality tv season wrap-up reunion he was watching, then whatever she was talking about, "that sounds good."

"So, you're not." She snipped, and the tone of her voice caught his attention.

"Huh?" He glanced at her for a moment before looking back at the tv, "Not what?

"Listening to me." She gave him a cross look, stepping in front of the tv, "You're not listening to me.

"Whaaa?" He tried sounding offended as he attempted to shoo her out of the way, "Noooo, what gave you that impression?"

"Listen," she snapped her fingers in front of his face a few times, and he felt his face scrunch up in distaste—he wasn't a dog, "both of my sisters are going to be home soon, and I don't want them to get mixed up in all of this, so we need to drill out the details of this plan before they get home!"

Blossom lived with her sisters—Buttercup, and Bubbles—in a two-bedroom apartment close to the University in downtown Townsville. All three went to TownU, which wasn't too surprising to Brick. It was an incredibly good school, and he'd admit all three of them were smart, but still, three for three had to be a little weird, right? And to think, people accused him and his brothers of being joined at the hips.

He gave her a dry look as she walked back to her spot on the carpet. "We both know that's not how this works."

Blossom slammed the book she had opened shut, "You're impossible."

"I think you meant to say consistent." He spared her one last glance before settling back into the recliner, "Really, Bloss, how in the world do you think you'd be able to keep this one from them? At this point, my brothers just assume I'm at the center of the mayhem."

She tsked, but the lack of argument was deafening. After a moment, she sighed, and her shoulders dropped, "I just don't want them to get hurt. Not like last time."

"Don't know what you're so worried about." He drawled, "I recall them saving us, not the other way around."

"And I recall the scar that's now running up and down Butters' back." She shot back, "This time, there will be no mess-ups."

"Yeah, wanna bet on—"

"Home!" Buttercup's voice rang throughout the apartment as the front door was slammed open and shut, "How we feeling about take-out—Oh, sup, Brick. You good with Chinese tonight?"

"We're working on school stuff!" Blossom exclaimed, scrambling to cover up the more elicit details of their ‘homework.'

Buttercup rolled her eyes, placing a hand on her hip, "I can tell. What's it this time, huh? Something normal or is there a bomb threatening to reactivate the volcano in Townsville Central Park that I should be made aware of?"

"It's norm—"

"—mutants." He interrupted Blossom, "The man funding your dad's company is sups sketch."

Buttercup shifted on her feet and crossed her arms, "Does this have to do with that Chemical-X stuff dad was talking about?"

"Don't you have a shower you should be taking?" Blossom huffed, glaring at the both of them, "You just finished a run, I can tell; you smell like a pig."

"That's what tipped you off?" Buttercup snorted, "Not the copious amount of sweat dripping down my face? Hey," she nodded her head at them, "ask me how my run went."

Together, he and Blossom rolled their eyes and sighed, "How'd your run—"

"Really well, wow, thanks for asking!" Buttercup smiled, "I beat my average, sooo think hard about what where you want to order from for dinner tonight. We're celebrating! I already texted Bubs," Buttercup stuck her tongue out at them, "she was much more enthusiastic."

"Then celebrate with her," Blossom frowned from her spot on the floor, fingering the edges of her notebook, "we've got a lot to finish tonight. I don't think we'll have—"

"Yeah, yeah. Listen here, hero-girl," Buttercup scowled, hands back on her hips, "you still gotta eat. Ima take a shower, you have till then to put the spy shit away. Speaking of spy shit," her glare shifted to him, "your brother done fixing my car yet?"

"Ask him, babe." He sniffed, looking pointedly at the tv, "I ain't the middleman."

He suppressed the urge to bulk as Buttercup lifted him up off the recliner by the collar of his shirt. A dark smile snuck its way across her face as she leaned close into him, "Considering the fact that you owe me for getting it destroyed in the first place, baby, then I think you are."

"A lesson in forgiveness would do you well, but fine, I'll ask." He sneered back, unwillingly to show the dread that ran up his spine when he saw the look in her eyes, "You do realize, though, it'd be faster if you just called—"

"Nope!" She sang, dropping him back down in the seat, like nothing had just transpired between them, "If he wants my number, he has to ask for it!" She walked down the hall towards the bathroom, "I don't make the rules."

He scowled, watching her walk away before turning his head back to Blossom, "She's lucky I owe her."

"You're lucky," Buttercup called from down the hallway, "that I saved your sorry ass!"

Blossom snorted, and he shot her a dirty look, "Don't encourage her."

"Oh, be quiet," Blossom snickered, "just watch TV like you always do, and I'll put—"

"I'm home!" A high, singsong voice rang through the house, as the door was once again thrown open, and his heart palpitated without permission. He forced his eyes to focus on the tv, and if Blossom noticed how he sunk low into the recliner, she thankfully didn't say anything.

"In here!" Blossom called back, and from the corner of his eye, he watched as Bubbles stuck her head around the corner. Quickly, he turned his attention back to the tv and tried his best not to seem at all interested as she practically danced her way into the room. She was always practically dancing everywhere she went. It was annoying.

"Blossy, oh my god, you will not believe what—Brick!" She exclaimed, shoving a finger in his face when she noticed he was in the room, "Wai—Brick Jojo! Do not move from that spot!"

He blinked and looked around at the spot he had forged for himself in their living room. His bookbag, snack bags, disregarded textbooks, and his jacket littered the space around him, and his body had imprinted into the recliner's seat cushions, so when he looked back at Bubbles and gave her a dry look, he meant it when he said, "Yeah, wasn't planning on it."

He looked away quickly when she beamed at him. Her smile was bright, sweet, and dimply, and also very annoying. People couldn't always be so immovably happy, could they?

Bubbles giggled and did a little hoppy-dance before she calmed down and looked back at him, "Ahhh, okay!" She wagged a finger at him, "You stay! I've got a surpriiiisseee for you."

"Again," He huffed, ignoring all the less-than-innocent surprise scenarios his traitorous brain played through, "wasn't going anywhere."

"If you're not going anywhere, why don't you actually do some work while you wait." Blossom's voice bit through the air, but he ignored her, going back to flipping through the tv.

"Yeeepp," He popped, his tone no drier than hers, "wasn't planning on that either."

Blossom mumbled to herself and looked at Bubbles, "Before you go, can you help me with these books? I'm putting them in my bedroom."

Bubbles held out her arms, moving around the recliner and out of his field of vision, "No prob-lamo, chica! What's this all for?"

"Don't worry about it." Blossom brushed Bubbles off, and her sister giggled again.

"What?" The blonde snorted, "Is there a bomb in the volcano?"

He could practically hear the way Blossom stiffened, "Why does everyone keep saying—do people think there's a bomb in the—"

"Blossom!" He groaned, "I'm fucking hungry, hurry up."

She hmphed and stomped out of the living room with Bubbles presumably following, so he relaxed in his seat, ready to blow out the deep breath he was holding when Bubbles' visage filled his vision.

Her smile crinkled the corners of her baby blue eyes, and the back of his neck instantly warmed at the proximity. He wasn't one for people invading his personal space, but Bubbles literally had no freaking concept of it. She was always shoving her face in his. So, unfortunately, Brick was very aware of the sun freckles that littered their way throughout her cheeks and it was particularly distressing because staring at her face made it easier to forget the No Touching Rule he was pretty adamant about people following.

"Stay." She reminded him; her tone tinged with lingering laughter. This close, she smelt like the physical embodiment of a bakery, and it took a significant amount of willpower to pull his eyes away from her.

"Whatever." He mumbled.

With another giggle—always with the dumb giggling—she was gone, and he was finally alone to collect himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a string of particularly nasty curse words at himself. Objectively, he was well aware that Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup were…attractive, but he was never actually supposed to be attracted to any of them. They were the girls. They were just the girls. Ever since he had known them, they had been just the girls.

Blossom had a stick up her ass.

Buttercup could probably disembowel him.

And Bubbles giggled and smiled.

And it didn't matter if she giggled and smiled at him. Because she giggled and smiled at everything. She was one of those people, the kind of person that gave someone their undivided attention in a room full of people. She was good at making people feel good about themselves. She didn’t do it just for him. No see, if he was attracted to Bubbles, which he wasn't, it was because she was very good at making all people feel seen. So, he wasn't special. He wasn't. And it just—she would…he wasn't used to people just automatically assuming the good in him. People so optimistic tended to avoid him.

The positive attention was just making his head spin, making things confusing, and that was it. He wasn't one of those sad, lonely guys who mistook niceness for flirting. He had a clear head on his shoulders. It was just attention he was unused to. And it was a kind of attention he didn't need. Bubbles was just a nuisance. Her personality was too sweet. They were so different. Even if he did actually end up somehow magically liking her, it wouldn't work between them in a million years.

Besides, everyone already knew that pretty social butterflies didn't actually go for anti-social dweebs. Real-life wasn't an overdramatic coming-of-age rom-com. Realistically, she probably went for guys like Boomer.

He let out a shaky breath and turned up the volume on the tv. Some housewife was crying about something laughably petty, but he couldn't find it in himself to smile.

A second later, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of hands clasped together over his eyes. He only relaxed when he heard Bubbles voice nice and warm next to his ear. "Peak-a-boo," she laughed, "guess who!"

He ignored the way her breath tickled his neck and frowned into the darkness, "A heart attack?"

"Oof, so close!" She snorted, releasing her hands from his face and leaning around the recliner, so he could see her smiling at him, "It's Bubbles!"

"Hello, Bubbles." He droned, not resisting the way his eyes rolled but fighting the way his mouth was trying to twitch into a smile.

"Ready for your surpriiisse!" She sang, walking around the chair so she could stand in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. He pressed his way further into the recliner after their knees knocked together, distancing himself from her.

"As ready as I'll ever be." He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "What is it?"

"It's a gift!" She rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, still smiling.

"Okaayyy." He reached a hand out with grabby fingers, "Let's get this over with, give it here."

She tilted her head back and laughed, a real honest belly laugh, before she looked down at him again, and suddenly, he felt tiny under her gaze. "Oh, my goodness, Brick," She chided, "I'm not just gonna hand it to you! Close your eyes and hold out your hands!"

He adjusted the brim of his hat lower down his face and looked away, "I don't—"

"I said—" she repeated, reaching a hand out to pull his hat down completely over his eyes, "Close your eyes!"

"Fine." He hissed, trying to sound as grumpy as he was pretending to be and readjusted his hat as he shut his eyes, "They're closed. Happy?"

"Hold out your hands!"

He sighed but complied, and after a bit of shuffling on Bubbles' part, something small was placed in his hands.

"Okay," she announced, "now open your eyes!"

He opened his eyes and stared at the little…thing in his hands. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he figured it was some kind of fluffy…hat…keychain? He didn't know. He gave it a quizzical look before returning his stare to Bubbles.

"Ta-da!" she sang, accompanied by a pair of jazz hands, before she clapped them together, "Do you like it!"

"What…is it?"

There was a pause, and the smile on Bubbles's face fell away. "What is it!" She huffed, cheeks puffed out like an angry chipmunk, which was the worst angry face she could have because it just made her cuter, "It's a dog keychain!"

"This—" he held the keychain up for both of them to examine, "—is not a dog. It's a ball of fluff."

Bubbles' mouth dropped open, "It totally is! Look," she snatched it out of his hands, smooshing the fluff down so she could show off its' pointed ears, stubby little legs, and tail, "see! Puppy! A little Pomeranian! Baby puppy! Puppy, puppy, puppy!"

With something akin to bloodcurdling embarrassment pulsing through his veins, he watched as Bubbles continued to baby talk the offensive keychain, placing a tiny peck on its' small nose.

"And look!" She gushed, shoving it back into his face, "Look at its wittle red hat!" She squealed, bring it back to her so she could cuddle it to her face, "It's so cute I can't even!" Without warning, she dropped into his lap, which was around the same time his heart dropped into his stomach, "I saw it and thought of you immediately!"

He froze at the admission. He had never once thought of himself as someone who short-circuited very often, but people didn't compare him to a cute Pomeranian keychain very often either. In fact, he had been called a lot of things in his short lifespan—wiseass, smartass, punkass, there was a very consistent theme of derogatory titles thrown at him on the daily—but cute Pomeranian was not one of them. And, frankly, he couldn't say he was a fan.

"Are you comparing me to a Pomeranian?" He sneered, momentarily forgetting the fact that Bubbles Utonium was making herself comfortable on his lap, and he was neglecting to stop her.

"Duh!" She said rather flippantly, pushing the brim of his hat up and off his face, so they could look at each other. Another definite no-no that he was too flabbergasted to address.

"I would not be a Pomeranian!" He argued when he collected his jaw off the ground.

"Uhhh, yes, you would, lol." She argued back, playing with the fluffy little keychain in her hands. She kissed its face again, and in turn, his face only got hotter.

"Uhhhhhh," he mocked, "no, I wouldn't be."

She looked up from the keychain and gave him a somewhat patronizing look, "Yes, you would be."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

She laughed, "Brick, yes! You're just like a Pomeranian! You're super intelligent, curious, feisty, you like being the center of attention," she looked off for a second in thought, waving a hand in the air as she talked, "and you've definitely got some tiny dog syndrome in you."

He blinked at her, gaping, as his brain worked overload to find something to dispute in that analysis, but when he couldn't find any, he spat at her, "Why do you know all this shit about Pomeranians, huh?"

"They're one of my favorite breeds!" Her face lit up, "They're just so cute! I love them! And you remind me of them, so I got this for you!" She held the keychain up again, "It's so cute!"

His mind ground to a sudden halt as the words' cute' and 'love' and 'you' repeatedly echoed in his head. His heart hammered away in his chest, and in his panic, he contemplated throwing her off his lap and burning the whole apartment complex to the ground. What was one more arson charge on his record, anyway?

"Bubs—stop saying…so what?" He asked, floundering before changing tactics. She wasn't the only one who could say embarrassing shit. "Does that mean you think I'm cute or something?" He flirted with a smirk, but it was only after the sentence left his mouth that he remembered Bubbles Utonium didn't get embarrassed. She smiled and giggled.

And that continued to ring turn even now, as she laughed, wrapping her arms around hia neck, she squeezed him. Only letting go of him slightly, to the bring the keychain up to his face, so she could bop the little dog’s nose and his nose together. "Of course!" She agreed, "Cute as a button!"

"N-no!" He sputtered.

"No," she pulled away from the crook of his neck, tilting her head in question, "what?"

"No," he sneered, "I'm not cute like a button."

She considered this for a second, tapping the keychain to her face, before shooting him a broad smile, "Handsome? Is that better?" Mirth tinkled in her big doe eyes, "You're our handsome boy?"

"That's worse!" He complained almost hysterically, running a frantic hand through his hair, knocking the hat he had somehow forgotten he had on from his head.

"Aw, Brick, come on," She rolled her eyes, catching the hat before it fell to the ground and plopping it on her head, "what do you want me to say then?"

"The truth never hurt," He spat as if he hadn't lied through his teeth at least three different times this week to three professors that he couldn't attend class because his beloved family pet 'Insert Name Here' had died.

Bubbles pouted, "But I told you the truth! I think you're handsome!" She held up the keychain, and with a horribly fake and cheesy deep voice, she used the gift as a puppet, "You're the most handsomest boy in the whole world!"

She solidified her point by making the keychain kiss his nose once more before pulling back to gape at him, "Wow, see even Mr. Puppy agrees with me!"

"Oh, right," he shook his head, in mock agreement, "a handsome boy with little dog syndrome, right?"

"Well," she shrugged, waving him off, "I never said you were charming."

His retort was caught off with a giggle, and she made the keychain kiss his nose once, then twice, and then his breath hitched as a third wet kiss was planted on his cheek by Bubbles herself. She pulled back with a coy smile.

"Brick…" she hummed, trailing off, and something about her tone made him swallow thickly.

"Y-yeah." He finally pushed out after a moment.

"Can I play with your hair?" She asked, leaning forward, laying her head on his shoulder as she twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, and he swore his soul left his body. No one, absolutely no one, touched his hair. No one wore his hat. No one sat on his lap. And here she was. And here he was. And he wasn't stopping her like he should have been.

"Uhh, umm, I—uhh—"

"Bubs, jeez!"

He jumped, choking on his own spit, as Buttercup marched into the room, her hair still dripping wet.

"Seriously, personal space, you're making him uncomfortable." Buttercup huffed, one hand on her hip as he gestured to his face, which was probably redder than his hat.

"Uncomfy!" Bubbles shot up, and a guilty look flashed across her face as she took in his face, "Ah, shoot, sorry, is this too much?" She took her arms away from his neck and wrung her hands together, for the first time blushing, "I just get too excited sometimes! I have a lotta love in my heart, ya know?" She finished with a bashful chuckle.

The small distance between them actually made it a little easier to think again, but she didn't need to know that. Embarrassed by the noticeable flush of his face and his reaction to Buttercup catching them, Brick shrugged and looked away, "You're fine."

That was apparently not good enough for Bubbles because she pleaded again, "I'm sorry!"

"I said," he hissed, wishing she'd drop it, "you're fine!"

"I'm still so sorry!" Looking back over, he was surprised to see her lower lip wobbling, "I shouldn't have forgotten!" She put her hands on her face, squishing her cheeks, as tears began to well in her eyes, and he sent a frantic look over towards Buttercup, "I know you're not a hugger, I should have asked and—"

"—Bubs, he said he was fine." Buttercup interjected again, "Now, you're just making him uncomfortable all over!"

Bubbles looked from Buttercup to him, back to Buttercup, and then finally to him once more. "You're fine?" She clarified, “This is okay?”

And all he could do was nod, "Yep."

Visibly relaxing, her eyes became less and less watery, and she shot him a relieved look.

"Sheesh." Buttercup mumbled and walked away, "zero to one hundred. Bloss!" She called out, "Come save your poor counterpart from the clutches of cuddly evil over here and let's order the food!"

"What!" Blossom called from her room down the hall.

With an exasperated huff on Buttercup’s part and something more frantic on his part, they both yelled out, "Food!" and there was a scoff from the bedrooms.

"No need to yell!" She shot back, "I'm coming!"

Buttercup shook her head before jabbing her thumb in the direction of their tiny kitchen and announced, "I'm getting the take-out menus."

Bubbles nodded and then, beamed when she noticed Blossom had walked into the room.

"Blossom! Look at this cute keychain I got for Brick!" She cooed, her eyes bright and excited again, which would have brought him some relief if she hadn't opened her big mouth and kept talking, "Doesn't it remind you of him? It's a Pomeranian!"

Face aflame once more, he snapped, "I'm not a Pomeranian!"

"Ho—ly shit!" Obnoxious laughter floated its way out of the kitchen that only made him grind his teeth, "He totally is!"

"It's the little dog syndrome." Blossom agreed, flipping her hair over her shoulder and ignoring the crude gesture he shot her way as she walked past him towards the kitchen, "BC, let's order from Lee's!"

"No way!" Buttercup argued, "Pa Changs!"

He turned back to Bubbles, who, despite it all, had yet to remove herself from his lap. He was about to make some remark about him pushing her off of his lap in the next three seconds, but the way her eyes flinted over his face made him pause. When she realized she had been caught staring, she smiled once more, bright and beaming, and his heart did another funny little dance.

"You like it, right?" She tilted her head, holding the keychain up so it dangled between them, "I…I can take it back if you want."

Her smile fell the slightest of fractions along with his heart.

"No!" His hand shot out, taking hold of the keychain, "It's—I like it, whatever." He sniffed and turned his head away, "So quit the kicked puppy shit, alright?"

Another smile. Another giggle. It felt like a sick joke, but Brick was pretty sure he was falling in love.

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A/N: That’s right! It seems the only way I can write romance is with a shit ton of pining!!!! To love is to long, I guess. It’s a little awkward in some places, but it was for fun, so I decided to cut myself some slack and post it anyway! I hope you like it!!! The pairing doesn’t get a lot of love, but I think opposites attract dynamic is so so so cute.

Also, sorry this took me forever! First, I got distracted looking at cute dog pics and then halfway through writing the drabble I was like “hey what if I stuck Blossom in this and she and Brick solved mysteries??” So, then I lived with that AU floating around in my head rent-free, and now, finally, here we are. ANYWAY, in this AU, Blossom is in a very sapphic relationship with Princess, who, along with HIM, is the main antagonist. The Professor is the damsel in distress btws. Brick and Bubbles are disgusting cute. Boomer’s gay, who for tho?? Who knows! Not me! But he’s a freelancer, who’s hardcore freeloading off of Brick and Butch, and that’s all you really need to know. Buttercup has big Mom Friend vibes. Also, Butch is a mechanic and playfully flirts with Buttercup, which she thinks is funny until he actually starts really flirting with her, and then she’s like “um, sir, I am a maiden???” b/c she is actually both shy and a prude. (And you know I like my greens) Anyway, el oh el, it’s a good time.

inspo for the keychain (and brick):

#ppg fic drabble #i love you prompts #brickxbubs #my writing

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