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gigabyte-flare · 2 years ago

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The Necromancer

A Gigabyte Flare One Shot

Summary: Ash is a seasoned Demon Hunter that stumbles upon the village of Tristram to assist with an ongoing undead infestation. However, a recluse Necromancer hiding out in the nearby Cathedral has other plans...

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: necromancer!Sephiroth x OC/Self Insert

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Sex (p in v), dubcon (OC caves like instantly), oral (f and m receiving), breeding kink

A/N: This is actually an old fic I wrote back in 2021 starring Sephiroth in a Diablo AU that never got posted anywhere. It's an OC/self insert, I hadn't started writing x reader fics at that point. I hope you enjoy it anyway! I wanted to share it because I really like how this one is written!

I wandered into the Slaughtered Calf Inn half awake and starved from my journey to Tristram. The air stank of death; there were rumors a Necromancer had taken up residence in the bowels of the Tristram Cathedral and was tormenting the town with his experiments. I practically collapsed at the bar; the innkeeper approached and slid a pint of beer, some bread and cheese in front of me. I ripped off a piece of bread and ate it.

“Couldn’t have found a worse time to come, traveler. We’ve had a bit of a…” the innkeeper cleared his throat before continuing, “undead problem.”

“That’s why I’m here friend,” I said as I motion to the two hand crossbows strapped to my waist, “I’ve come to alleviate your Necromancer problem.”

“Ay, he showed up about three months ago, cursed thing,” the innkeeper growled as he wiped down the bar, “what are you, some kind of mercenary?”

I shook my head, “I’m a Demon Hunter; I specialize in the slaying of the undead.”

“You’ll want to talk to Leah, she has the key to the Cathedral gate,” the innkeeper said before calling out, “Leah! Someone has come to take care of the Necromancer!”

“Oh! That’s fantastic!” Leah rushed in and approached the bar, “you must be the Demon Hunter!”

“I am,” I hold out my hand to shake hers, “I would have gotten here sooner but there seems to be undead all over the place around here.”

“You can thank the Necromancer for that, that bastard,” Leah groaned as she sat beside me.

I took a sip out of the pint, “what happened when the Necromancer showed up?”

“He murdered my Uncle Deckard, slit his throat right open and then he was revived and turned into one of his puppets right before my eyes. I had just enough time to run out and lock the gate before the whole place was overrun with undead.”

I watched as tears welled up in Leah’s eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

Leah wiped her eyes, “I’m just glad you’re finally here so we can kill that monster.”

“You’re not going anywhere Leah, I’m going to the Cathedral alone.”

Leah looked over and glared at me. When she was met with my cold stare, she let out a sigh and relaxed her shoulders, “I’ll take you to the Cathedral gate and unlock it.”

“Then you’ll come back here.”

“Yes. I’ll come back here.”

“Good, I’m going to retire to one of the rooms and rest up. Leah, would you mind bringing me to the gate tomorrow morning?”

“Sure, I’ll meet you there at sunrise.”

“Alright, see you in the morning then, Leah,” I say as I stand up from the bar and head into one of the rooms.

My sleep was restless; I couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching me from the shadows in the room.

********

Sephiroth poured over the volumes of books that were kept deep in the bowels of the Tristram Cathedral. He had heard about Cain Deckard’s research on the lesser evils and decided to take the old man out in order to gain access to it. The fact that he now had his own large lair to do his experiments was a very nice perk. His jade, cat-like eyes scanned the pages of Deckard’s research, deeply engrossed in the writings. His silver hair, which went well past his knees, seemingly glowed in the low light of the candles in the room. Suddenly, he stood alert, his eyes wide, as if sensing something. His left hand wove in the air and clenched as he held Deckard’s research in his right hand. A pale blue light encompassed his left fist. The light glowed brighter as he stood there. He suddenly spread his fingers and his hand engulfed in a blue flame.

A few minutes passed and a group of skeletons came into the room, dragging a woman into the room with them. She kicked and thrashed in an attempt to break free, but Sephiroth’s magic was much too powerful for her. Sephiroth slowly turned to the skeletons and the captive intruder.

His jade eyes scanned her body up and down. Demon Hunter: he knew their kind, however he admittedly had never seen one so beautiful. She had haunting blue eyes, short brown hair that was styled asymmetrically to one side.

She was thin, but muscular; he could tell she took good care of herself. His eyes lingered on her perky breasts, which bounced gently as she fought the restraint of his skeletal thralls. When his eyes finally met hers, her eyes were filled with hatred and death; he knew if his magic relented that her powerful hands would end up around his throat. He felt a warmth in his loins, something he didn’t think he could ever feel.

He smirked at the woman, crossing his arms as he continued to watch her struggle.

“Did you seriously think you could just waltz in here and kill me?” Sephiroth asked, his voice cool but sinister.

She spat at him, “you fucking bastard, let me go!”

“I will not,” he purred as he approached her, standing within inches of her, “you intrigue me, Demon Hunter.”

“Are you going to kill me and turn me into one of your puppets?” the woman growled.

“I could do that,” his gaze lingered back to her breasts for a moment before he looked back into her hate filled eyes, “but you’ll be much more entertaining to me alive.”

The hate in her eyes suddenly yielded to fear and she started to struggle more violently, as if sensing what was going to happen to her. Watching her be consumed by fear excited him, he could feel it in his leather trousers. Dropping his arms to his sides before bringing up his left arm, he spreads his fingers on his left hand again, now glowing with a pale blue aura.

“Keep her perfectly still,” he commanded.

The skeletons tightened their grip on the captive girl, holding her still by her arms, torso and legs. Leaning in, Sephiroth takes in her scent by sniffing ever so subtly. She smelled sweet, almost like a wildflower, he wondered why. He felt his cock pulse at her scent, making the confines of his trousers increasingly uncomfortable.

As if his right hand had a mind of its own, he suddenly grasped one of her breasts. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he was surprised by how soft and supple it was. He then grasped her other breast with his other hand even though it was still pulsing with power. The woman let out a soft whimper as she attempted to squirm, but the skeletons’ iron grip kept her in place.

Sephiroth’s hands slid from her breasts, down the sides of her body and came to a rest on her hips. He didn’t understand what exactly he was feeling, as he never experienced anything like this. His left hand groped at her toned backside as his right gently grasped her chin and tilted her head back. His lips suddenly met hers and he kissed her gingerly. He could feel her tremble in his grasp as he kissed her. He released her from his grasp, brought his left hand up into a fist as his hand burst into blue flame.

“Bring her to the bedroom and place her onto the bed.”

The skeletons carried her into an adjacent bedroom, Sephiroth followed close behind. He watched as the skeleton thralls gently placed her onto his bed, it pleased him that she didn’t attempt to flee. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the thralls and they left the room. He closed the door as they left. He watched her intently as she lay on the bed, her legs spread wide as she propped herself up by her elbows. He began to unbutton his loose gray tunic, revealing his pale, but very well toned chest and abdomen. He pulled it off and tossed it aside before approaching the bed.

“Tell me Demon Hunter,” he began as he climbed onto the bed, crawling between her spread legs, “what is your name?”

“It’s… it’s Ash.”

“Ash… the remnants of a flame,” he said as he began to undo her trousers.

He slowly pulled them off, taking care to also remove her boots as well and he pushed them onto the floor. They fall with a loud thud. He gazed in awe at what he saw; Ash’s legs remained spread, her vagina fully exposed to him. It was oozing with juices and she smelled absolutely divine, inviting even. His cock was begging to be released but he wanted to savor her before indulging himself.

“What is your name…?” Ash suddenly asked with a slight whimper.

“I am called Sephiroth,” he replied as he approached her very aroused entrance, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance my beautiful phoenix.”

Closing his eyes, he once again inhaled her natural scent. He felt chills throughout his body, almost as if he was getting high off her.

She’s in heat, he realized as he once again gazed upon her beautiful entrance, if I mate with her now, she will likely be impregnated from my seed.

This realization excited him; a devious smirk crossed his lips before his tongue caressed her clit. He felt her flinch in response; his tongue caressed it a few more times before his lips latched onto it, suckling her. He felt her heels dig into the bed and her fingers grip onto the sheets. After a few moments she moaned his name as one of her hands gripped the back of his head. His lips moved from her clit to the lips of her soaked pussy and he lapped up her juices. The taste of her was indescribable. His tongue slipped inside her and stroked her inner walls, making her squirm even more. As he indulged himself on her, he could hear her pull her tunic off and toss it across the room. Removing his mouth from her entrance, he gazed upon her now naked chest.

Her breasts were perfect. Round and perky, her nipples were erect from arousal. He looked into her blue eyes, now filled with lust. He climbed on top of her, placing a gentle kiss on one of her breasts, his lips cupping the erect nipple perfectly. Meanwhile, his deft fingers stroked her pussy before pushing two of them inside her. Moving his fingers in a come hither motion, she squirmed beneath him as he began to suckle her breast. He suddenly pushed a third finger inside her, causing Ash to let out a rather loud moan. His cock pulsed in his trousers, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled his fingers out of her, now soaked in her juices. He licked his fingers clean as he gazed upon her naked body.

“Ash, allow me to ignite your flame,” Sephiroth said in a lust filled growl as he undid his own trousers.

His member, now free from its leather prison, stood erect and ready. Ash let out an audible gasp as she gazed upon it. It was easily 10 inches in length. Now nude himself, he stood on his knees over her, slowly stroking himself as he gazed upon her form. Ash suddenly sat up, approaching his member, wrapping her mouth around it. He gasped as her head bobbed up and down on his shaft. Sephiroth growled as he tilted his head back. His fingers ran through her hair as she sucked his cock. His hips instinctively thrusted into her mouth, which she didn’t seem to mind thankfully.

“Oh Ash, my queen,” he moaned as he gripped the back of her head as he continued to thrust into her.

Ash, suddenly taking her mouth off him, laid back down onto the bed, spreading her legs wide open.

“Come, my king,” she whispered, looking up at him, her eyes pleading, “take what is rightfully yours.”

Without saying a word, Sephiroth climbed back on top of her, pinning her to his bed. One hand grasped his member as he led it to her eager pussy. When he felt himself in position, he thrusted into her hard and fast. Ash screamed, her fingers digging into his back as he pounded into her. Animalistic instincts took over his thoughts, all he could think about was breeding her. As if reading his thoughts, she angled her hips in such a way that he could thrust deeper into her body. Gazing down at her, his hands once again grasped her breasts as his lips locked onto hers. She moaned his name into their kiss as her legs wrapped around his waist, as if to beckon him to release inside her. He could feel his climax approaching as he fucked her relentlessly.

Ash suddenly began to violently tremble as she let out a loud, lust filled moan and in that moment, Sephiroth felt a burning heat release from inside him as he pushed inside her as hard as he could. His cock pulsed inside her, pumping his seed deep into the depths of her womb. Her legs tightened their grip around his waist, forcing him deep into her. After a few moments, he began to thrust into her again before another wave of ecstasy consumed him and more of his seed spilled into her body. He watches as her eyes roll into the back of her head, however, he does not relent. It was going to be a very, very long night.

#sephiroth #final fantasy vii #diablo au #diablo #sephiroth x oc #sephiroth x self insert #sephiroth smut #gigabyte writes #necromancer!sephiroth #final fantasy vii remake

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thelampisaflashlight · 2 years ago

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Cowbell and Special's Variety Hour

[They're best friends, they're mortal enemies, they could be something more if they weren't such nerds. Cowbell and Special go on a tiny adventure.] Below the cut.

"This is stupid..." Cowbell says in a monotone, leveling an emotionless stare at Special, who pouts dramatically, "...And I am stupid for agreeing to join you."

"You're just being cranky because you know we're gonna have a lot of fun and you're jealous you didn't think of it first." Special replies, placing his hands on his hips, "I thought your macabre little tushy would be down for some good old fashioned ghost hunting, you already talk to dead things all the time!"

Cowbell tilts his head, his neck giving a sharp click, "Dead plants and dead people are different... mushrooms though. Mushrooms talk. They scream. Often."

Special smiles with his teeth to mask the sudden shiver he feels up his spine.

"Mushrooms aside, I think it would be fun!" he laughs nervously as Cowbell continues popping his stiff joints, his blank gaze never leaving Special's face, "...Bells?"

"Yes, Phillip?" Cowbell asks, bending fully backwards to crack his spine.

"...You're scarin' me, bud."

"It is unintentional."

"I see... Anyway, ghost hunting!" Special claps his hands together, "I was going to invite more people, but as it would turn out, you're the only friend I have that was even remotely interested in coming along!"

"That is because I am the only friend you have." Cowbell intones, straightening his back with a snap, "Others do not appreciate your noises."

"...Harsh."

"Is it? I see..." Cowbell nods, "I enjoy your sounds, is what I meant to imply."

"Awww, buddy, that's so sweet, weird way of putting it, but sweet!" Special chirps, "You know, I knew there was a reason I liked you! You're such a good pal, who's always keeping me humble-"

"I often enjoy when they stop, too."

"You're so mean!"

Cowbell gives a stilted laugh.

Special sighs bodily, wraps an arm around Cowbell's shoulders, and starts walking, "Bells, bestie, never change."

"...?"

The chapel on the far side of the abbey's grounds has been abandoned for nearly two decades now, having been badly damaged in a fire when some less than friendly evangelists learned who it belonged to, and, well...

"At least no one died." Special comments, making his way through the now overgrown building, brushing his hand over a moss covered pew, "Primo never was the same after that happened though..."

Cowbell hums and traces his fingers over the smooth bark of a tree growing out of the floor.

"This place is more sad than haunted." Special says, "But I'm certain there's ghosts here! There's always creepy shit goin' on."

"Hm... stone tape."

Special blinks.

"What?"

Cowbell crouches down, feeling the rotten wood tiles, crumbling a bit between his fingertips, "Residual haunting, maybe."

"Ohhhh... is that what that is?"

"Do you know me to be a liar?" Cowbell asks, tilting his head backwards to stare at him.

"I'm not saying that-" Special watches Cowbell bring his arms back and walk across the floor on all fours, upside-down, "-Why are you like this?"

"I find happiness in your perpetual torment." Cowbell responds, ambling up the wall like a demonic spider, "...And I am told I have poor impulse control as a result of what the humans call ADHD."

"Oh, same." Special says, following Cowbell's ascent, "Still, I don't know how that applies to the cryptid vibes you're givin' me, bro."

"...Phillip."

"Yes, Bells?"

"We are demons."

"Oh. Oh right, shit."

Cowbell drops down.

"You must do more weird shit." he says, dusting himself off, "It is good for you."

"Right, right, I'll keep that in mind." Special sniffs, "Uhh, so, whatcha think? Any ghosties around?"

Cowbell looks around the chapel, then shakes his head.

"Aw... Man, this was kind of a wash, huh?"

"Not entirely." Cowbell says, gesturing towards what's left of the chapel's stained glass windows, at the sunset filtering in through the glass, "We got to see something of your namesake."

"I don't know what's so 'lover of horses' about this situation, but okay...?"

Cowbell swats the back of his head.

"It's special."

"Oh, oh, awww, you're being cute again~" Special coos.

"You are ruining the moment with your noises."

"...You like my noises."

"...Unfortunately."

For a moment, they just stand there, enjoying the sunset, but right when Special is about to suggest they leave, Cowbell turns to him.

"Special."

And, fuck, his heart skips a beat, the setting, the soft expression that flits across his friend's face for a fraction of a second.

"Y-Yeah?"

"...You have bird shit on your shoulder."

"Goddammit."

#Lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #special ghoul #cowbell ghoul #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #Cowbell being a morbid little guy is based purely on... nothing #I just decided him being weirder than Special would be funny #tfw you're the weird guy at work but your bestie is even stranger

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zooophagous · 1 year ago

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Strauss sat slightly curled in the passenger’s seat of the dirty pick up. He was very pointedly staring out the window, away from the driver, watching the reflective markers by the road fly past in a yellow blur like shooting stars. Sylvain was grinning, seemingly at nothing. She wasn’t apparently concerned with Strauss’ refusal to look at her. She was too busy. Too busy haphazardly steering with one hand while fucking with the radio with the other.

“Ugh, country music. I can’t stand this twangy shit. How about you? You got a preference?” She craned her head to look at his tee-shirt, which bore the band emblem of The Rolling Stones.

“Classic rock fan? We can do that. You at least have good taste, Lu.”

“Where are we going?” He asked without turning his head.

“Like I said, we’re gonna have a little fun. Seems like something you’re out of practice on.”

“I am concerned that your idea of fun will not mesh with mine.”

“Oh come off it. I do have other interests beyond tormenting mortals you know.” She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t still MAD at me, are you?”

“You tried to kill a friend of mine and in saving him I managed to shatter my femur and be confined to bed rest.” Strauss replied flatly. “I loathe bed rest.”

“Come on. That was weeks ago!” Sylvain protested in a mock whiny voice. “You were barely on bed rest for two weeks, if that, I’m sure. I know you didn’t take long to heal. A drop in the bucket, for someone as long lived as you. Practically a minor inconvenience.”

“It is less minor for Mr. Samuel, who nearly lost his life.”

“Look, I had no idea he was as gung ho about dying as he was, ok?” She huffed. “Fine. You win. I’m sorry I almost killed Mr. Samuel by using my advanced powers of psychic suggestion to convince him to commit suicide. That’s as much of an apology as you’re going to get. Now will you try and look at me when I’m talking?”

Strauss inhaled deeply, and did as she asked, finally forcing himself to look at her. She felt so much larger than him, even though the opposite was true. She was nearly too short to reach the pedals of the obnoxiously large truck. Her claw rested casually on the steering wheel, the other tapped along in time to the music on the car door out the open window.

He harbored a multitude of regrets. This was supposed to be an expedition in information gathering. Doing so would be nigh impossible if he couldn’t look at her, much less talk to her.

“Forgive me. I am being rude. It is just… very new and strange for me, to be in the presence of another immortal like this. I am used to it being a bit more combative. It is not as if our previous meetings have been enjoyable.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I enjoyed them just fine. But! Apology accepted, Lu. We may as well start fresh and make nice. We have more in common than not, I’m sure.”

“Beyond both of us being dead, you mean?”

“Both of us being captives- excuse me, FORMER captives of the Van Helsings? Both of us being occult researchers?”

“How about both of us being wanted murderers?”

“Speak for yourself, Lu. You’re the one with the record. I’ve been keeping my claws clean.”

“Is that because you’ve been good, or because you know how to avoid detection?”

“You’re so clever, Lu. Funny guy. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Like me, do you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I heard quite the opposite. I was told you had a hit list of vampires to dispose of, and my name was on it.”

“Told you about that, did they? Color me impressed. They must like you, if they’re that honest with you. No hard feelings about it Lu. I can call you Lu, right? Anyway, believe it or not, I didn’t actually want to ‘dispose’ of you.”

“No?”

“Nope. You were my thesis project for graduation. Harmless little old German man. When they told me your number was up, I was actually sad about it. Sad to see you slip up, you know? That’s why I put you at the bottom of the hit list.”

“How touching.”

“As far as I could tell, the victim in the killing that got you your murder record had it coming. But then, you did go on to kill again after that, didn’t you?”

“In self defense, yes. A Mr. Elliot Lane. Was he a colleague of yours?”

“At one point, yeah. He was a moron. Always felt like he had to prove himself. Be better than everyone else. He was a trophy hunter. It’s funny, I always knew he’d die at work. I just didn’t think I’d ever be buddy-buddy with the monster that took him down.”

“Both of those statements are false. I am not a monster, and we are not buddies.”

“Aww, don’t hurt my feelings now Lu. After all the effort I’m putting in to give you a night on the town?”

“You still have not told me where we are going.”

“Well, I know enough about you to know you’re a biologist at heart. I also know enough about the Van Helsing Institute to know your mind is going to complete waste there. I said we’d have fun, and I meant it. Consider this a peace offering, yeah? You’ll like this place.”

“What is it?”

“We’re going to the zoo.”

“The zoo?” Strauss raised his eyebrows and turned to finally face her directly. “The zoological gardens where they keep wild animals?”

“That’s the one.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. First, because I know you’ve never seen one and it’s pertinent to your interests. Second, because they have a petting zoo with goats, and I don’t want you to get peckish.”

She grinned evilly. Strauss grunted in reply. At least she wasn’t expecting him to join her in hunting humans just yet. “This facility is surely not open after midnight.”

“Doesn’t need to be. We can get in and out easy. Besides, it will be a nice quiet place to talk. That’s what you wanted, right? To talk? You still haven’t told me what about.”

“Yes. I am… building my courage to speak of it.” He swallowed hard. “It is a difficult topic to broach. I worry it may… trigger your temper.”

“Are you scared of me?”

He hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Strauss returned his gaze to the roads. He rested his head on the window. The cool of the glass was comforting, even though the heavy rumble of the truck was off putting. The road slowly became the city. He had been here often enough to recognize parts of it now. There was the path that led to the bar, and further down, the road to Mr. Samuel’s house.

He winced inwardly at the thought. With any luck, she’d forget about wanting to hurt Sam. If she tried again he may have to break his promise to Artemis not to fight with her. She seemed content to sing along to “Paint it Black” on the radio until it faded into an obnoxious car dealership commercial that played several decibels louder than the music.

Strauss frowned, and abruptly shut off the radio.

“Not feelin’ the tunes, Lu?”

“If I have to listen to one more moment of commercials I will lose my composure. Are we close? I wish to get out of the car.”

Or at least, he wished not to be trapped in a small moving object mere feet away from her while she subtly mocked him.

“It’s right up this way. We’ll have to park and walk. If we climb the fence in the back corner here, there won’t be any alarms.”

“You talk as if you’ve done this before.”

“Of course. Many times.”

She parked the truck and hopped out of it eagerly. Strauss meekly trailed after her. This was already taking far too long. He’d allowed her to call the shots and get him to a secondary location. He was just along for the ride at this point. He absentmindedly stuck his claws into his pockets and felt the smart watch still there.

He gripped it momentarily. That watch was a lifeline. So long as Artemis was on the other side of it, he wasn’t completely alone with Sylvain. Not that Artemis could help very quickly. He almost missed Frau Harker.

“Y’know Lu. Before I got into the vampire killing biz I wanted to be an exotic veterinarian? Graduated with a biology degree and everything.”

“You must like animals. I suppose we have that in common as well.”

“More than I like people.”

“How did you come to join the Institute?”

“Some of my exotic animal research led me to some interesting places. Namely, old records of vampirism in animals. One of my advisors had ties to the institute, so I wasn’t exactly discouraged from learning more from there.”

“And they convinced you that these unique new specimens you’d just discovered needed killing?”

He followed her in the dark down a tree lined path. He could smell hot compost and dung- no doubt the dumping grounds of the large animal waste. Sylvain was the one not looking at him, now. She scanned the fence line for an entry point.

“It’s something they teach you when you learn about wild animals, Lu. Large predators and humans have conflict. Large predators need careful management.”

She found her spot on the fence and made the climb. She looked not unlike a squirrel, or rodent, scaling the sheer face of tall wooden slats.

“If people are in conflict with large predators, and someone doesn’t remove the problem predators, then the people feel unsafe, and they retaliate. They retaliate hard. If a problem wolf isn’t shot, a ranger might poison the entire pack. If a problem vampire isn’t dealt with, then every vampire loses their veil of secrecy, and all of them are in danger.”

“So your venture into the murder of our kind was done out of some desire to save us?” He tilted his head. “It was for our own good?”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t sound stupid in hindsight. You want the answer? You got it.”

She disappeared over the fence. Strauss gripped the top of the fenceline and slowly pulled himself up. Chin ups were arduous, but he cleared the obstacle easily, and lowered slowly to the tall grass of the other side.

“Is that it?”

“Is what it?” She led the way down the gravel path of the staff areas.

“I suppose I was expecting a renowned slayer to have some deeply personal reasons for collecting such a body count. I thought perhaps some vampire had wronged you, planted a desire for revenge, I did not expect your interests in us to be so academic.”

“Not every bad person has the luxury of a good reason for being that way.”

Strauss followed her slowly. His head was on a swivel, taking in the grounds. He could feel many eyes tracking him, and many excited heartbeats in his ears, but none of them human. No doubt the animal denizens of the facility were not used to seeing visitors at this hour. He worried one might sound the alarm, somehow, like a guard dog. No such alarm came.

“I suppose our paths aren’t terribly different. I too took an interest in vampires from the perspective of the biologist. I was more interested in medicine than zoology, however.”

“Interesting, ain’t it? I ended up joining the hunters, and you ended up joining the wolves. Interesting choice on your part too, Lu.”

“I did not go by choice.” He replied flatly. “I thought perhaps, given your research into my life, you might know that.”

“You had more of a choice than I did.”

“You and I both walked willingly into the tiger’s den.”

“Wrong. I walked in to kill a tiger. You walked in because one promised you something and you believed it. Maybe you should think twice about questioning my background when you’re the one taking candy from strangers.”

Strauss shut up abruptly. Her anger was still dangerous, despite the attempts at familiarity.

“Forgive me. I did not intend to upset you.”

“Relax, Lu. You didn’t make me mad. When I’m mad, you’ll know.” She turned to face him with aggressive eye contact. He felt himself falter even further behind her. “Besides, all that’s water under the bridge now. We ended up on the same team.”

“Same team, are we?”

“Sure. Vampires should stick together. We’re a rare breed. We won’t get a lot of people who understand us. Doesn’t make sense to fight.”

“Why then, in our previous meetings, were you so keen to intimidate me?”

“Large predators have a hierarchy, Lu.” She lingered slowly by the fence line as a pack of captive wolves approached the chain link with hungry curiosity.

“I had to be the one calling the shots. I needed you to know in no uncertain terms who was in charge. I didn’t want it to even be a question. So, a little vulgar display of power here and there. I figured your curiosity would bring you out even if I was kind of a bitch.” She grinned.

“Why is it important for me to be brought out?”

“I already said I didn’t want to kill you.” She leaned over the guardrail to look at the gathering wolves more closely. “I still don’t. I didn’t really think that you deserved it. I also know that most vampire research subjects at the Van Helsing Institute are kept there in jars, not in dorms.”

She crossed her arms with a sigh. “You’re doomed there, you know. They want to pretend to be your friend but you’re just an exotic pet, and soon enough you’d be another skull in a cabinet. I wanted better for you. I wanted to… I don’t know. Release you back into the wild.”

“The fact that I can tell you that I am happy and well cared for notwithstanding?”

“A psychological cage is still a cage.”

The wolves dispersed along the fence line. The novelty of the visitors had worn off. Sylvain followed the pack with her eyes till they were hidden from sight.

"It's a bit late to try and just put you back, unfortunately. Whatever worked for you before back home is gone now. If you're going to survive now you're going to have to adapt. And I know you're bad at adapting."

She started down the path again. Strauss wandered after her. "What makes you think I'm bad at adapting?"

"If you were any good at it you'd have done it on your own. You lived in a hole underground slowly starving to death. Don't take this the wrong way Lu. Most large predators aren't very good at adapting. Especially adapting to a bigger predator. They don't know how to cope with it. I get the feeling that it was all downhill for you once bloodletting started becoming less common for illnesses. Am I right?"

"I admit, yes. The advancement of modern medicine was beneficial to humanity, but the loss of that treatment did leave me very hungry."

"Damn shame isn't it. But you know, Lu. Even if donations run dry, you can still keep a clear conscience if you just stick to those who have it coming." She flashed her awful shark toothed grin at him, almost more like an animal baring its teeth than a person making a smile.

"Is that what you do, Frau Pietra?"

"Accusatory tone much? Besides, I know you've done it." She hand-waved him away as she strode down a path labeled "Asia."

"Yes, I have. But if you remember, that one was practically forced on me. It wasn't my original idea."

"Sure, the dead child molester wasn't your idea." She shrugged. "But I know he wasn't the first time you cleaned up the streets a little in the name of a hot meal. Maybe it didn't make it to your file, but I have a hunch, Lu. You can tell me. I won't blab to Ursula over it."

"If you must know, I have lived through two world wars, and I admit that yes… perhaps I did take advantage of the fact that so many people simply disappear into the fog of war. A dead Nazi here or there was not terribly missed. Is this sort of thing what you do often? Do you hunt, Frau Pietra?"

"Shhh. Hey. Look." Sylvain stopped and pointed at a fence. There was a panel built into it made of glass, for the viewing pleasure of the public. Strauss approached the glass slowly.

On the other side of the fence stood an apex predator. It was long, longer in body than Strauss was tall, and it weighed more than three of him. Its fangs likewise envied his own. Strauss ran his fingers along the raised letters of the bronze plaque that gave the beast its name.

PANTHERA TIGRIS ALTAICA

The Amur tiger. Small yellowish dots of reflected light glinted in its eyes. It stood not but five feet beyond the glass, regarding its audience with cool indifference. Strauss made eye contact with the animal, and felt that for a moment he could actually hold that eye contact comfortably.

The tiger blinked slowly, and began to pad silently past the glass, treating the pair to the full spectacle of its size and striped coat.

"That is a tiger. A real one."

"Yeah. Pretty fella, isn't he? Hard to believe they get that big."

"I've never seen a real tiger before."

"That one's not a real tiger. Not all the way. It has the fangs and the claws, sure. But it's not a hunter. It won't ever kill a deer or defend a territory. It will only ever eat and sleep and mate as its handlers allow it to."

"The sign says it is an endangered species. Perhaps places like this keep it safe."

"Safe is different from whole."

Sylvain walked off down the path again. Strauss lingered a moment to watch the tiger. It looked like a real enough tiger.

"I am sure it is quite real enough to humble anyone who tries to tangle with it."

"That's true. That's one thing I like about this place, you know? I don't even think a vampire is a sure winner against a tiger. Puts me in perspective. There's always a bigger fish."

"That is a cat, not a fish."

"Shut up."

"How much longer do you wish to linger here?"

"So impatient. How about this. Let me go feed the ducks in the koi pond and then we'll leave. We can talk more there. Maybe I can give you some pointers."

"Pointers on what?"

"How to be a real tiger, Lu. I feel like that's what you're really curious about anyway. I'd be happy to give you a little lesson."

"Lesson?"

He asked, though the answer was obvious.

"Of course. Before the sun rises, I'm going to need a snack. You're going to help me get it."

"I'll do no such thing."

"I wasn't asking."

She produced a quarter from her pocket, and fed it to a coin slot machine that spit out a small handful of crumbling brown pellets.

"Here. Feed the ducks."

She forced the feed into his hands. It left an unpleasant residue. He helplessly tossed the feed to the waiting waterfowl and watched it sink and be devoured.

#wayward souls #writing #original fiction #writblr

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bowl-of-shortness · 1 year ago

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Well, ig I’ll just do The Crux members in order then, give you guys something to work with? Idk, anyways here’s some descriptions of each of The Crux members:

Pandora De La Dáinn:

Pandora De La Dáinn, the youngest in the next generation of the noble family of Morgana, has lived in the post of her relatives’ massacre her entire life. But the tragedy doesn’t stop there.

At eight years old, her eldest brother, Victor, suddenly disappears into the depths of the night after saying goodnight to Pandora, and is never seen again.

At fourteen, she is stolen in the dead of night and murdered by the woman known as Alice Ripper. Alice working under a man named Lazarus’s orders. She awakens in the Neverwhere, a place full of souls of the deceased, and finds herself in front of the god of death himself. She pleads with the god, asking him to give her one more chance as she hasn’t done what she feels she must do. The god agrees, under one condition, she become the champion of death for him, and she will gain one more chance. She awakens in front of her family’s ancestral mansion, her hair white and her limbs a transparent navy blue, only her bones showing.

At eighteen, she finds one of Victor’s many journals and discovers where he went next. She then hastily writes a letter, telling her family what she expects from them when she gets back and why she’s leaving. Ending the letter in:

“If I return without Victor, it will be bad news, or, it means something more important than Victor has happened”

She sets off to find out what happened to her brother, and through these journals scattered around Selcouth, will learn why he left to begin with. All the while finding who she is outside of her family, who she will become as Champion of Death, and what she stands for as an individual.

Noah Ripper:

The finished project of two people’s genius, Noah is an android who was created to be nothing more than a weapon to the cruel and self absorbed Alice Ripper.

Running away at fourteen after seeing his mother murder a girl his age, he finds himself in the heart of the Agrona Branches, in the kingdom of Morgana. He takes in this new world after being hidden from it for so long, and eventually meets two tiefling kids whom he befriends.

The three travel together throughout the kingdom, until eventually, Alice finds him and attempts to dismantle him. Saved only by a girl his age with white hair and a knack for engineering and tinkering, he and his two friends promise to repay her for her kindness.

After the incident regarding his near dismantling, he vows to seek revenge on his mother and anyone involved in the horrible abuse he endured growing up. And finds his opportunity to do so when Pandora asks him, Ambrose, and Constance to travel with him.

They agree, and he sets out with a thirst for blood, a gun, and a handful of ideas on how to murder those who hurt him.

Ambrose & Constance Lockwood:

As two of the three children of the terrifying and dangerous Lockwood couple, Ambrose and Constance are born into a life of destruction and conquest. They are set to inherit their parents’ fortune and the countless kingdoms they ruled over as dictators. However, once the two were forced to take up a contract with two demons, they begin to question the righteousness of their family’s actions.

Seeing their eldest brother, Lazarus, fall further and further into torment, anger, pride, and violence, calls this into question even further.

After overhearing a plan to attack another noble family’s daughter and kill her, the two decide to run away that night. They quickly escape at fourteen and twelve years old without incident and make their way to the one kingdom they know Lazarus and their parents’ cult won’t want to touch, Morgana.

They meet an android boy their age, and quickly become friends due to their similar situations. But when the boy, named Noah, is attacked and nearly dismantled, they find a noble girl and beg for her help.

She fixes Noah up, and they learn her name is Pandora. They vow to her that they will find a way to repay her some day, and that day would come soon enough.

When Pandora asks for them to travel with her, the two plus Noah agree.

Ambrose and Constance make a promise to each other that they would do as much good in the world as possible, and that they will learn the details of what atrocities their family has committed and right those wrongs.

Little do they know what Lazarus is planning…

Nathaniel, Nico, and Natasha Woodwhisper:

Growing up the children of the Last Hunt Tribe’s chieftess, Dawn Woodwhisper, they lacked any knowledge of their father until age fifteen. Their mother begins telling them stories of their father, how he was a strong warrior and the Champion of Death.

Nathaniel despises him, seeing as he left their mother alone with triplets, and never once came to visit the family.

Natasha idolizes him, and does everything in her power to be just like him.

Nico is stuck in the middle, he understands Nathaniel’s position, but also understands Natasha’s. He is trying to balance his opinions.

One day, a group of strange people attack the tribe, setting the forest it’s in on fire and burning the entire forest to the ground. They are left without knowledge of where their mother is at or their tribe, the last words they heard from Dawn were:

“No matter what happens or how you feel about it, please go find your father, tell him what happened, please.”

And thus, the three set off with a group of four to find their dad, and figure out their familial mysteries.

Josiah & Lilith Mantlebar:

Josiah and Lilith Mantlebar are the children of a renowned cleric and bard. Lilith herself is a bard, playing the guitar, while Josiah is a paladin.

When Josiah was sixteen, he was chosen by the Thunder God Asterope to be their paladin and made an oath with them.

Lilith has had her dream since she was younger, that she would try to become the best bard there was out there.

One day, while the duo is out and about in a neighboring village, they return home to find their village in ruins. Their parents and neighbors nowhere to be found.

They stay in the ruined village for a few weeks, before they decide that in order to find their parents, they have to travel. And maybe they could achieve their goals along the way.

So the two set off, to find their parents, one to be the best bard in Selcouth, the other to learn his role as a paladin.

Karissa Jester:

Karissa grew up in a small village with her parents, she was a small tiefling girl and was happy for a long time, until her parents decided that the best option for her, was to give her up for adoption. She never knew the reason, but she knew it wasn’t a decision they wanted to make.

Going through dozens of different adoptive families and ultimately being put up for adoption every single time in the end, she decides to run away from the orphanage she was staying at and find somewhere she fit in at.

She’s finds that place eventually in Magnus Wanderlust, a traveling circus. She felt unconfident and afraid, but decided to try and see if she could join. The ringmaster, a lovely changeling woman, known for her changing in appearances, took Karissa in and decided that she would train her in the ways of the circus.

Karissa soon mastered her fire magic and proceeded to be a fan favorite by many, eventually becoming one of the highest paying acts the circus had.

But she wanted more, she’d seen some of the world, but only the small populated areas, never the unpopulated areas or the big kingdoms. And she wanted to learn who she was and where she came from. Lastly, she was ultimately lonely, she knew nobody her age who she was friends with, she didn’t mind being friends with all of the older members of the circus, but she wanted to experience true life as a young adult in Selcouth.

She brings this concerns to the ringmaster who nods and agrees that she has most likely outgrown the circus, and gives her some necessities and trinkets before she leaves.

And then, she’s off into the world, eventually meeting a pair of halfling siblings, one named Josiah, one named Lilith.

Lilith introduce Karissa into the world of music, and she never went back since, playing the guitar alongside her. Josiah taught her how to use her fire in a variety of different ways as well.

And thus the three became inseparable, traveling the world to find themselves and to explore.

Chance Boone:

Chance Boone was a famous cowboy out in The Restless Borderlands. He was known for his work with sheriffs, helping people out, and riding off into the sunset at the end of the day.

However, he was also known to be a violent man, destroying an entire town from his childhood who abandoned and ostracized him.

He loved the life he lived, but over time he became bored with the constant struggle of finding food or getting gold. And something kept gnawing at him.

He’d been kidnapped as a child and managed to escape, and his family had been murdered by these people. It was one night when he decided he would find the people who did that, and make sure they would be served justice.

And thus he hopped on his horse, and rode into the dawn, on a mission.

Barbara Monroe:

Barbara Monroe was known for being the outlaw of The Restless Borderlands. And her track record with Chance is certainly one to behold in the amount of times the two had met. She led her life, stealing, killing, and on the occasion finding a partner who’d inevitably stab her in the back and end up dead.

She always wondered what the rest of the world had in store. But knew she’d never leave The Restless Borderlands. That is, until her band of outlaws attempted to get rid of her under orders from a new outlaw king. Limping out into the desert with a gunshot wound in her side, she found the place Chance was staying at, and stumbled inside.

Chance was surprised to find his rival and nemesis asking for his help, he could’ve let her die, he should’ve let her die, but for whatever reason he chose to help.

The two talk for a while, until the topic of Chance’s family comes up, Barbara had a similar story about her family, and mentions the fact that she was put in the outlaw group to begin with because of that incident.

And with that, the two make a deal. They’d work together to get back at the outlaw group, and then they’d help each other with anything else.

For Chance that means exploring the world, for Barbara that means escaping her past.

Amelia Hayes:

Amelia was a noblewoman from the kingdom of Eudaemonia, she wasn’t from the noble family of Eudaemonia, but she was a noble nonetheless.

She would travel out to The Restless Borderlands in order to provide medicine and other sorts of technology to the people there, as they were behind on the times.

That is until she comes across a town that labels her a witch, and proceeds to try to burn her to death. Until, a pair of cowboys shows up and fights the ones attempting to kill her. One was a woman, the other a man.

They scare the rest of the townsfolk into leaving her alone, and then begin talking to her.

She explains her want to give medicine and other forms of technology and science to the world, and the two explain their wanting to explore the world.

And thus, after that, she began traveling with the two.

Owen Cogwright:

Owen, or, the second mind in the making of Noah, is a troubled man. Cursed with the heirloom curse given to his family by the god of souls, he is forced to work on the project for the god lest he be in an immense amount of pain.

He locked himself away like so many do, attempting to do the project on his own. That’s until Alice weasels her way into his life, and promises more than she can offer.

Owen works with her, creating the first 5 blueprints for Noah, ages 5-10 years old. However, Alice one night threatens Owen with his life if he didn’t leave the project with her and that he would have to deal with her taking credit.

Scared for his life, he unwillingly left, heartbroken for having to leave the one creation he saw as his own son behind.

Years and years passed and Owen never made another project, suffering with the pain and agony he endured from not working on it.

Until one day, he meets a group of people in the tavern he worked at, who he tells his story to. The short half elf girl with white hair asks him if he’d like to travel with them. And Owen, seeing as his time was running out in life due to the curse, decided to go with them. To see the world before he died.

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faenemy · 1 year ago

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Hii don't mind me, just wanted to ramble abt Mark and friends series in ur ask box cuz why not :3 (you've drawn fanart of them b4 btw!)

SO LETS START OFF WITH SOME CONTEXT. Mark and friends is a completed series on YouTube made by this guy ashur gharavi, it follows the story of Mark blah blah i can't talk in this format snymore I need to go silly mode holf on. SO MARK IS GHIS 'LITTLE MONSTER' KID RIGHT, AND ANOTHER CHARACTER IS BILLY WHO IS AN ADUKT HUMAN. SO THE SERIES IS KINDA LIKE A KIDS CARTOON BUT WITH BLOOD AND MURDER. BILLY KIDNAPPED MARK AND FORCED HIM TO DO STUFF FOR CAMERA. AS THE SERIES GO ON, THERE WILL BE LITTLE HINTS IN THE FORM OF NEWSPAPER OF LIKE WHATS ACTUALLY GOING ON AND WHY HES FOING THIS. READ EVERY SINGLE BACKGROUND NEWSPAPER EVEN IF IT DOESNT FEEL IMPORTANT, THE LITTLE DETAILS ARE SOOOO GOOD. MARK IS LIKE 10 YEARS OLD AND HES LITERALLY SO CUTE, HE DONT DESERVE EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENWD TO HIM. IM NOT GONNA SPOIL THE ENDING FOR U, CUZ ITS LITERALLY SO GOOD I REMEMBWR WHEN I FIRST WATCHED IT AND THE ENDINV IS JUST SO PULLING MY HEAET STRINGS AND LIKE SUCH A TENSE SCENE YK. ITS LITERALLY SO GOOD, THERE ARE 3 COMPILATIONS OF IT (PART 1,2 AND 3) I THINK ITS LIKE 2 HOURS LONG PLEASE PLEASE WATCH IT (ONLY IF U WANNA OFC NO PRESSURE) I LOVE THE CHARACTERS SO MUCH THEYRE SO WELL WRITTEN, I HATE BILLY BUT I LOVE HOW WELL HIS CHARACTER AND MANIPULATION IS WRITTEN HES SO FUCKING CRUEL. I LOVE HOW ASHUR ISNT AFRAID TO JUST FUCKIMG MAKE HIM DO TERRIBLE AWFUL SHIT. I LOVE IT SO MJCH ITS SO CREATIVE I LOVE MARK TOO, HWS SO CUTE I LOVE DRAWING HIM. OH AND ALSO, ITS CANON THAT TWOMP TAKES PLACE AFTERRR THAT SERIES AND MARK IS FRIENDS WITH ARGOS AND MR PLANT. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THEYRE SO UGHHHHH. THE ACTOR IS EYE CANDY TOO HES SO COOL. PLEASE WATCH IT ILL GIVE U A COOKIE IF U DO (AGAIN, ONLY IF U WANNA THO NO PRESSURE) :3

SOME PICTURES ^^

(This ask wasn't proofread btw)

HI HI HI Thank you for the ask box rambles I love them <3

Definitely did not go and binge the whole series, nope, not me

ANYWAY MY RAMBLINGS AS I WATCHED AND THOUGHTS UNDER CUT

I love this little green guy!

Marks parents seem to be murdered (go figure)

I'm assuming he was kidnapped in an ice cream truck/van??

Mark is kept in a cage without an actual bed it seems, at least when he isn't on camera

Are the puppets the actual children, or do they just represent them?

Mark keeps rubbing his side/stomach, maybe where his kidney was removed??

Child star shows an actual person so kidnapper might have started as a child star?

Grandma knows her kiddo is still alive (GET HIS ASS)

Is the plant guy who killed Big Monster Mr plant?

Donovan escapes???

Cupcake monster gets killed (very sadge)

WHY THE FUCK DID THEY PUT TOMATOES IN A FRUIT SALAD??? JAIL!!!!

apparently monsters are edible, might be some cannibali going on?

Also humans are considered monsters in this world

In "cooking" the newspaper is obscured, but it seems to read (missing childs body found, but not his head) Cupcake Monster???

UPDATE DEFO CUPCAKE MONSTER NOOOOOO

No Illinois, Minnesota or Indiana

Maybe the other kids were from Minnesota and Indiana, since Mark is from Illinois?

Aight my man was defo the child star, I'm assuming he is repeatimg the crimes of big monster???

Oop so search led to Indiana, snap my prior theory lol

Big monsters cousin changes last name

Frame lasted long on that, so I assume it's important

I keep forgetting Billy's name LMAO

Big monster and sewer? Seems like an It reference

So they're near Michigan now, noted

WHY MUST YOU TORMENT ME :(((( I luv paper bag dog NOOOOOO

Mark seems more vocal and challeging billy more now

Billy straight up gave the kids psychedelics my god

Someone save the child pls

Donovan my beloved is traumatized:((((

Oooooh the photos in the background are crying now, I think those are Marks parents?

Mr plant defo killed Big Monster, king shit

OOOOOH

okay so kid star (johnny) met with big monster in the sewer, got murdered

But Billy was the one who encouraged him to, Billy was going to star in the movie before Big Monster was convicted. So he was the kid who was crying in the article because his role was dropped

NOOOOOO MARK IS ADDICTED TO DRUGS

Get HIS ASS GRANDMA

I can't read the teleprompter, get this dude some glasses.

Just remembered how Mark cannonicly has his photos taken???? And sold I think??? Wtf???

Donovan had started a charity:((( he thinks his friends are gone

The date on the newspaper in the back keeps changing

Can I fight Billy??? I think I could take him easy

Mark straight up ate a razor blade get this kid a doctor

OH MY GOSH THEY'RE GOING TO THE DOCTOR

APOLLO HAS BLESSED ME

the eye test in the back reads "Mark has one more week before I kill him" if my new son dies I riot

Can I adopt Mark

Goal list; dispose, replace, repeat

I wonder if there are other shows featuring Donovan and Cupcake Monster?

Why were they kidnapped?

Befriend that strange man??? NOOOO

Did my son just kill Billy???? HELL YEAH

RUN BOY RUN

MY SON IS SAFE!!!!

In conclusion, I would like to adopt Cupcake Monster, they are now my child. I would also like to punch Billy repeatedly :D

#tw cannibalism mention #tw muder #tw kidnapping #mark and friends #mark and friends spoilers #i had a lot of fun watching this #ten outa ten #would recommend #fae rambles

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obsoleteozymandias · 2 years ago

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More to build up upon the reader getting beaten up request.

Weeks later, after they thought everything went back to normal, the reader is kidnapped. Harry feels horrible because he let the man go because of the lack of evidence. Now that he has come back it must be his fault.

Jean feels like it was his... Acts were what led the guy's friends to take you from him.

Kim feels horrible because just as he thought he curbed the issue, it only grew bigger. What did they want with his s/o anyway? Was it to get to him, the rcm?

I'd love to see your thoughts on how they handle it and how they act once they get the reader back.

Ohh I like this. We’re writing a story here, anon.

Headcanons: Disco Elysium

+Hurt! Reader PT.2

Harry du Bois:

When Harry hears that you’ve been kidnapped, he loses it. He delves back into his old habits, minus the drug abuse (not yet, at least. Should you pass away, that may change). He gets no sleep, spending days on end at the precinct, never leaving nor eating. He’s only focused on getting you back unharmed. He doesn’t care what happens to him.

When you come back, Harry is…not the same man. He seems a bit more paranoid, constantly watching out for you, and he begins to have panic attacks when he can’t find you.

But most of all, he’s so damn glad to have you back.

Kim Kitsuragi:

Kim is given the news that you’ve been kidnapped, he’s stricken with rage and guilt in unimaginable quantities. He knows that giving into his temptation to bring the perp to justice was childish, and now look where he is. He’s been hurt before because of his job, because of sexuality, because of the way he was born, and yet…this hurts so much worse than that. He did this.

When you get back, he is torn between asking you to leave him, and begging you to stay. He can’t imagine the danger he’s putting you in by keeping you around, but he also knows that you may come into harm again later. This decision torments him for days.

He’s so happy to see you…but why does it cost so much just to be happy?

Jean Vicquemare:

Jean is in anguish when he hears the news. He knows that this is his fault. Directly. He did this - he beat up that perp without even thinking what they would do in return. He did this to you. He’s angry, he’s despairing, and he’s desperate to get you back. Much like Harry, he won’t eat or sleep until you’re back.

When you do get back, he spends hours clinging to you and sobbing. He doesn’t know how to process everything he’s feeling, but he can’t hold it in.

After that, he’ll ask you to break up with him. And if you don’t agree, he’ll break up with you.

Do you convince him to stay? I can’t answer that for you.

#oz’s requests #disco elysium headcanons #disco elysium #disco elysium x reader

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what-even-is-thiss · 3 years ago

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An unfinished nonfiction essay about being transgender that I don't think I want to finish but I thought that Tumblr might get something out of it:

An old teacher of mine once said that there comes a time when one is ready to write about something. Whether that be immediately or ten years down the line, you will know.

However, I have recently come to the realization that gender is a subject I will never truly have the space to think on, breathe on, drown in ink and spit it back out again.

I do not know what delusions the cisgender people think I am suffering under. I am living quite close to the question of my body every day. The small yellow ring in my blue eyes, the strange shape of my hairline and the wonder if it’s getting shorter or darker or if that’s just my imagination, my stomach too large to allow my breasts to be replaced with the scars I’ve been waiting for, the hives gathering in streaks along my skin after I make the mistake of biting into an avocado.

There is no relief in a second puberty. Not like taking a drink of water, anyways. More like pulling out a thorn over a period of months, or taking a painkiller and not noticing that your pain has been missing for hours. Slowly realizing you can access all of the depth of your own emotions. A thing that was not permitted of you before.

How does one explain being transgender? Many have tried. It’s a lot like trying to explain why one is left-handed, only worse. It is a thing so deeply tangled up in the understanding of the self that it is difficult to see even when it is standing right in front of you. Like trying to explain why you know that lemons are sour except in matters of the soul.

I had all of these thoughts one morning as I rinsed my face after sudsing it up with an orange goo. I am too close to certain aspects of my own existence to ever feel “ready” to write about them, in essay or poetry form. And yet somehow I feel some sort of obligation to write down these things, as if I must capture this moment in history for future generations. I am living in the middle of a civil rights struggle, after all. I lived to see the legalization of gay mairrage, after all. Shouldn’t I leave behind some artifact for my children to sift through?

So far my job has been survival. And what does one write about that? It is a thing that all humans do, but for the transgender person it is, unfortunately, a political statement. A powerful show of sticking it to The Man.

To be perfectly honest, I often tire of waking up in the morning to be a living breathing political statement. But I have no choice in the matter. Every bite of Raisin Bran is supposed to be charged with some sort of either pain and torment or outrage and determination. Going out to the grocery store in the middle of the night without a bra on must be a harrowing fight for my life.

My art can’t be about being transgender, because in practice being transgender is quite dull. It consists of rubbing the cleaning goo on your face in the mornings, shoving raisin bran down your gullet, idly wondering what is so intimidating about your existence that you occasionally get yelled at in public restrooms, peeling off your chest binder like you’re a snake shedding off its skin, watching tv before bed, and doing the whole thing again tomorrow.

Really, I may as well write about cooking dinner. I am transgender when I do that. I am transgender when I run, when my feet hurt, when I clean out the fridge. I am transgender when I go to church, when I call my father, when I dust off my bookcase or bite into a cherry tomato. I am just experiencing sweet existence. That is all.

#transgender #ok to reblog #roman said a thing #transmasc #trans man #roman wrote a thing

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strawberry-car · 3 years ago

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Howl’s Moving Castle x Male Reader

This is a trial run and there needs to be more about Howl anyways. There also might be a part two to this if there’s someone who wants it.

Pronouns: He/Him

Howl x Reader

Genre: Fluff?

Warnings: None

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Normally, wandering out into the mountains all on your lonesome isn’t exactly something that you do daily but today is an exception. Sophie, your best friend, had left you a note saying she had left. She didn’t elaborate on why, she simply said that something had happened at the hat shop two nights before and she needed some time to herself. “Could’ve just gone on a stroll through town, she could’ve. Or locked herself in her room. But no, she had to climb a bloody mountain instead..” You muttered, adjusting the straps of the pack on your back.

The smell of fire smoke reached your nose and you looked around. “Must be a cabin ‘round here somewhere.” You decided to reach the top of the hill to get a better look around, but before you could, the sound of metal scraping upon metal and the creaking of old wood filled your ears. Then you saw it. The thing they called a castle. “What in the world is this? Because it is surely not a castle.” You said aloud.

It stopped for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not to allow into it. You guessed it wanted to let you in since it lowered and its door swung open. You stood for a moment, too stunned to speak or move. You thought that maybe getting onto the so-called ‘castle’ was a bad idea, but a familiar, yet aged, voice called out your name. “Y/N! Come in! Unless you want to run after the bloody thing!” Sophie!

You quickly ran up and latched onto the railing next to the door, and hauled yourself up just as the caste began to move again. You took a moment to catch your breath before looking up to see your friend. “Good lord, Soph! IS this the incident you talked about in your note?” You exclaimed, standing up and pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your chilled hands. She smiled guiltily.

“I am sorry I left with nothing but a note in my place, N/N, but I doubted whether or not you’d think I was some senile old woman or if I was really Sophie.” You shook you head with a smile, your H/C hair fluffing outwards slightly. “Not at all! I’d know my best friend anywhere.” You told her. “Now, tell me. What the hell happened at the Hat Shop that night?”

“The Witch of the Waste isn’t a very pleasant woman.” Sophie sighed with a scowl on her face. “The Witch of the Waste did this to you? Well, you’d think her being magical would give her better things to do than torment young women.” You sighed.

“So, this is Howl’s Castle, eh?” You said, looking around the place. “Not much of a castle, is it?” You wrinkled your nose at the pile of dirty dishes and cobwebs. “Not really. Though I have become Howl’s new cleaning lady. Want to be my helper, N/N?” Sophie grinned. “Oh lord. Now I think it was a mistake coming to find your ass.” You groaned, not being able to help the smile that came across your face.

Throughout the next few days, you had met a little red haired boy who was called Markl. Though you had not met the master of the house yet. You had helped Sophie with the cleaning and become friends with Calcifer the demon.

Although, when you did meet the blond haired man, you were mesmerized by those eyes of his. A beautiful sea-green that sparkled in the sun. You wondered what they would look like in starlight.

“Sophie. Who is this?” His voice had startled you at first since you didn’t hear him come in. Though you quickly got used to the words that flowed like silk. “Oh, this is my friend, Y/N. He’s been helping out with the cleaning. I do hope that isn’t a problem.” Sophie smiled kindly. “No, not at all. Specially when he’s such a handsome man.” Howl replied, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles gently. Your breath hitched and your heart fluttered at the simple act. You gathered yourself and smiled. “I could say the same about you.” A light pink stained his pale cheeks. “Well, I should be off. Remember what I told you Sophie. Do not get carried away.” Howl said, letting go of your hand and turning the knob on the door, the dial color turning black as he stepped out into darkness.

You could feel the blush of your face as you turned back to scrubbing the grime off dishes. You do hope you’ll be able to see more of Howl at some point. And maybe, in more ways then one.

#studio ghibli #howl's moving castle #howls moving castle x male reader #stuidio ghibli x male reader.#x male reader #x male reader fanfic #studio ghibli fanfic #fluff #first fanfic #trial run

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sonianvmd · 4 years ago

Text

thh characters with a crush on you

warnings: none, maybe some swearing but otherwise nothing major

oH and mentions of murder and death but this is danganronpa so im going to assume u expected as much

a/n: so we kickin this blog off with a bang, writing for LITERALLY THE ENTIRE TRIGGER HAPPY HAVOC CAST LMFAOAOAOAO (excluding hifumi, yasuhiro, and the two despairs doe bc i’ve already made that clear)

also some character’s sections are shorter than others im sorry i just couldnt think of as many bullet points for them *tiktok cry emoji*

edit: I FORGOT CELSESTE FU K SORRY

spoilers under the cut!!

★ 彡 ★ ミ ★ 彡 ★ ミ ★

makoto naegi

when he realizes he likes you, he doesn’t necessarily panic or anything, but he does get nervous

nervous around you, that is

y’all saw how he was with sayaka

if he says anything that might sound intimate then he’ll immediately rephrase it or reassure he didn’t mean anything by it

he really only does have good intentions but his wording just kinda flops sometimes

he appreciates how you listen to him and value what he says

you don't make him feel dumb or inferior compared to a bunch of ultimates with actual talents

he’ll muster up the courage to tell you eventually

let’s hope his luck comes through 😁

byakuya togami

now when THIS man realizes he likes you, he a bitch nigga bout it 😐

he can't believe he fell for a common plebeian such as you

but it was hard not to

the way you preferred to get to the point

the way you were aware of your situation and didn't sugarcoat how you felt about it, although you certainly were nicer with it than him

he's ruthless

anyways

you knew your priorities and spent no time trying to use your resources

he noticed how much you had in common; in you, he saw himself

and we all know how this mf feels about himself 😐

he’ll be quick to defend you in class trials

he won’t realize he’s doing it but he just subconsciously protects you

but just because he doesn't notice it, don't mean the rest of the class brushes past it as well

yeah they on his ass LMFAOO

kyoko kirigiri

kyoko is very good at keeping her composure so she won’t be very obvious

she’ll probably just hang around you more

she’ll also defend you in class trials, calmly

“oh, it couldn’t have been [name]. i remember seeing them in their dorm around the time the murder took place.”

hifumi probably finna say some dumb shit like “aye what was you doin in their dorm doe” but anyways

she finds you respectable

if you have anything to contribute, she’ll let you take the floor

when she tells you, she’s very composed, but also very indirect LMFAO

she’s not too sure on how to express her interest in you but maybe she’ll go about it like “well, [name], now we’ve made it here, would you like to step back into the world with me?” or somethin else along those lines idk

take her hand

pls

toko fukawa

y’all know her whole “master togami” shtick

yeah so 😁😁😁😁

no but fr, toko ofc still has her borderline stalkerish 🧍🏾‍♀️ tendencies

she’ll often find herself staring at you, either in the library or in the morning meetings everyday at breakfast

but she isn’t as straight forward as she is with byakuya

i actually think she’d be mad shy and non confrontational

the whole thing she kept up with him ? yeah, never again

if you approach her first then she’ll be able to get a few words out but for most of the conversation, she’ll just nervously play with her braids

you’ll most likely put two and two together

unless ur a makoto kinnie bc then you’ll have to wait till someone else puts it in place for u but anyways

if you decide to approach her about it, you’ll kinda be backing her into a corner bc she’s just bad at deflecting things lmao

she’ll eventually confess (begrudgingly but hey i mean its better than nothing)

expect much stuttering and a gesture like giving you a small gift

and not to be that writer that uses japanese terms in english writing but toko seems like a tsundere but not really if that makes sense?? so she’d probably shove it in your hands and if you try to say something then she’ll just try to play it off as not a big deal lol

calls u a baka 😍😍

aoi asahina

i know y’all all see how she is with sakura

yeah.

aoi is the kind of person who’d like to spend time with their crush rather than shy away from them

she values you and your friendship very much

bring her donuts

just trust me bring her donuts

she doesn’t really realize she’s into you like that for a while but believe me, she is, the whole time

and yeah i think she’d be nervous to tell you bc that’s just natural but ultimately she’d be cool about it

uh oh looks like we goin for a swim

sakura ogami

similar to kyoko, she’s very calm

despite her big and bad appearance, she really is a sweet girl

she cares for you and your well-being very much

will indeed go on x games mode for you

the way she tells you is very sincere and well spoken

kith her

naow

im sorry this is like the shortest one i couldn’t think of much for her 😔😔

leon kuwata

flirtatious ass mf

and he’s lightskin

so this just cannot go well

y’all know that bit where it’s like the guy yawns and stretches his arms up and then wraps one around your shoulder

yeah that’s literally him LMFAOO

he’s very confident

he was fairly well known with the ladies at his old school so you know he’s rhockin wit it ‼️

but

you feel.. different than usual ??

those girls were just lil flings n dates bc he was nice enough to accept their confessions and it boosted his ego anyway so it was a win win

but you

he was genuinely interested in you since he had saw you the first time

he didn’t just acknowledge your appearance

he learnt about your personality and your hobbies and what you liked and such, and he really cared and wanted to hear you talk about it all

he felt the need to really make an effort to show you how much he respected and had affections for you

he doesn't tell you in a grand way

probably just asks you out to a movie or somethin

he's chillin

mondo owada

you know

for being the biggest, baddest, most respected biker gang leader

or just for being in a biker gang period

mondo’s a huge softie lol

yeah he gets violent but he’s a sweet guy who cares about and is loyal to his friends

so mfs need to be nice to you

or they gettin whooped

when he decides it’s time to tell you how he feels, he thinks over his words and he’s all confident there’s no way you’d reject him but then he sees you in the halls and goes 🧍🏾 LMFAOOO

he’ll push through but it’s like he’ll walk up to you and look away from you because he refuses eye contact and just go

“so y/n, would you wanna.. tch.. come to a drive-in movie with me or somethin’?... dumbass.”

real smooth mondo i think you got em good job

please tease him LMFAOO it’d be so funny

he’d probably yell but you can tell he’s not mad so you just keep going with it

but once you’re done tormenting him, you do agree to the movie, don’t worry 🙏🏾

also mondo would call his s/o doll

that is all

chihiro fujisaki

my fav dude in a dress <3

chihiro would be quite shy, but that’s just how he is tbh so no surprise there

he’s very kind so he’d check up on you often just to see how you are

he cares about you v much

the way he confesses is one that consists of a red face as he offers you a box of candy or something similar

and he’d feel honored that you reciprocate his feelings

he’d be very scared to tell you his secret but once he does, he’s delighted to hear it doesn’t make any difference to you

he doesn’t know how he got so lucky with you

not only because woooo they like me back but also because you like him despite,, well everything about him LMFAOO

sweet lil boy

i’d feel like he’d talk about you to alter ego a lot

and when u meet the program for the first time, he’s like “oh! you must be [name]! master’s told me all about you :)”

sobbing i miss him

kiyotaka ishimaru

okay here’s the thing

if taka were to like someone

i can’t tell whether he’d be more strict because he doesn’t want them to get in trouble (and also so it would hopefully divert any suspicion that he DOES like you since he treats you the same as everyone else, only more)

or if he’d hold back more because he favors them LMFAOO

so imma write a lil bit for both

in the case that he was even stricter:

he’d prefer to be around you because he believes the best way he can make sure you stay out of trouble is to make sure you don’t get into any in the first place

of course it’s impossible to monitor you every second of every day but he does his best to make sure you’re doing well

if he sees you do anything out of line, he’s shutting that shit down IMMEDIATELY

but in the case he let up:

he’d still lecture you but noticeably less than the other students

if your feet were resting on top of a desk, he’d ask you to move them and then leave you alone rather than yell at you and forcibly move them himself

if you notice his behavior towards you in comparison to the other students do not tease him about it he will go as red as his eyes /hj

either way he’s confessing to you with a polite but exaggerated bow while holding out a well thought out letter with both hands

sayaka maizono

she will tell you

idk why but i feel like she’d be straight up lol

she’d make sure she’s sincere

she is the ultimate pop idol and all so she wants to make sure you know that she really does like you and isn’t playing a sick joke on you or anything

ok bc

while i do think she’d tell you

i’d feel like she’d be a little indirect just to see how you feel

like she’d give you a free ticket to one of her upcoming concerts with a kind smile

and naturally, you're like :o

and of course you come to support her

and seeing you smile at her from the crowd and cheer her on was the encouragement she needed to push her to ask you out

for real this time

she asks if you wanna come to a concert with her and ur like “oh yeah i love ur shows!!” bc ur dumb and then she’s like “no i mean.. for another artist” and eventually it hits you that she’s asking you out and ur like “oH YEAH YEAH SURE THAT SOUNDS GREAT YEAH OK” LMFAOO

———

i really hope that this is good LMFAOO this is my first time writing for dr so 😃👍🏾

fun fact i finished toko’s section first and taka’s last 😁😁

and i’d like to thank @mius-imagination @bloodygir n the rest of the discord for helping me figure some of these characters out *simultaneously whips and nae naes*

bye ive been working on this for like weeks this took forever

———

edit: here’s a deleted section bc i kept blanking for this character 😍

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years ago

Note

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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discodeviant · 2 years ago

Text

The Devil Lives in Hawkins

"All you can do is pray for a quick death... which you ain't gonna get." - Reservoir Dogs, 1992

Billy vs. Jason, Implied Mungrove | Mature | 1.7k words Non-Graphic Violence + Torture, Referenced Canonical Character Death, No Upside Down, Religious Themes

Admittedly some form of this rivalry has been worming its way around my brain for a while now, and this is very much an amped-up version of what I originally had in mind. Not overly graphic. Please tread with caution and enjoy!

Made for @billyhargrovebingo!

Two days.

Maybe.

Jason hadn't really been able to keep track of time since the radio was all he had to help him, and that was on and off, cutting in and out with the shitty quarry service. He wasn't even sure it was right anymore; it started to feel repetitive. Routine like the chirping of morning sparrows and fog that suffocated him into waking up again. The unchanged coverage of the daily forecast with the same sunny voice that said it would be a humid eighty-nine degrees in Indianapolis. His wrists and ankles and neck and torso burned as he tugged on the rope tightly wound around him, less and less energy with each passing minute. The sweat and urine in his clothes had dried and crusted; he was so fucking thirsty. God save him. He didn't deserve this.

But he couldn't pray away Billy Hargrove.

He'd forgotten already which of Billy's arrivals were in his head, and which were real. Which were dreams in his cloudy, starved mind, and which were in the flesh. Which breaths seared the back of his neck. Which teeth-clicks and whistles were muted in cedar walls. Which light, perverse touches really came from Billy's own hands, because Jason thought they may have been his henchmen. Vile things served to torment him because Billy Hargrove was the same as Eddie Munson, a man so unholy as to subject him to the wrath of both human hands and ghastly appendages.

How, he didn't know, nor did he care.

But, once again, Billy Hargrove was coming for him, the rough Camaro engine thundering from miles away. Even so, Jason must have been the only one who ever heard it, because nobody else had come. It was only Billy, and it was only himself, and he cursed the day Billy was born.

Soon, a set of thick keys jingled in the lock of the door that swung open every so often. Once a day, maybe. Twice if he was bad. But it had been only two days, and he was terrible on the first. Billy's silhouette came and went, then was replaced by the bleary image of his face and body looming over Jason like a monster. "I hope you didn't miss me too much," Billy said. Low, calm, pacing around the chair that sat in the middle of an empty, windowless cabin. Jason screamed through the cloth in his mouth.

"I know, I know. See, Carver, the thing is..." Rough hands grabbed Jason's shoulders and squeezed them hard, pressed into bruises that were old and new. Billy's breath singed the tip of his right ear as he said, "I don't. Like. Liars."

Jason's eyes already stung with tears from the dusty air and the fear he couldn't force himself to ignore anymore. He cried out something pathetic and weak, not the Jason he was the week before--three days, even. Barely two.

"Ah-ah-ah, shh..." Billy whispered--"It's listening time,"--then shifted over to Jason's left ear and rubbed behind it with a dirty finger, picking scabs that had formed over the previous night's trauma. It stung. "I had a revelation today." And a tear fell down Jason's cheek, lonely and frail; it didn't even make it to his chin.

"One of your little friends. I don't know which one, and I don't care. I was going to get my little sister--you know Maxine, don't you? Anyway... I guess there's been some... miscommunication... between you and him. I couldn't say why, you know."

A lighter clicked, and the heat of its flame licked Jason's lobe. He held his breath and hoped Billy was holding his too, but he knew he wasn't. Then there was a cloud of smoke around him, more suffocating than the fog alone and so much worse alongside it.

"So anyway, he says to me, 'Oh, I saw Munson at Hideaway last night, you might wanna check it out.'"

Jason's stomach tied itself into a knot and lurched up his throat, taking his heart with it. Why, God, why?

Billy ambled around to the front of the chair, standing contrapposto style with a hand on his belt. Jason's gaze fell to his knees. "And I'm thinking, well that doesn't make sense. Because, first of all, Eddie doesn't go to bars without me." Billy dragged on his cigarette. "In fact, he hasn't gone to a bar since March! Funny that, huh?

"You know, since this whole witch hunt thing, he hasn't wanted to go anywhere. Not with me, not with the guys. Laying low so you wouldn't get your grubby little hands on him. Imagine my surprise when I hear that he's... suddenly decided to go somewhere." Billy's eyes were wide, a performative grin donning his face that looked like a ghost in the shadows. "Strange, right?

"Now, the second reason it didn't make any sense to me was that..."

A barely-audible whimper from the back of Jason's throat made Billy smile.

"Eddie doesn't play Hideaway."

Jason choked on his own vomit.

"And, you know, it's an easy mix-up. I understand." Closer, Billy stepped.

One.

Two.

Bent over with both hands on his knees, cigarette bouncing between his lips, and that was the only thing Jason could look at. The burning ember as ash fell from it into the air, solid nicotine somewhere that he dared to ground himself to. Billy's eyes were so cold. Sweat misted every surface of Jason's skin, but he was in a sub-zero vacuum in the middle of an empty void. Only himself, and only Billy Hargrove. Only the knowledge that he'd lost.

"Here's what I think, Carver," Billy said. "I think... you fucked up.

"I think... you let your head get too big in the first place.

"I think... somewhere"--he poked Jason's chest--"deeeep down, right in here, you know God-damn well that he's innocent. Big Man's all about honesty, isn't he?" Blunt nails dug into yesterday's burns, and Jason wanted to scream until his lungs gave out, but fear held him around the throat and cut his vocal cords in half.

"I think you're gonna tell me where he really is if you wanna get out of this shithole in one piece."

And Jason almost considered lying again. Telling Billy that he didn't have a fucking clue where Eddie was. Trying to convince him that Eddie probably fled the state because he was a cold-blooded killer. But deep down, right in there, Jason knew Chrissy would have hated him for all of it. For letting bitter anguish get the better of him. For being a liar and a God-damn hypocrite. God wouldn't forgive him, not for this. Not for anything.

If it was true--if Chrissy was suddenly, inexplicably friends with Eddie Munson--she would have protected him, with every ounce of her sugar-sweet heart, from Jason; from his little friend, the one who fucked up and gave Billy Hargrove everything he needed to end it there and then. And Jason would have believed her, of course he would have.

But, by then, his throat had been all but severed. He could only cry. He sobbed and choked on his rasp, vomit soaking into the rag tied around his head and making him even sicker.

"Cat got your tongue?" Billy asked, an eyebrow raised, and then stood up. Walked back around. Clicked the radio on again, and this time it was a different voice. Tired and dull, bored of the monotony of the every day life of a radio host.

"... masterful poetry of the rock world since its debut in nineteen-seventy-six..."

Billy returned to his spot in front of Jason, watching as he suffered through the motions of trying to breathe with snot that he couldn't blow out, irritated eyes with tears that he couldn't wipe away, trying to swallow the guilt and regret and accepting that it was too late to go back and fix anything; he couldn't save Chrissy.

And if God wouldn't save him, then who would?

A heavy black cowboy boot shoved itself between Jason's legs, too close to his piss-stained crotch for him to avoid flinching. He watched rough, dirty hands yank up frayed denim and pull a knife from the side before Billy stood back into position.

The radio host's voice disappeared, and a guitar took its place. Billy's eyes changed then, excited and eager as he flipped the blade open; shiny, cleaned of Jason's old blood and ready for the new.

"You've heard this song," Billy told him, swaying to the beat and drumming along, closer with each measure. He sang along with the lower harmony: "All our times have come..."

Jason's eyes followed the sun's reflection on the blade every time it hit the light and bounced right back. This was the white light, the yellow beam of constricted sunshine after days held captive by the scapegoat's vengeful lover. Maybe it was bound to end this way. Maybe this was God's plan.

"Here, but now they're gone..."

Billy came closer, straddled Jason's lap, then sat right on top of him and grabbed him by the hair.

"Seasons don't fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain..."

The blade disappeared, and Jason sobbed; fucking screamed as loud as his tired lungs would allow.

"We can be like they are... come on, baby, don't fear the reaper..."

It traced the scabs behind his ear, poked, prodded, dug into the open wound.

"Baby, take my hand; don't fear the reaper..."

He didn't know whether it was blood or sweat or tears or all three dripping down his neck, letting Billy's fingers slide over his jaw and grip it painfully tight.

"We'll be able to fly; don't fear the reaper..."

A sharp stinging, searing pain, and Jason couldn't feel at all anymore.

"Baby, I'm your man..."

Every sound became a ringing in his head, loud and persistent. All he knew was Billy's arm moving over him, back and forth, quick and abrupt movements; the other hand held Jason's head in place to the side, hotter and wetter the more he worked.

"La... la, la... la, la..."

Three days.

For sure. Definitely.

Maybe.

Blood stained the entire left side of his neck and shoulder, sticky down his arm. The ringing hadn't gone away. Billy had whispered something he couldn't hear anymore, but in his dream, Jason felt it.

"I'll find my Eddie."

This Billy was a mirage.

"And when I do, you'll wish you were good enough for Hell."

But, oh, he was right.

"La... la, la... la, la..."

#.discowrites #stranger things #billy hargrove #jason carver #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #stranger things fic #fanfic #one shot #billy hargrove bingo #dark fic

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panda-noosh · 3 years ago

Text

the game {draco x reader}

masterlist

---

you’ve been tormenting the malfoy family for what feels like forever.

it’s become a kind of game at this point, a game everyone is involved in. the malfoys pretend they don’t expect your presence, and you pretend you are tormenting them because you don’t like them. it’s back and forth, back and forth, and you’ve been doing it too long to back out now.

it starts the same way every time - the gate is open, and they pretend it’s because they forgot to close it. nobody mentions the fact that lucius malfoy hasn’t forgotten a single thing in his entire life. nobody mentions draco’s blonde head peaking out from behind the living room curtains, waiting for the arrival of a person he claims to despise.

you stroll in with the ease of someone who owns the place, smiling and waving at the white peacocks that have become so familiar with your presence by now that they don’t even make a noise upon seeing you. they lift their graceful heads, and then they bow them again - it’s as simple as that.

you knock on the door, grinning even wider when you hear narcissa’s faux exclamation of, “who could that possibly be?” you know for a fact that draco has warned her of your presence already, that all three of them have been expecting your arrival since they woke up this morning.

and then the door opens, and narcissa stands there in all her glory. such a tall, graceful woman, and you tell her that on a daily basis, making her blush because you are her favourite little Mudblood, and she lets you get away with things like that.

you lean against the door frame, spinning your wand between your ringed fingers. narcissa glares at you without speaking, her jaw working as she inspects you.

“evening,” you drawl. “how are you today, my dear?”

her nostrils flare. “how many times have we told you to stay away from our home?”

“oh, plenty of times. i’ve quite lost count.” you straighten, craning your neck to see over her tall frame, into the hallway beyond. standing in the foyer, just as you predicted, just as he always does, is draco. you give him a wave before turning back to face his mother. “is he alright? i haven’t seen him much at school recently.”

“my sons wellbeing is none of your business.”

draco appears at his mothers elbow. “you can tell professor snape i’ve been feeling ill.”

you smile - draco giving you orders is moreso his way of answering your questions without looking like he gives a shit. you appreciate it, this code you two speak in, because in all truth, you do worry about the malfoy boy quite a bit.

you met him in school, your very first year at hogwarts. you were crushed beneath adrenaline, having found out about your powers only a few weeks before being shipped off to this strange and wonderful new school. you had a wand, and a robe, and there was a giant man ushering you into a tiny boat, ready to take you to the future.

and then draco appeared, and he knew who you were. he must have looked through the first year list, must have looked you up and realised you were a muggle-born. he did his research, and that was the first point of respect he earned off you.

“let them in, mother,” draco says now. “the elves made too much food anyway; might as well put them to use whilst they’re here.”

you give a mock bow. “much appreciated, malfoy.”

he snarls, before mother and son turn on their heels and lead you into the home you have become so familiar with these past few years. you’ve traced these walls with your fingers a thousand times before, and you do the same now. upstairs, you hear the elves marching around, putting stuff back where they belong, chuntering amongst themselves; silently, you wonder where lucius is.

draco and narcissa lead you to the kitchen, where stacks upon stacks of food are set up along the grand dining table. draco hands you a glass of water before gesturing to the plates and saying, “dig in. and be grateful we haven’t got the ministry involved.”

“the ministry?” you raise a brow, taking a long, loud sip of your water before continuing. “draco, what would the ministry possibly do? you’ve been letting me into your home for years - it’s starting to get a little old hearing you say you don’t want me here.”

draco blinks, startled.

narcissa steps in, grabbing the water from your hand and slamming it upon the table. “we don’t want you here. the last thing we need is some filthy mudblood knocking on our door at all hours of the morning.”

the word doesn’t even sting any more - it’s a wound that has been closed long enough now to no longer hurt. so instead, you smile and say, “very true, narcissa. i’ll have my water back now, if you please.”

narcissa growls, turns and walks out of the kitchen. she always does this. it’s become part of the routine.

you grab the water yourself and take another sip. draco continues staring at you, a habit he adopted only recently. you remember the first time he did it, the first time it was more than a glance, more than an accidental brush of eye contact between you; he was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, those slim fingers tapping a rhythm against the expensive granite. you and lucius were chatting, lucius asking - yet again - why you’re here, why you can never leave them alone, why you aren’t at school. you were going to answer, but draco’s gaze was burning a hole into the side of your face, and you truly felt as if you had no choice but to pack it in early and go home, just to recuperate.

you’ve gotten better with it. you don’t have any plans of storming out any time soon, though his gaze still makes your face heat up and your stomach squirm.

“so, you’ve been ill, have you?” you begin. “i won’t lie, draco, you look pretty spritely to me.”

“i wouldn’t expect you to understand,” draco shoots back. “you should just mind your business.”

“i never asked you what was wrong. i was just saying - seems like you’re looking for a muggle excuse to get out of going to school.”

draco glares, though the expression has less effect now that he’s taken to never taking his eyes off you, no matter what his emotions towards you are in the moment. “i’ve told you not to call me that.”

“didn’t call you anything.”

“you called me a muggle.”

you narrow your eyes in faux confusion. “i said your excuse was muggle. don’t blow it out of proportion, mate.”

he throws his hands up, turning away for what feels like the first time since he laid eyes on you. “why are you here this time, y/n? what could you possibly want from us now?”

“i’ve never wanted anything from you.” you inspect the endless plates on the table. “although i will pinch a scotch egg, if you don’t mind.”

draco watches as you reach across the table, picking at the assortment of foods. you don’t break the eye contact, because that’s what he wants you to do. he wants you to show some sign of intimidation, some sign that he has wriggled beneath your nerves in the same way he manages with everyone else. you’re determined to show him you’re not afraid of the malfoys, have never been afraid of the malfoys, and that’s exactly why you’re here. you wanted something, and you were willing to go to the highest rank to get it.

“you know, if my father finds out about what you get up to, you’ll be sent to azkaban with a life sentence.”

you freeze, scotch egg halfway to your mouth. “so you’re bringing that up now, are you?”

“i’m just warning you.” draco shrugs, the sleeves of his black blazer stretching against the motion. “one day you’re going to walk in here, and he’s going to know. he’s going to see it in your eyes that you’re guilty.”

“he’s going to figure me out.” you scoff. “you really think the sun shines out of your father’s arse, don’t you? he’s not as smart as he likes everyone to think, draco. i’ve been running circles around that man for years now, and he’s none the wiser.”

“and what if i tell him?”

the room falls silent. your heartbeat rings in your ears. you hate talking about this with draco, because you never know whether or not to take his threats seriously.

he folds his arms over his chest. “you’re lucky i haven’t blabbed yet.”

“are you threatening me, malfoy?” you lean forward, lowering your voice to a purr. “why don’t you tell me the real reason you’ve taken two weeks out of school, hm? then we’ll both have stories to tattle to the ministry.”

draco pales. he glares at you for a moment longer before the kitchen door opens, and narcissa malfoy strolls inside once again. you straighten up, schooling your expression into one of immediate calm, like not a single thing is wrong. you pop the remaining scotch egg in your mouth and say, “i should get out of your hair now.”

narcissa simply scowls.

you give her a grin, nod at draco once before walking out the door, trying to ignore that blue-eyed gaze still burning into the back of your head.

----

it gets easier over time.

all of it does, really. the guilt becomes non-existent, and the act itself becomes second nature after a few good attempts. you’ve nearly been caught a handful of times, and you know if your actions were to come to light, you would be expelled from hogwarts in a heartbeat; not even dumbledore could show you mercy, no matter how much he likes you.

it’s easiest when the streets are full. muggles are so careless, clumped together with wallets jingling in their pockets, unprotected. they don’t even think about what might go wrong, don’t even think a wizard may be lurking amongst them, ready to snatch their belongings right from their person.

you don’t need it, of course. muggle money means nothing where you come from, but there’s some wizards and witches who would pay hundreds of galleons in trade for the things collected off muggles. it’s a black market kind of situation.

tonight, you are dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, wand stowed in your back pocket. you don’t need it; you’ve mastered the magic-free manoeuvres of sneaking things from people, and you use such skills to your advantage tonight. a man by the name of richard carpol has put in a request for a muggle passport - an irish one, preferably, but he’ll take anything you can get your hands on.

you search for what feels like hours before zoning in on the dark red booklet peaking out of a teenagers jacket pocket. their source of ID, you assume, and you feel no guilt whatsoever when you stroll past them and pluck the book free. you stuff it in your hoodie pocket before picking up your pace, ducking into a dark alleyway.

you flip it open - it’s a british passport, but richard will still pay. he’s not a picky customer, which makes your night ten times easier.

you make your way back to hogwarts, waving at people in hogsmeade before you disappear for the night. you sneak into the slytherin dormitory with no problems, stuffing the passport beneath your mattress. you wriggle beneath the sheets, ignoring pansy’s insistant questions about where you have been, if you’ve seen draco, how you managed to sneak past filch - she asks this every night, and you have never replied. you just fall asleep, another day successful.

----

“he’s back.”

like he’s some kind of god. you nearly roll your eyes, the whispers repeated over and over again throughout morning breakfast. all around you, the slytherin table is alive with anticipation, waiting for draco malfoy to stroll in through the double doors, head held high in that way it always is.

you knew draco was returning before anyone else did, as he told you the night before in a fit of faux rage at the sight of you in his bedroom, yet again. you had offered to leave, leaned casually against his mahogany wardrobe, and it could almost be considered hasty the speed at which he rushed for his door to close it, uttering a quiet, “no, you’re here now, so you might as well stay.”

but now he’s back in school, and you’re sick of him. you haven’t even seen his face once, but the whispers and the praise from your house mates is enough to set your teeth on edge. it reminds you that there is indeed a draco living outside of the malfoy manor, a draco you cannot tease and torment as easily.

“i saw him in the common room this morning putting his robes on. i think his parents got him new ones,” a fellow slytherin whispers. “and his hair has been cut a little shorter - he looks so grown up!”

you snicker into your porridge, smothering the noise to no avail. the slytherin girl singing draco’s praises shoots you a glare before noticing who you are; her glare folds in on itself, and she quickly retaliates by pretending she didn’t hear your snicker in the first place.

breakfast ticks by, and it’s only near the end does draco finally decide to grace the dining hall with his presence. the double doors open, and the chatter amongst the slytherins falls short almost immediately. you’re ashamed to admit that even you look up at the speed of light, catching one of the first glimpses of draco malfoy as he returns from what many people assumed was the dead.

his fangirl certainly wasn’t lying, you notice; his hair has been cut shorter, and he does look plenty grown up. he walks with a fresh confidence that makes you want to roll your eyes - it’s not like he needed a further confidence boost. his robes are clean, brushing the floor. his eyes are trained on the head table, though they linger there for only moments before snapping to where you are seated.

you raise a curious brow. he blushes, looks away, and takes his seat next to crabbe and goyle, both of whom clap him on the back like he’s just returned from war.

you ignore him the rest of breakfast, which is a rare action for you. you used to revel in tormenting him, coming face to face with him at every corner just to give another snide remark; it was a game back then, back when the two of you were younger and felt as if you could get away with it.

breakfast ends shortly thereafter, and you hurry to gather your things. swinging your bag over one shoulder, you duck your head down and escape into the crowded corridors, losing yourself amongst the sea of black clad students.

but you’re a fool to ever think you - of all people - could escape draco’s magnificent return to school. his cold fingers wrap around your wrist before you have a chance to turn the corridor to your next class, stopping you in your tracks. part of you wants to spin around and punch him, just floor him in front of everyone, show him that you’re not just some silly person showing up on his front doorstep every other night.

instead, you slowly turn and give him a smile, one of your big ones to let him know you don’t mean it, that you’re being hostile.

his face is set in stone, that frown so perfect and soft looking it makes you want to sob.

“where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks, keeping his voice low because god forbid anyone catch him speaking to you.

“class,” you reply. “so kindly let go of me, malfoy.”

“not until you tell me where richard got another muggle passport to sell.”

you freeze, though you knew this would be coming eventually. richard is one of your best customers, but he’s not very bright; he’s never understood the concept of subtlety when it comes to the trading of muggle artefacts.

“he has a new one, does he?” you say. “good for him. his collection must be getting awfully big by now.”

draco scowls. “my father is starting to get very suspicious, y/n, and i don’t know how much longer i’ll be willing to cover for you.”

you pry your hand out of his grip, nearly stumbling from the momentum. “is that a threat?”

“it’s a warning,” he says. “i might not like you, but i don’t need you going down for something like this. people know we’re familiar with each other, and i don’t want you tarnishing my family name.”

you scoff. “your family name has been tarnished since you-know-who was in power.”

“shut up. don’t talk on things you don’t understand.”

“all i need to do is pick up a history book.”

draco scowls, those blues eyes ablaze. you’ve seen this look on him when he’s speaking to those gryffindors he hates so much, when a teacher takes someone else’s side over his own. you’ve seen this look on him plenty of times, but never aimed at you; for some reason, his expression is always so soft around the edges when trained on you.

“i’m trying to do you a favour,” draco mumbles. “because i’m serious when i say my father will snap you in half if he finds out you’re the one providing these artefacts to the dark market.”

“i’m not afraid of lucius,” you reply. “and i think you’re kind of forgetting the fact that your father actually likes me. at least a little bit.”

draco’s eyebrows fly up in amusement. “what’s given you that idea?”

“the fact that i’m still allowed in your house after all these years.” you grin, basking in the way draco’s own smile fades at the realisation you have indeed recognised this behaviour within his family. “yes, malfoy. you all try so hard to convince me i’m the scum of the earth, but the truth is, you appreciate my company. the truth is, you make me tea every time i visit. the truth is, you’re all a little fond of me, whether you want to admit it or not.”

his face pales even more, a feat you didn’t think possible until seeing it with your own two eyes. it’s a delicious win, a point for you in a competition you didn’t even realise you had entered.

“you’re delusional,” he mumbles. “you say you picked up a history book, then you must know how my family feel about your kind.”

“my kind?” you raise a brow, feigning ignorance just to annoy him. he hates outstretched conversations, especially with you. “are you talking about half-bloods, or pickpockets? oh! or people who can run circles around you without fear?”

you don’t give him a chance to reply, because quite frankly, you’re done with this conversation. you’re done with him for today. you prefer it when you’re in control of your daily draco interactions.

you turn on your heel and leave, rushing for your next class even as he calls your name. you can’t believe the nerve of him, approaching you like that, telling you to quit the job that’s gotten you off the streets, that’s helped you fund an education for yourself. these robes you’re wearing, the books you read in class, the wand that is an extension of your arm by now - all of it was funded by you, from your own pocket. just because the business is ruthless, not some posh, clean dealing that malfoy is used to, doesn’t mean it’s any less important.

you want to shove that explanation down his throat, just so he’ll finally look past his own privileged little bubble. you hate admitting it, but the truth is, draco wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so blinded by his upbringing. he knows how to be nice - you’ve seen it before, experienced it before, though you never talk about those experiences with anyone. there have been a few times where draco has seen you walking past his house, soaked to the bone from the rain, and he’s let you in, warmed you up by the fire, placed a hot chocolate in your hand. he’ll insult you and call you stupid and claim he wants you out of his house as soon as possible, but he was still the man who made the move to get you out of the rain.

your feelings for draco are a jenga tower. built up to full form, but slowly, pieces get chipped away until the entire thing is falling, and you have to rebuild it and try again.

you don’t know why you keep rebuilding it after so many disasters, but as he calls your name at your retreating back, you can feel yourself already putting those blocks back together.

----

charms class really is a pain.

flitwick is nice enough. he’s patient, which is good, and very much needed when it comes to your skills in the classroom. you’re an intelligent person, always studying because you want to be the best. you love seeing the look on draco’s face when he looks over and sees you’ve got a higher grade than him. it gives you such a thrill.

but charms is your downfall, because nothing makes any sense. flitwick explains the spell, and the hand movements, and he leaves you to your own devices, and you always somehow end up messing everything up.

today, all you’re doing is tossing a pillow to the other side of the room. it’s a simple spell, a simple gesture, and yet you still manage to smash a window in the process. flitwick merely sighs, explains the charm again, and gets you to repeat the process until you’ve got it right.

it takes a while. you don’t like it when things take a while.

by the half hour mark, sweat is running down your face, and your teeth have been gritted for so long it’s starting to hurt. you throw your wand down on the table, rake your hands through your hair and say, “i’m taking a break.”

“please do,” flitwick grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head where a vase smashed into his skull, thanks to your handiwork.

you slump down on one of the pillows you have failed to charm and run a hand along your brow. it’s actually disgusting how much energy gets taken out of you from doing such a simple thing. it’s also very confusing, considering you’re able to master the most difficult spells in defence against the dark arts without so much as a second thought. why tossing a pillow to the other side of the room is getting to you is both a joke and a mystery.

as you pull yourself together, savouring your moment of rest, someone slumps down next to you. you glance over, an eyebrow raised at bailey o’boyle, a boy you’ve done business with a few times in the past. he was only dabbling in the black market at the time, too young to understand what it was actually all about, but you weren’t going to be the one to ward him off, not when he had a good few galleons with your name on it.

he looks at you now with a smile, big and dopey, just as it always is.

“can i help you?” you ask.

“yes.”

you wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. he just keeps staring at you.

you grit your teeth. “with what?”

“i need an electric scooter.”

you raise a brow. already the word ‘electric’ has got your attention, because that’s not something the wizard world is very familiar with. what bailey is doing right now is forming a business deal. you’re not usually a fan of bargaining in the middle of class, but since you have nothing better to do. . .

you turn, ducking your head and lowering your voice. “what the fuck do you need an electric scooter for?”

“to sell,” he replies. “i’ve got a man who collects them. he’s willing to pay big money, y/n. big, big money.”

you like the sound of that.

“i’m a pickpocket, you know,” you say. “it’s not going to be easy pickpocketing an entire scooter from a muggle.”

bailey shrugs. “i said i’d see what you could do. but if you’re not up to it. . .”

your eye twitches; you hate that phrase. realistically, you know this is far beyond your expertise. you steal wallets, and passports, and house keys, tiny things you can sneak away without detection. trying to get something like an electric scooter from a muggle without being caught is close enough to impossible that even the lure of galleons isn’t enough to convince you to do it.

still, of course you’re going to think about it. there are many different side streets in muggle london that you could go down, and if you do it at night, the shadows could be used to your advantage. nobody would even bat an eye if you wore-

draco grabs your wrist and pulls you from the floor.

you yelp, stumbling into his chest. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you’re more surprised at his strength than you are at his actions.

bailey’s eyes widen. he stutters, trying to feign innocence, but neither you nor draco are interested in him any more. you whirl on malfoy, shoving him away.

“what the hell?”

“what the hell, is right.” he grabs your arm. “come with me.”

you struggle against his grip, but truth to be told, you’re not really putting up much of a fight. you’re still in shock at how easily he was able to lift you, at the feel of his fingers around your upper arm.

he drags you from the classroom. flitwick being flitwick doesn’t even bat an eye; he’s probably relieved that’s two more students he doesn’t need to worry about.

in the hallway, draco finally lets go of you. you jerk away so fast your back hits against the wall. draco raises a brow, but he still looks furious. his nostrils are flared, his face is pale, and god, he keeps clenching his fists like he wants to wrap his hands around your throat.

god help you, you kind of want him to. just to know what it feels like.

“again,” you say. “what the hell?”

“i knew you were stupid, y/n, but that’s bad even for you.”

“excuse me?”

“you do realise blaise was listening to every word you and bailey were saying in there?” he shakes his head, jaw clenched. “i was trying to talk over you, but your loud mouth is quite difficult to ignore.”

you blink. firstly, wow. bargaining in class really isn’t a good idea, and you really should have known better.

but also, wow, draco actually tried helping you out.

you swallow and fold your arms over your chest. “i had it under control. blaise isn’t gonna do shit.”

draco laughs. “blaise’s dad is in the ministry, idiot.”

“stop calling me that. i’m smarter than you!”

“do you understand what i’m telling you, y/n? if blaise says a word about what he heard to his dad, that’s you done. there’s no getting out of that.”

a chill runs down your spine. draco glimpses the movement, and you swear his features soften slightly.

“i just can’t believe you were so careless.”

“why do you even care?” your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. you kind of hope draco doesn’t hear it, but his eyebrows shoot up, and his cheeks gain a tiny red tint that lets you know he doesn’t really know the answer to that question.

you swallow, looking up to meet his eyes. “why do you care, draco?”

“because.” his throat bobs. there is a moment of hesitation where you think he’s going to tell the truth. maybe he’s going to shock the world and just tell the god damn truth, but then he clears his throat, pulls his shoulders back and says, “i’ve already told you, y/n; if you go down, you’ll tarnish my family name. i can’t have that.”

your insides wilt like his words are acid being poured down your throat. you laugh a little too loudly, a bark more than anything close to amusement. it’s so vicious, so filled with hatred that draco actually flinches away. in that moment, you want to give him a real reason to flinch, a real reason to be afraid.

but you don’t, because he’s the boy who pulled you out of the rain.

instead, you shake your head and say, “tell flitwick i’m ill. and don’t bother talking to me ever again. let me handle my own business, thanks.” and without another word, you rush down the hallway to the dorm rooms, refusing to look back at him. this time, he doesn’t call your name, doesn’t chase after you in that hopelessly stupid way you want him to. of course he wouldn’t.

you throw your robes off the minute you burst through the doors of your dorm. it’s empty besides a fellow slytherin’s cat laying on the bed. the black and white feline lifts its head at the sound of you, and you ignore it’s confused little mews as you scramble into your own bed, pull the privacy curtain over and bury your head in your pillow.

you hate him. you really, really hate him, and that’s not even an exaggeration. he’s the worst person you’ve ever met. he’s this tormented little shit who thinks he has every right to throw his anger at everyone else, just because he isn’t tough enough to stand up to mummy and daddy. he’s so desperate to stay in line with everything his parents say, and it’s ridiculous. it’s embarrassing. it’s a cowards move.

there are so many things you wished you said to him before storming off, but there’s always that moment of hesitation when it comes to anything you want to say to draco. you either have to check it’s not too nice, and even when it’s mean, you have to check it’s not going to actually upset him, because you don’t want to do that either. you don’t know why. you should spit in his face for the shit he puts you through, the confusion he makes you feel. and he doesn’t even care. he just carries on being a little prick, like nothing is wrong in the world.

but surprise, surprise, draco. not everyone can live a lavish life, worry free.

---

you manage to ignore draco for the rest of the day. it’s easily done, considering draco doesn’t like to make a big deal out of the fact that you two actually have history; he likes to pretend he associates only with people of the purest blood, the most talented wizards, ones that come from the old families.

but he can’t keep his eyes off you.

he knows he’s hit a nerve. the way his eyes follow every movement you make, the way his jaw ticks when you don’t even give him the time of day - he’s not a stupid boy, as much as you like to tell him he is. he can see when he’s upset you.

classes drag in the rest of the day, and it’s a massive relief when you’re finally released from the confines of lessons, free to do whatever you want. after stealing a bit of food from the dining hall, you head up to the slytherin dormitory; you like it best when it’s empty, when you can just sit with your own thoughts for a while. you need it today, because today you actually let yourself be a normal teenager, and you hate it. you hate the feeling of hormones and overreactions, but sometimes it’s hard to help it. sometimes you need to let yourself feel emotional.

alone in the dorms, you reach under your bed and pull out your handy box of trinkets. most of the contents are just things you’ve stolen that never found a home - a penny from a london sidewalk, an old napkin with a mystery person’s phone number scribbled on it, a black and white photo of a couple standing in front of the ocean. however, tucked away amongst those simple, boring things is a green emerald - one you stole from the malfoy manor a few years ago.

you got it from draco’s room, because you weren’t meant to be in there, and you wanted to let him know that you had, in fact, been in there. the emerald was stitched into the collar of one of his shirts, all expensive looking and wasted. you nearly scoffed at the sight of it - when would draco ever get to wear something so glamorous anyway? plus, the emerald looked far too heavy to be confined to a shirts collar; it would be very uncomfortable, you assumed.

that’s why you grabbed a knife and cut the stitching to shreds, plucking the emerald from it to claim as your own. you tossed the shredded shirt back into draco’s wardrobe, tucked the emerald into your pocket and then walked out, content with the knowledge that draco would be yelling at you in due time once he noticed his missing jewel.

but the yelling never came.

draco knew you had stolen it. again, he isn’t stupid. his shirt was shredded, and the jewel was missing, and it was obvious who had done it - the known pickpocket who was strolling through his house every other night.

he just never said anything, like he wanted you to keep it, like he didn’t mind it was in your hands now.

you stare at it, legs crossed beneath you. you’ve always prided yourself on how little you care for expensive things - you don’t complain that you haven’t got much, that you grew up poor, never able to afford the grand things draco has. but you still handle this emerald with so much care, flipping it round in your fingers, looking at every curve and delicate groove in it’s cut.

the dormitory door opens. you trust it’s just someone who’s eaten too much and wants an early night, so you don’t panic or falter. you listen to their footsteps patter across the room, the thump of their robes hitting the floor, followed closely by their shoes. you listen to their privacy curtain screeching open, their sigh of annoyance at something you can’t see-

and then draco pops his head round your privacy curtain.

you yelp, fumbling with the emerald. it slips from your fingers, however, and crashes to the floor at draco’s bare feet. he stares at it as you curse, an eyebrow raising, and you don’t even try and hide it. you just let him stare, arms folded over your chest, annoyance brewing in your stomach just at the sight of him.

finally, he slowly looks up. “mine, i take it?”

“good guess, rich boy. can i have it back?”

he picks it up and tosses it into your lap. you’re pleasantly surprised at his cooperation, but still keep that frown on your face.

“what do you want?” you ask, violently stuffing all your belongings back into the cardboard box.

“you weren’t at dinner,” draco replies. “i wanted to make sure you weren’t causing any more trouble.”

you scoff. “oh, trouble, yes. tarnishing the malfoy name. the end goal for us all.”

draco stares at you, lips pursed. his gaze is always so warm, a physical thing that makes your skin crawl. “that comment bothered you, did it?”

“nothing you say bothers me, draco. it just baffles me how you can be so dense sometimes.”

“ouch. that one hurt.”

you roll your eyes. “why are you here? i have nothing to say to you.”

“you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted to make sure you’re alive.”

“not like you care, though, is it?”

draco’s nostrils flare. his throat bobs, eyes tracing the length of your throat like he’s a hungry vampire. his lower lip slips between his teeth, the expression startling you. he looks like he’s trying to reel himself back, like some unwanted emotion is fighting for dominance in his brain.

“you’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” he asks after a moment.

“you think?”

“i still don’t know what i did to piss you off so much.”

you bark out a laugh. “no, of course you don’t. god forbid a malfoy is self-aware for once.”

he groans. “can you not just make things simple? why do we have to go around in circles like this? it’s a waste of time!”

“is that meant to be an apology?”

“how can i apologise when i don’t even know what i did?” he’s starting to sound desperate, like this conversation is taking the life from him.

you lean back, pulling the box into your lap protectively. in truth, you don’t even know how to word why you’re so upset - it makes sense in your head, but articulating it to someone else is just going to make you sound stupid, maybe even a little delusional. you should know draco by now, people will say. you should know what he’s like, that he cares for no one besides himself. getting upset over him showing his true colours is stupid, a waste of time and energy.

but you look into his blue eyes right now, wanting nothing more than for him to just understand. understand what, you don’t even want to admit, not to yourself or anyone else.

“you hurt my feelings,” you mumble.

draco inhales sharply. “i didn’t think i could do that. i never thought you’d let me.”

“well, you did. congratulations.”

“jesus, y/n, it’s not like i wanted to. what did i even say?”

you stare at him. he stares back. the ball will drop eventually, you know, because draco is smart, smarter than you’ve ever given him credit for. he examines your expression, and you watch the moment his eyebrows start to relax in realisation, the frown form on his face. it makes anxiety coil in the pit of your stomach, because maybe this is just a little too vulnerable. maybe letting draco figure this out on his own was a bad idea.

but it’s too late now. he draws back slowly, hands curled around the privacy curtain until the fabric is creasing and knotted in his fingers. “wait. . .”

“go, draco,” you demand. “i have shit to do. business to take care of.”

“y/n-”

“go, draco!”

he stares at you a moment longer before running a hand through his hair and walking out the room. you wait till the door is closed, and then you wait till his footsteps can no longer be heard, and then you throw the box of trinkets to the ground, watching the emerald slip across the wooden floor.

---

the streets of london always look a little different when you’re angry. a little more violent. a little more real.

muggle london in itself has always felt like a very hostile place to you, but when you’re angry, things get clearer. you notice the vomit stain on the curb, the neglected baby pram in the bush, the beer bottles smashed beneath window sills. it becomes a different place - it just depends on how you’re feeling.

tonight, you are angry, and everything around you is angry, too.

you just want a set of car keys, not the actual car. muggle car keys sell at a good price, depending on who you’re dealing with. nobody has requested them, and usually you don’t go out unless asked to do so by a client, but tonight, you just want to be out. you want to be away from the wizarding world. you want to cause havoc with your fingers in the best way you know how.

it’s busy. it always is. you can guarantee that almost everyone around you has car keys in their pocket - that’s why global warming is so bad. some of them even wear them around their neck, dangling from multicoloured chains with little souvenirs banging against their chests. those would be so easy to just rip off and run away, but you’ve decided to be subtle, which means your eyes are trained on the bulges in people’s coat pockets. so many of them, so careless.

a man in a tracksuit seems like the best option. you follow him for ten minutes, keeping your head down, before he finally breaks away from his group of drunken friends. he laughs to himself, stumbling just the perfect amount - he’s drunk, but not drunk enough to be falling over himself, which makes slipping your hand into his pocket a pretty easy deal.

you go for the kill, quickening your pace, dipping your hand into his pocket-

he grabs your wrist, and before you even have a chance to blink, you’re on the ground.

a gasp is ripped from your throat at both the shock and the pain that spears up your spine. the guy is yelling, stumbling back, and holy shit, if he doesn’t shut up right now, the whole of london is going to be on you.

gathering as much strength as you can, you roll onto your side and push yourself to your knees. “hey man, calm down. sorry. i thought you were my friend.”

“did you just try and rob me?” he yells.

“no! no, of course-”

“you psycho bitch!” he lunges for you, all drunken vowels and grabby hands. you have no idea what to make of his intentions, you just know you’ve fucked up, and you need to get out of here.

his hands slam into your shoulders, knocking you on your ass. a cry escapes you, but not from the pain. a tiny snap sounds from your back pocket, and you know without having to look that your wand has just broken in half - yet again. dumbledore is going to start getting very suspicious.

“son of a bitch,” you growl, before raising your hands. “listen, hey. i’m sorry. i’ve said that already. you need to calm down before-”

“before what?” he howls. “you kill me? are you threatening me?”

your eyes widen. “no! would you just-”

the man opens his mouth to say something else, but his words are sucked back in when a hand wraps around his arm and yanks him back. you wince at the sound of his head cracking against the tarmac, but you don’t get a chance to comment before draco is kneeling beside you, one hand cradling your head, the other resting on your knee. his touch alone is enough to spread warmth through your previously frozen limbs, and you hate that. you hate it so much.

you tug your knee from his grip. “what the hell are you doing here?”

“are you bleeding?” he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. when he pulls away, his fingertip glows with a red liquid.

“oh. i guess i am.”

“christ, y/n. do you ever just...” he closes his eyes, taking a moment to redirect his anger. it’s an amusing sight, and you almost smile until you remember you’re mad at him. forever mad at him.

you jerk your head out of his grip, too. “i’m fine. stop worrying.”

“clearly i have to, or else you’re going to get yourself killed.” he glances over his shoulder, where the drunken man is struggling to sit up, still slurring protestations. “by a muggle.”

“he wouldn’t have killed me,” you grumble. “although my wand is broke, so maybe he would have.”

draco’s eyes widen. you wave him off before he has a chance to chastise you again - in truth, you just want to get out of here, car keys be damned. hastily, you push yourself to your feet, wobbling only slightly, but draco must see this tiny action as a full-on collapse risk, as he wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close, grumbling curses under his breath. you’re such a pain in the arse, apparently, and god, he wishes he wasn’t stuck with you all the time, and he’s so baffled by the fact you’re still alive, it’s probably all thanks to him, blah, blah, blah.

you listen to him rant the entire way back to malfoy manor. you don’t argue his choice of location, because you can see narcissa standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, and you already know she’s got a cup of tea waiting for you in the sitting room. you almost smile, but that would ruin the effect.

she rushes out to meet you and draco halfway, immediately grabbing your face and tilting your head back and forth. you can taste blood on your teeth.

“what happened?” she breathes, but doesn’t give you a chance to reply. “draco, take them into the lounge.”

“oh, the lounge,” you coo. “you are spoiling me!”

“be quiet,” draco hisses, doing as his mother says. he tosses you unceremoniously onto the plush sofa, and you have to ignore the inappropriate thrill that shoots up your body.

narcissa appears not ten seconds later, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. you give her a grin, which she rolls her eyes at, even as she sits beside you and brushes your hair away from your face. you take a sip of the tea, smile in thanks, and then lean your head back.

“sorry about this.”

narcissa sighs. her breath tickles your cheek, smelling oddly of incense. “i don’t know what we’re going to do with you, y/n.”

“put me down.” you make a stabbing gesture into your arm and mouth lethal injection at draco. he purses his lips, clearly not taking the joke in stride. “i didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

“you’re always worrying us,” draco hisses, which earns him a sharp look from narcissa. he meets his mothers eyes and his shoulders deflate. he runs his hands down his face. “you’re just . . . always doing something.”

“i know,” you mumble. “sorry.”

“draco, don’t stress them out,” says narcissa, which surprises you; you’ve always known narcissa has a secret soft spot for you, but she’s always tried her hardest to keep it just that - a secret. yet here she is, combing your hair back, giving you a cup of tea, telling her son to treat you nicely. it’s like you’ve entered a different world. “i’m gonna go and make some calls. keep them comfortable, okay?”

draco nods, lips still pursed, forever displeased. you used to laugh at that expression on his face, but now it just makes you feel bad.

narcissa leaves the room, and then it’s just you and draco. you watch as he watches you, eyes never wavering, shoulders never relaxing. he’s got his arms folded over his chest like he’s keeping guard.

“i meant it, you know,” you say. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i thought it would be an easy job.”

“who are you doing business with now? bailey again?”

“no.” you look down, surprisingly shameful. “it was just for myself. i needed out of the castle, and. . .” you shrug. “you know me. i can’t do anything easy.”

he scoffs. “yeah, i know.”

“so i’m sorry.”

draco closes his eyes and rubs his temples. the rings on his fingers glisten beneath the fancy lights. his knuckles pop, the veins in his arms protruding. “please stop apologising.”

you blink. “alright.”

“you act like i don’t understand why you’re doing all this, but i do.” he looks at you, hands dropping to his sides. “just because i don’t have to do it myself, doesn’t mean i don’t understand. why else do you think i haven’t stopped you?”

your breath catches. you raise a brow, tilting your head cruelly. “you wouldn’t have been able to stop me. you think i’d listen to you?”

“yeah. i think you would.”

you reel back, jaw dropping open. “excuse-”

“you always act like you hate me, but you forget you’ve been coming to my house for years. you forget i’ve known you since we were eleven. you forget that i don’t just put up with anyone. i’ve had time to figure you out, y/n, no matter how much you like to pretend i haven’t.” he folds his arms and leans against the door. his hair is rumpled, along with his shirt and jeans. so casual, so unlike himself. “but earlier on, in the dorms. . . you surprised me with that one.”

your stomach curls. oh, good god, he’s bringing that up now. you’re sat here with a busted chin and a potential criminal charge, and he’s bringing this up. you could headbutt him.

despite your glare, he continues. “i knew you didn’t hate me, but i never thought. . . i never thought you liked me, you know? especially not-”

“don’t say it.”

his lips twist. “i have to.”

“no you don’t.”

“do you love me?”

your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, which is answer enough for you. love is such a strong word, and you could easily say no, that what you feel for draco is nothing more than a little crush. he’s got the nice blue eyes, and the money, and the perfect hair. he’s got a smile that lights up rooms. it’s a crush. you fancy him, and that’s all there is to it.

but love sounds pretty accurate. more accurate, actually.

you swallow. draco watches the bob of your throat, and you watch his. above your head, the massive clock ticks, ticks, ticks.

slowly, he reaches forward and swipes his thumb over your chin. it stings just a little, but you’ve felt worse pain, so you let him do it without jerking away.

“cat got your tongue?” he whispers.

you shiver. “i don’t. . . i don’t know what you want me to say.”

“it’s not about what i want. i was asking a simple question. just give me the truth.”

“you want the truth?”

he inhales, hesitates, and then nods.

“yeah, draco,” you whisper. “i think i love you.”

slowly, draco draws away. his eyes never leave your own, that frosty blue colour reminding you of the winter sky, or a cold december morning. you remember all those christmas’s at hogwarts when draco would stay at the castle, waking him up because you thought it would annoy him to have your face be the first thing he sees. you always commented on the dreary smile that played on his lips when you did that, and he would always say, “i thought you were someone else.”

but that dreary smile is returning, pulling across his face, and it doesn’t falter. right now, there is no mistake. his eyes are on you, and he knows it is you, the person who has apparently made his life a living hell for so many years. you’re the ache in his spine, the one he can’t wait to get rid of.

but you’re also the one he rescued from the rain.

you’re the one who cursed hermione granger when she punched him in the nose.

you’re the one who’s just confessed your love to him.

shit.

“don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice hoarse. “don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

“i didn’t know,” he says immediately, like he’s desperate for you to know he was clueless. “did you know?”

“kind of. i wanted to ignore it-”

draco shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “no, no. did you know that i love you, too?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. your brain just short circuits, taking a second to catch on to what he’s said. that dreary smile is still playing at his lips, and you’re waiting for the moment it turns into a sneer, a mocking little smirk.

it doesn’t.

“oh right,” you mumble. “no. i had no idea.” you pause. “are you taking the piss out of me?”

he laughs, a rare and pleasant sound. he approaches you, kneels at your side on the sofa and cups your head in his hands. you melt into him, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to pull away, to run away, because this is nothing more than false hope. he’s playing a trick on you. you’ve annoyed him to breaking point, and now he’s found the perfect chance for revenge.

but his hands are so warm, and nice, and your cheek dips into his palm so easily, like it belongs there.

“you’ve always been kind of not smart in my eyes,” he says.

your eyes widen. “hey!”

“kidding. i’m kidding.” he chuckles, running his thumb along your lower lip. “but you’re not doing your intelligence any justice right now. i thought i was making my feelings pretty clear.”

you glare; he knows full well he hasn’t made his feelings clear. neither of you have. you’ve spent the past seven years pretending to hate each other.

he grins. “okay, maybe i didn’t make it so easy. but you didn’t make it easy for me, either.”

“i still don’t believe you.”

he raises a brow. “why?”

you shrug. “it just doesn’t seem possible that someone like you could fall in love with someone like me.”

his eyes soften. “wow. maybe you are not very smart.”

before you have a chance to protest, he kisses you. just like that, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, or maybe like it’s an action he’s been waiting to do for years, and now he’s finally got the chance. that’s what it’s like for you, this coil unravelling in your gut after years and years and years of ignoring it’s existence.

you run your hands through his hair, tugging on those pesky strands at the back that always stick up because he refuses to wear anything other than collared shirts. he growls into your mouth, pulling you closer, closer, closer, until your legs are tangled with his, and his fingers are tracing a line down the centre of your throat. he stops at the hollow, just to feel the bob of your throat as nerves spiral through you. he grins against your mouth, pulling away to see the shock in your eyes.

he’s so proud of himself. he’s made you a mess.

you smile awkwardly, trying to regain some amount of composure. he watches you, heavy lidded, one hand still clutching your knee as the other curls around your throat, just where your neck and shoulders meet. the way he stares at you, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

“so,” you begin. “you’re worry wasn’t actually just for your family name, was it?”

draco sighs, plonking his forehead against your own. “no, y/n, it wasn’t. my worry was losing you. which i very nearly did tonight.”

“don’t be so dramatic. i wouldn’t have died.”

“you could have.”

“but i wouldn’t have, because that guy was drunk, and a muggle, and-”

“are you two arguing again?”

you and draco jump apart as narcissa storms into the lounge, wand clutched to her chest. her narrowed eyes are firm on draco.

“i told you to keep them comfortable!” she exclaims. “can you not put your differences aside for ten minutes?”

you grin, teasingly running a finger along draco’s spine. “yeah draco. listen to mummy.”

he growls, but turns to narcissa and says, “sorry, mother. you know how y/n gets.”

“yes, i know,” narcissa mumbles. “but they’re injured. now, let me take this phone call, and then we’ll set up the guest bedroom. can i leave you alone for ten more minutes?”

“yes,” you and draco both reply immediately. narcissa hums, and walks out.

draco immediately spins, grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, slamming his lips to yours. you laugh against his mouth, melting into the embrace for only a second before pulling away and saying, “she’s trusting us to behave for ten more minutes, draco. this isn’t behaving.”

“oh, fuck that,” he scoffs. “come here.”

you let him pull you closer, closer than you have ever been with him before, because you’ve always been so convinced he never wanted you more than a few feet away from him. suddenly, everything draco has ever said to you is reconstructed in your mind, every action, every little look.

you wonder if he’s doing the same.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp fic #hp #draco x reader

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Text

Spite in Misery - ao3

(rather silly AU of Delight in Misery, only even more petty and passive aggressive, and also slightly more JC/LWJ)

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“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Sanctuary,” Lan Wangji said, prim and proper as he always was, the perfect untouchable iceberg as always, except maybe for the small child he was holding. “For me and my son.”

“Wait, you fuck?”

Wait, that wasn’t the right question.

“Why do you need sanctuary here?” Jiang Cheng asked, utterly bemused. “There isn’t a single place in the cultivation world you wouldn’t be welcomed –”

Except here.

“– and anyway, your brother, his sworn brothers, and your sect would demolish anyone who even thought about hurting you. Who in the world could you need sanctuary from?”

“My brother,” Lan Wangji said. “His sworn brothers, and my sect.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

Lan Wangji stared right back at him.

And then he collapsed.

“No,” Jiang Cheng said to the unconscious or possibly dead body currently lying across the threshold of the Lotus Pier and the small feverish-looking child in barely better state splayed out beside it. “I refuse to take responsibility for this!”

“You will not say anything about the room I have chosen to house you in,” Jiang Cheng said. “You will not complain about the food, the amenities, or make any requests whatsoever. Do you hear me?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng ought to have expected as much.

“And don’t think this means I’m going to like you or anything,” Jiang Cheng added self-righteously.

“I despise you with every drop of blood in my body,” Lan Wangji said.

“…so noted,” Jiang Cheng said.

After a moment, he added, “I don’t care!” and stormed out.

After yet another moment, he came right back into the room where he’d put Lan Wangji – it was just a convenient room, not specifically Wei Wuxian’s room, and if putting Lan Wangji in there meant he could delay having to clean out all the personal possessions left in there and actually repurpose it, that was his business and no one else’s – and said, “Why do you hate me, exactly?”

“Do you care?” Lan Wangji asked. He was examining the small cot Jiang Cheng had set up to put the still-unconscious and therefore nameless child on.

“Obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng waited a few moments, moments that grew longer and longer, and finally he realized – “You’re not planning on telling me?”

“I despise you,” Lan Wangji reminded him.

“Oh, you – you…!” Jiang Cheng ground his teeth together. “I’m the one giving you sanctuary, remember?”

“I came to you because you were the only one powerful enough to accomplish the task and spiteful enough to do it. I did not come here to owe you any favors.”

“Well, you’re going to owe me one anyway,” Jiang Cheng said, scowling at him. “You – you – ugh. Forget it!”

He stormed back out.

And then he realized he hadn’t actually brought the medicine that he’d intended to bring to Lan Wangji, so he had to go in and drop it off, but then he was finally able to storm away properly.

“I was under the belief we had agreed it would be best for us to see each other as little as possible,” Lan Wangji said, his voice even icier than usual – which was saying something.

“That’s right,” Jiang Cheng agreed, eying him warily. “I’m only here personally to drop off your medicine because it means fewer people know that you’re here.”

He’d thought that he would need to bring in a doctor for Lan Wangji’s injuries, but it turned out to be whip marks from a discipline whip and Jiang Cheng – well. Jiang Cheng knew everything there was to know about injuries like that.

Sure, he’d had to take A-Yuan to a doctor, he didn’t know shit about pediatric illnesses, but that was fine, it didn’t give the whole game away. Jiang Cheng was able to pass him off as some random sad orphan he’d taken pity on, which wasn’t far from what he suspected to be the truth.

“In that case,” and Lan Wangji’s voice was even colder, which how, “why do you live next door?”

“This was the only room available,” Jiang Cheng lied.

Lan Wangji glared death at him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m giving you sanctuary, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng scowled. “Anyway, I told you that you weren’t allowed to complain about the room.”

Lan Wangji did not appear impressed.

“How’d you know I was next door, anyway?”

“You have nightmares.”

…right.

“I’ll invest in better soundproofing, then,” Jiang Cheng said haughtily. He wasn’t ashamed of having nightmares. After the life he’d lived, it was only to be expected.

“I don’t want to be around you at all,” Lan Wangji clarified.

“Too bad.”

“I don’t want you spending time with A-Yuan.”

Oh, so that was the real issue here. Well, in that case, the answer was still – “Too bad.”

“He’s my son.”

“He’s in my house,” Jiang Cheng said. “In my sect, in my lands, in my part of the cultivation world, which is the only reason you came here rather than literally anywhere else, remember? Because I’m a territorial bastard with a paranoid streak that won’t let anyone come look for you in here without hovering over their backs like a shadow, making it impossible for them to actually find you �� sound familiar?”

Lan Wangji’s face twitched. “I did not say that.”

“You thought it,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji’s silence proved he was right. “Anyway, I don’t care if you don’t like me spending time with A-Yuan. He’s one of the only people who can make Jin Ling laugh.”

“He wants to be his big brother,” Lan Wangji said. He sounded like he had swallowed glass.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said, not understanding. “Good for him?”

Brothers didn’t have to be biological, he thought, and that old pain tore through his heart the way it always did when he thought about Wei Wuxian.

“Worthless,” Lan Wangji said, glaring at him, and Jiang Cheng almost agreed with that assessment of himself – thoughts of Wei Wuxian usually had that effect – except of course it was Lan Wangji saying it, so naturally he had to disagree.

It was oddly reaffirming, actually. He might beat himself up as being worthless, useless and pathetic, a broken shell of a man who couldn’t keep a single member of his family alive, who had nothing and lived for nothing and existed purely for the sake of his sect and Jin Ling –

But the second Lan Wangji said that he was worthless, Lan Wangji who was wrong about everything, Jiang Cheng was immediately convinced that he was the best thing that had ever been invented.

Wait, was this how Wei Wuxian used to feel all the time?

No wonder he was always tormenting Lan Wangji.

“I brought you some books on physical rehabilitation,” Jiang Cheng announced. “No, don’t thank me - the sooner you’re better, the sooner you can leave.”

“It will not be too soon,” Lan Wangji said.

Personally, Jiang Cheng didn’t think Lan Wangji was going to be leaving for at least another year, maybe a few more years, not with that many strikes of the discipline whip to heal and his disordered qi to straighten out, but it was nice for both of them to see a destination at the end of the road in which they didn’t have to see each other all the time. Either way, he agreed, so he wasn’t going to ruin the rare moment of complete harmony by being persnickety.

“You should knock before entering,” Lan Wangji added, prissy as always.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He probably should have, yes, but he always had the ‘it’s my house’ thing to fall back on. This was the Lotus Pier where the rules of the Lan sect didn’t apply, and as far as he was concerned, that was reason enough to ignore etiquette. Anyway, Lan Wangji was here alone and healing just the way he’d been doing the past few months, what exactly was he going to be doing that Jiang Cheng might walk in on –

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said when Lan Wangji attempted, with dignity, to extract his hands from inside his clothing, which was unfortunately not something he could do subtly. “Were you trying to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji looked mutinous.

“…were you failing to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji now looked like he wanted to rip Jiang Cheng limb from limb, even though it ought to have been clear enough that Jiang Cheng would only think to ask the question because he’d had a similar issue for a while there. The time after his family had died had been brutal, and he couldn’t even use getting off as a shortcut to fall asleep because every time he tried he couldn’t keep it up; it’d been awful. He’d been terrified that he’d broken his own dick somehow, which led to worries that he wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future and thereby fail his parents and ancestors in a brand new and yet unexplored way, which led to even more panic and even less sleeping. It hadn’t been until someone (he suspected Nie Mingjue, bizarrely enough) shoved a medical treatise about trauma reactions under his door that he’d realized it was a fairly normal aftereffect and managed to calm down a little.

Nie Mingjue had also given him so much work to do that Jiang Cheng hadn’t had time to even think about that sort of thing until nearly half a year later, at which point everything was working again and he’d completely forgotten it was even an issue until halfway into the afterglow.

Good man, that Nie Mingjue.

“If it’s a symptom, you need to tell me these things,” Jiang Cheng said, taking far too much wretched enjoyment out of the whole thing. He’d give Lan Wangji the trauma book, of course – he still had it – but he had to get his wins in where he could against the perfect iceberg, cheap shots or no. “As your current attending doctor, I’m responsible for your care –”

“It is unwanted but necessary. It is simply something that I must endure,” Lan Wangji said grimly, and Jiang Cheng raised his eyebrows.

The book had covered that, too, although that hadn’t been his problem, personally.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “You keep getting hard, is that it? And then retraumatizing yourself when you try to jerk off, which means you can’t satisfy the need, which means you can’t solve the getting hard all the time problem, which in turn affects your cultivation and so your healing…yeah, I see the issue. You should probably get someone else to do it for you if you get really desperate.”

“I see no one but you,” Lan Wangji said through gritted teeth.

A problem, Jiang Cheng admitted.

Still mostly Lan Wangji’s problem, though.

“Well,” he said with the smarmiest smirk he could manage, “as your attending doctor –”

Lan Wanjgji threw a book at his head.

“What are you planning on doing once you’re better?” Jiang Cheng wondered.

“Why are you talking to me?” Lan Wangji replied.

“Oh come on,” Jiang Cheng said. “How can you say such a thing after taking advantage of me? I let you into my home –”

“You will not be able to rely upon that fact forever.”

“I will be able to rely on that fact for eternity,” Jiang Cheng disagreed. “I let you into my home, I hid you away from the world – which isn’t actually as easy as I make it look, just so you know! Your brother is practically scouring the earth –”

Lan Wangji looked like he’d bitten into something extremely sour.

“I’m sorry, did you think he was not going to do that? And recruit his sworn brothers to help him?” Jiang Cheng asked. “I thought the whole point of this was – well –”

“It was.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I do not enjoy hearing of it.”

“Listen, if you’re going to decide to torture someone by turning your back on them and disappearing without a word, you should at least have the guts to own it.”

“You speak from experience, I take it.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Did you somehow forget everything that happened back then with Wei Wuxian?”

“…you were the one who turned your back on Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng laughed disbelievingly. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he jeered. “Because I was so well-known for my backbone when it came to Wei Wuxian. I definitely was the one to come up with the idea to throw him out of my sect and cut ties, yeah, definitely, that’s completely what happened. I mean, obviously, I always got my way when dealing with him, every time, that’s how it always was between us. He had nothing to do with it.”

Lan Wangji was glaring at him. “Not then,” he said, each word cutting like a sword. “The Nightless City.”

“You mean the time he arrogantly and completely without warning started a fight that got my sister killed and then murdered three thousand people, including some of the very few family members and friends I had left?”

Lan Wangji was silent.

“You do mean that time,” Jiang Cheng said, marveling. “Are you insane? Even if I wanted to, if I took his side then, I’d have had no claim later on to grab him as a prisoner before anyone else did. The Jin would have executed him for sure! And slowly!”

“The Burial Mounds –”

“He imploded in front of my face!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “I had to see – when he – he died! He was – he did – you don’t even know – no, you know what, I’m not talking about this. Not with you of all people; you hated him.”

Lan Wangji’s hands were fists. “I did not.”

“No? You did a good job of acting like you did,” Jiang Cheng sneered. “Always talking about how you wanted to drag him back to Gusu just because it would make you feel better –”

“Better than leaving him.”

“I did what he wanted! And yes, fine, maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I should’ve ignored what he wanted, maybe I should’ve dragged him back to the Lotus Pier and locked him in a little room for the rest of his life the way everyone knows your dad did to your mom – ”

Lan Wangji flinched.

In fairness, Jiang Cheng was exaggerating about everyone knowing. He only knew about it because he’d heard his mother spit it out at his father during one of their nastier fights, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have known about it, either.

“– but stupid me, I thought he’d be happier being free and alone than stuck with someone he clearly didn’t want to be around him anymore! But what do I know? Maybe I should ask you, you selfish bastard. You’re the one in his position this time, you’re the one who’s doing the turning away – I bet you don’t even know what it’s like to be the one that’s not wanted.”

Lan Wangji stared down at his hands as Jiang Cheng jumped up to his feet, Zidian crackling to life in his hand despite himself, persisting even though he tried to suppress it.

“I’m going to go hunt down some demonic cultivators,” he said, trying in vain to keep his temper even a little bit and knowing it was a lost cause. “And then I’m going to bring them back here and make them scream somewhere you can hear it. You can chew on that with some glass for all I care!”

“You handled that last one well,” Lan Wangji said. It sounded like someone was pulling teeth from his head.

“You’re sick,” Jiang Cheng announced. “I will go get some fever medicine at once. Are you experiencing any other symptoms in addition to hallucinations? Or should I be checking for signs of possession instead?”

Lan Wangji was back to glaring at him.

“I don’t know what drove that sudden spurt of niceness and I don’t care to know,” Jiang Cheng informed him. “I don’t need your approval.”

Lan Wangji ignored him. That was more customary.

Also unfortunate, because Jiang Cheng managed to get less than half a shichen of work done before coming back into Lan Wangji’s room (not Wei Wuxian’s room) and saying, “Okay, what exactly did I do?”

Lan Wangji looked at him sidelong.

“Seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What did I do that was so impressive that even you approved of it?”

“The demonic cultivator. The last one.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, thinking about it. “The – stupid one, you mean?”

Lan Wangji stared at him, and then looked at the ceiling, long-suffering. “The one from Yunping.”

“The stupid one,” Jiang Cheng confirmed, and then he was ranting again because he couldn’t seem to stop ranting about it. “I can’t believe the idiot got into demonic cultivation as a way to make money! That’s just – it’s just – if I ever figure out who paid him, I’m going to rearrange their guts with my sword. Lousy rotten opportunistic…!” He coughed, realizing he’d gotten started again when he’d promised Jiang Meimei that he’d stop. It apparently got old after the sixth repetition. “Anyway, what’s so notable about that?”

“You accepted him as an outer disciple of your own sect.”

“Well, yeah. What else was I going to do with him? He’s clearly got some talent for cultivation if he figured out demonic cultivation without dying. It’d be a waste to send him back to be a fisherman or a dockworker or something.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not going to kill someone who got into demonic cultivation as a way to raise funds to get medicine for his sick mother,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “The idiot’s on tomb-sweeping duty for the next year to make up for having manipulated corpses the way he did, that’s punishment enough. It’s not at all comparable to the usual sort of amateur demonic cultivator, the ones that summon corpses to torment former lovers or murder business partners or that sort of thing – those are the ones I use as an example to warn everyone else. What’s the big deal?”

Lan Wangji said nothing.

“Fine, keep your secrets. Can you watch Jin Ling today? I have a – uh – important meeting.”

“Another woman that you have no intention of actually marrying?”

“Shut up and mind your own business.”

“No, but seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What are you going to do once you’re better?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Lan Wangji said, his voice muffled on account of his face being firmly in his hands. “Go away.”

“Listen, we’re still neighbors, we still need to talk. There’s no point in being suddenly shy about it just because you’re still in the acceptance phase of grief in connection with the whole me helping you with getting off business –”

“Never speak of it.”

Jiang Cheng sniggered. He wouldn’t have pegged the Lan sect as having uncontrolled libidos, much less Lan Wangji, but apparently the situation had gotten truly dire. Anyway, really, getting mockery rights was totally worth an arm work-out and having to put up with Lan Wangji, the latter of which he had to do anyway.

“You really are taking advantage of me now, though! My poor virtue –”

Lan Wangji looked at him through his fingers. “You don’t have any virtue.”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asked, suddenly curious. “I strike you as someone with a lot of experience –”

“I meant morally.”

“Oh. Hey!”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as someone who won’t answer a straight question,” Jiang Cheng said. “What’s your plan for after you’re healed? Are you going back to the Lan sect? Or start traveling as a rogue cultivator?”

“Why do you care?” Lan Wangji asked.

“I can care!”

“But you don’t. Not about my affairs.”

Jiang Cheng had to admit this was correct. “Fine,” he said. “I need a name.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him.

“For A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s been a year. The kid’s as healthy as he’s ever going to be, and he’s old enough for me to shove him in with the rest of the younger generation now that we’re starting lessons back up – cultivation, swordsmanship, shooting, etiquette, all the usual. But I can’t register him in the class without a surname, and I need to know if that surname’s going to be Lan or if you plan on changing it to something else.”

Lan Wangji was frowning at him.

“I know, I know, you’re in hiding,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s fine, it won’t give you away even if you do pick ‘Lan’. I can register him as a Yunmeng Lan instead of a Gusu Lan, the surname’s common enough that no one will suspect anything unless you make him start wearing a forehead ribbon, which I don’t think you lot do at this age yet anyway. But if you’re planning on continuing to hide from your family after you get better, you’re going to need to do something about all of that.”

Lan Wangji looked sour.

“Anyway, long story short, that’s it. Your plans, I need to know them.”

Lan Wangji looked even more sour.

“Well? What is it?”

“We will return to the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji said.

“Not that hard, was it,” Jiang Cheng said. “I knew you were just throwing a temper tantrum.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes.

After a moment, he said, “What do we do about Jin Ling?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do about Jin Ling’?” Jiang Cheng asked suspiciously. “I had to fight half of Lanling Jin for the right to raise him here, we’re not doing anything about Jin Ling – anyway, who’s ‘we’? He’s my nephew!”

“A-Yuan sees him as a little brother.”

This was true.

“They will not want to part.”

…also true.

“Moreover,” and here Lan Wangji looked especially sour, “I believe A-Yuan has taken you as something of a – second parent.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s a cute kid. Anyway, don’t take it so personally. Kids just do that, they adopt any adult in the vicinity as their own. I mean, certainly Jin Ling thinks of you as…wait. Wait. Are we co-parenting?!”

“Mm. Took you long enough to notice.”

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and a bad month, and Jiang Cheng’s temper, never good, was on the verge of imploding, so naturally that was when he completely lost all self-control he might have had and marched over to Lan Wangji’s room to blurt out, “Why do you hate me?”

Lan Wangji’s hands stilled over his guqin.

“I know why I hate you, even putting aside the fact that you’re a jackass with the emotional capacity of a brick,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I really have no idea what I did to you to make you hate me.”

There were so many options, after all. He was a cruel, vicious, and bitter man – he was a terrible parent, unlikable as a friend, barely sufficient as a sect leader, and such a failure at connecting socially with anyone that he’d been blacklisted as a marriage prospect despite being handsome, young, rich, and powerful. There were so many reasons to hate him.

But he didn’t know which one was the one that made Lan Wangji look at him with disdain, even if he thought that perhaps there was slightly less of that these days than there had been before.

“I hate you because you abandoned Wei Ying when he needed you,” Lan Wangji said. “He was your brother, and you left him behind – more than that, you led the charge against him, resulting in his death.”

…that was a good reason.

Jiang Cheng wouldn’t mind being hated for that reason, actually. It was a nice change from all those people who congratulated him for having done the right thing: all those smug sect leaders that comforted him for having raised a white-eyed wolf in the family, the ones that said his actions showed that he had a good backbone and a righteous bearing, the ones that had the gall to send him gifts of congratulation on the anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death to thank him for his contribution to the cultivation world when all he wanted was to be left alone to mourn…

“That’s fine,” he croaked. “Okay. Yes. That’s – fine.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lan Wangji asked in turn. “You said you knew.”

“Oh, that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Same reason.”

Lan Wangji stared.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “I mean, I know you were always harsh on him when we were together at your uncle’s lectures, which was completely fair given how much he was always bothering you. But he really did try sincerely to help you when we were all the Wen sect’s camp, and in the cave with the Xuanwu – but after, in the war, when he showed up with his demonic cultivation, you suddenly turned on him even though he was just doing it to help. You kept telling him he had to stop, even though you knew he was doing so much for the war effort, and you wanted to take him back to Gusu to do who-knows-what to him…you even snatched him away during the battle of the Nightless City! I saw you. I was so afraid you were going to kill him, I completely lost my head. I looked for you everywhere – I really don’t know how he was lucky enough to get away from you that time.”

Lan Wangji stared at him.

“And then you didn’t even bother to show up to the siege of the Burial Mounds in person,” Jiang Cheng added, feeling bitter. “After I heard from the Lan sect that he escaped from you, I briefly thought that you’d changed your mind and let him go. I was counting on you to be at the Burial Mounds to support me in claiming him as a Jiang sect prisoner – I had Chifeng-zun signed on, if reluctantly, and with you leading the Lan I could’ve made a decent argument. But then you didn’t show, either you or your brother; instead you sent your uncle, and of course there wasn’t even any point in asking him, was there?”

“…I didn’t know,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I wasn’t informed. It was shortly after…”

He nodded at his own shoulder, meaning the disaster on his back. Jiang Cheng hadn’t asked how it happened – he really wanted to know, as in really, really, really wanted to know, but even he was aware that actually asking would be unbearably rude. Still, he was surprised by the timing of it. How had Lan Wangji managed to end up in the hands of his enemies then? Who had even been left to do it to him?

“Yeah, well,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head to try to kick away his curiosity the way he would something clinging to his foot. “You were still a bastard to him when he needed you, so I hate you.”

He frowned.

“Also, you hate me,” he said. “So I hated you back just for that. Though I guess, since your reason for hating me is valid, maybe I should stop hating you back for that?”

He considered it.

“No,” he decided. “You’re too annoying not to hate.”

“The same for you,” Lan Wangji said after an unusual hesitation.

Jiang Cheng nodded and, feeling oddly relieved at not having found a new basis for self-hatred, departs.

“So once you’ve reestablished yourself at the Cloud Recesses, we’ll exchange extended visits on a regular basis so the kids can see each other,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji nodded. “A minimum of three weeks per season, whether in the Lotus Pier or Cloud Recesses, and preferably double that.”

“Agreed.”

“In the meantime, you’ll work on getting the trade agreement we hammered out through your brother and sect elders as recompense for the time you spent here.”

“Mm.”

“An agreement whose source you will be disclosing very carefully because the Venerated Triad will not hesitate to murder me if they figure out without adequate warning it was me that was housing you for all this time.”

Lan Wangji said nothing and promised nothing.

Bastard.

Still, after nearly three years, Jiang Cheng was pretty used to it.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said. “Is there anything I’ve left out?”

“Joint night-hunts.”

“Right, right, we’ll make a point of regularly going on joint night-hunts – wait, why are we doing that? You don’t need me to watch your back now that you’re fully healed.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze wandered.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said. “So we can keep having hate-sex on the regular?”

“…mm.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? It’s not like I’m doing anything else – or anyone else. Blacklisted, remember?”

“Unsurprising,” Lan Wangji said, like the bastard he was.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, whatever. The set-up works, doesn’t it? I’m blacklisted, you’re apparently eternally pining for Wei Wuxian of all people – your taste is the worst – so who’s going to call us out on it? Go on, get out of here already. I’ll see you next month.”

“Well,” Jiang Cheng said, looking between the newly resurrected Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, abruptly made of an issue he had hitherto not considered based on Lan Wangji’s screaming body language. “This is. Uh. Awkward?”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #spite in misery #delight in misery #sometimes you get a silly idea #and then you write it

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