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luffles424 · 4 years ago

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Cigarette Burns

☼ Pairing: Seokjin x reader x Taehyung

☼ Genre: angel!reader, angel!Taehyung, horror, angst, some fluff, smut

☼ Count: 10.6K

☼ Warnings: 18+, death (minor characters), blood, mentions/descriptions of injuries, mentioned mutilation, hallucinations, oral (m receiving), double blowjob, cumplay, cum sharing, deep throating, face fucking, teasing, ball play, dom/sub themes, hair pulling

☼ Summary: Seokjin’s been tasked with finding a film that is thought to be a myth. A legend that caused a theater full of people to turn to violence and then was never seen again. With the mystery that swirls around the film and the increasingly strange things that happens as he hunts for it, is he fully prepared for what waits for him at the end of his journey?

☼ a/n: This is based on my favorite horror movie ever, Cigarette Burns! The story is changed some, but I can’t explain in a way that doesn’t spoil both the film and the fic. I’ve pulled back on some of the gore from the original film too. I hope you enjoy, as I’ve not really written a horror fic before! Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

☼ Written for @btsholidaybingo to fill the square Blood, Sweat, and Tears

The theater is quiet as Seokjin enters it, understandably so since it’s almost closing and the theater is so small that there’s likely no one at the last showing. One of the downsides of a more indie theater, he supposes. But it had been his dream, keep the older films alive, even if it didn’t necessarily prove to be super lucrative. Which is where his second job came in, that people (Taehyung) would argue should really be his primary job considering how good he is at it.

Seokjin doesn’t want his primary job to be hunting down rare prints. He likes it well enough, sure. It’s thrilling to find a new piece that was thought to be lost to time (and to negotiate into the deal that he’d get to hold a showing of whatever he found too). But it’s really only something to help keep the lights on at the theater. Taehyung also suggests adding newer films to the theater's showings to draw in new crowds and get them interested in the older ones so Seokjin chooses to ignore most of Taehyung’s “helpful” suggestions.

He makes his way to his office, where Taehyung is sprawled out in a chair, perking up once the older man enters.

“What’s the film this time?”

Seokjin chuckles as he sits down at his desk, setting a thin file down. Taehyung might be more invested in Seokjin’s side job than Seokjin is. Maybe he should teach Taehyung how to do it so the younger can take over. He’s inquisitive and bright enough that he’d be good at it. “Hi, how are you, Tae? Oh, me? I’m doing good.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, I saw you this morning. Now what film are you looking for?”

Seokjin eyes him up for a moment. He’s never seen Taehyung so interested; he seems more interested than usual and he doesn’t even know what the film is yet. He’s not sure if he’s interested in the film or hearing about the process Seokjin goes through to find them. Seokjin’s good at his job, good at finding the relics of an era where everything couldn’t be easily backed up. And while he makes sure to get a favorable deal and be able to show what he worked so hard to find, Seokjin maybe also makes duplicates for the sake of preserving the content of the old films. Taehyung always seems delighted to go through the unofficial prints that Seokjin keeps stored in the theater (or at his house because multiple copies is always best when it comes to preservation).

“I don’t know if I’ll find this one. It’s pretty legendary and notably thought to be either fake or destroyed.”

Taehyung leans forward, eyes wide with barely contained interest. “What is it?”

“La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

There’s a flicker of something in Taehyung’s eyes that Seokjin can’t decipher and it’s gone too fast for him to even try. “Isn’t that that film that only ever had one showing and everyone at the showing killed each other or themselves?”

Seokjin nods, pulling a yellowed newspaper clipping from the folder he brought. It’s all in French but there’s a translation written in the blank space of the paper the clipping is attached to. It details the bloodbath that the theater turned into before the film even finished and how the only print of the film was destroyed right after.

Taehyung looks up at Seokjin, expression unreadable. “Do you think it still exists?”

Seokjin shrugs. “The guy, Bellinger, seemed very positive that it does. Said he would know if the film had been destroyed. I didn’t ask how because that seemed like a path I didn’t really want to go down. He was weirdly obsessed with the props he had from it. But he gave me the information he had and said that if I couldn’t track it down within a month that he would admit that it was gone. But he paid half up front for the whole month. Double my rate too. He seems to really want this found and to honestly believe that it’s still out there.”

Taehyung nods stiffly before he’s flashing Seokjin his usual boxy grin. “I’m sure you’ll find it. You are the best after all.”

Seokjin snorts. He wonders if he should question Taehyung’s sudden shift at the mention of the film. It’s not like him to be so serious about a film. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but thanks.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“Not really.” He flips open the folder and shows that besides the article clipping is just a printout of the poster from the film’s only showing and another printed page with a film review on it. He taps the review. “This was written by a critic who was at the showing. As far as I can tell, he’s still alive. But he seems to have become incredibly reclusive in the decades since the showing. I’m going to ask around and see if I can track him down.”

Taehyung stands and drums his fingers on the desk. “Well good luck. Keep me updated as always.” He turns to go, pausing in the doorway. “Seokjin… whatever you do, don’t watch the film.”

And then he leaves, leaving Seokjin confused because it seems like Taehyung believes the film still exists and that somehow something bad will happen if Seokjin were to watch it. Maybe he just believes the stories around it and thinks that the crazy stuff that happened was due to the film and not something more easily explained like the crowd being poisoned or something much more logical than the movie made them do it. He shakes his head, it’s probably just a friendly warning out of worry. Turning to his computer, he starts digging into the sole survivor of the film’s only showing.

It takes some time, hours of staring at the screen, to find anything substantial on the critic. It’s nearly morning, gray light filtering through the slates in his closed blinds, but he finally finds where the critic has most likely holed up. For what reason, no one seems to really know, just that he disappeared after his review and hasn’t really been seen since. But it’s as good a place to start as any. Seokjin saves the address onto his phone and leaves the theater, stopping at his apartment for a moment to shower, change, and pack a quick bag before he’s grabbing some coffee and heading to the airport.

Upstate New York is far more woodsy than Seokjin had expected. Although he supposes when he’s only imagined New York City when thinking of New York, that’s an easy mistake to make. The foliage makes navigating to the critic’s house in his rental car a little difficult since it’s seclusion means that the road to the house is nearly completely overgrown. He wonders how the guy gets food if the path there looks as if no one’s been on it in months. The house itself is simple, but appears abandoned given the lack of care to the outside and the way all the rooms that Seokjin can see into are darkened. Still, Seokjin isn’t one to be deterred, the porch looks nice enough, he can always just wait a while if there happens to be no one home before maybe finding an open window or door to check out the house. But first he approaches and knocks on the front door. He gets no immediate response but when he steps back to look in the windows on the far side of the door, he’s able to pick up the sound of a typewriter.

Well someone’s definitely home. He moves back to the door, knocking again.

“Mr. Meyers?” He calls out, the typing stops and he gets an answering ‘go away.’

“I just need to speak to you for a moment.” There’s a resounding ‘no’ in response and the typing starts up again. “Please, it’ll be quick. I wanted to ask you about your review for La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

The typing stops again and then there’s a loud buzz and the door swings open an inch. Eerie, but Seokjin pushes the door open and steps inside. The house is dark, blanketed in shadows caused by the only light that streams in through the cracked curtains. There’s a stale quality to the air, like the house has been closed up for months and there’s a gray cloud of smoke that clings to the ceiling, swirling with the sudden air flow. As Seokjin looks around, he sees that there are stacks and stacks of paper piled everywhere that there is space, leaving just a narrow pathway from the entrance to the living room. He rounds the corner into the living room and there’s even more stacks here, piled high around the critic as he sits hunched over his typewriter, typing away once more.

“Were there press notes?” He asks, glancing over one of the nearby stacks, skimming the top page. It talks about the film. He gets a curt ‘yes’ in response to his question. “Did you save them? Could I read them?”

“Dangerous.” Seokjin frowns at Meyers’ statement. They’re just notes, how could they possibly be dangerous. “The back said ‘Film in the right hands is a weapon.’ He was right and we didn’t even know it.” There’s a heavy silence before he continues. “We trust film makers when we go and watch films. We sit there, in the dark, and trust in what they’re going to show us. That it’ll affect us but we trust that they won’t go too far.”

Seokjin waits but Meyers doesn’t seem inclined to continue now, though his words haven’t been particularly helpful anyway. He’s not even particularly sure what he’s talking about. It’s almost like Meyers has used up all his words on the pages taking over his home or that he’s forgotten how to hold a conversation. Has he been here since the film release? If so, he’s been out here alone for decades.

Seokjin decides to try directing the conversation back to the film. “I’ve read your review. A few times on the plane. And I still have no idea what the film is even about.”

“Hans Backovic was a monster. He took that trust and abused it. He didn’t want to just hurt us, he wanted to absolutely destroy us.”

Seokjin feels like they’re having two different conversations. He’s not even sure that Meyers heard what he said. Backovic was a director, how could he possibly have destroyed an entire audience? “I’ve seen extreme gore before. It didn’t drive me to violence. Why is this film so dangerous? Surely all that violence in the theater was exaggerated?”

Meyers leans back in his chair and he looks older, exhausted. His eyes seem slightly unfocused. “Oh no, not at all. If anything, it was downplayed.” He pauses and takes a slow breath. He’s staring at his desk but the look in his eyes says he’s somewhere far away, reliving something he doesn’t want to be reliving. “I watched four people die. Blood slicked every inch of that theater floor. The chairs, the walls, the screen. It reeked of death.”

There’s a charged pause and then Meyers leans forward again, looking at Seokjin and Seokjin feels unsettled, that faraway look is gone, instead replaced by a wild almost manic look. “Backovic knew what he was doing. He told me exactly what would happen when that film played.” He chuckles and it’s completely humorless. “I thought he was joking.”

Seokjin moves closer, suddenly interested. Meyers had spoken to Backovic? About the film specifically? Finally, a possible lead, something to have made this trip worth it. “You spoke to him?”

“Yes. Before the film. I recorded an interview with him.”

“Do you still have that tape? Can I listen to it?”

“No one’s ready for that film. They weren’t then and they aren’t now. I failed in my one job as messenger for the film. That review was a joke. But everyone will know, once I finish my new review. They’ll see what the film is really about.” He seems to be almost talking to himself as he pulls the sheet of paper he’d been typing out of the typewriter and adds it to the pile beside him. He slips a blank sheet into the typewriter.

Seokjin glances around in alarm, gesturing to the stacks of paper. “Is that what all this is? Your new review?”

He lets out a slightly maniacal laugh. “I’m almost done!”

Seokjin swallows. There’s easily a million typed pages here. And it’s all about the film? Unease fills Seokjin as he casts his gaze over the stacks again. What happened in that theater that could drive someone to spend decades typing this much? And to call it a review? He doesn’t want to ask more about the review and what could possibly be compelling this man. “Well, there’s a chance that there’s still a print out there. I’ve been paid to find it.”

Meyers stares at him for a long moment and Seokjin shifts in discomfort. There’s so much mystery around this film and this talk with Meyers has only increased that. Then he laughs again and stands. Seokjin thinks maybe he should leave, for a split second he fears that Meyers has been so hard to find because he’s killed anyone who’s come to find him before. “You should know what you’re in for.” He says cryptically before moving to a trunk nearby. He rifles through it for a moment before pulling out a tape.

He presses it into Seokjin’s hands, but when Seokjin goes to pull away, Meyers’ hands tighten around his, keeping him in place. “Promise me. Promise when you find it that you’ll let me see it again. I’ve dreamt about that film every night since I’ve seen it. This film it… it crawls inside you. It just doesn’t leave.”

He releases Seokjin’s hands and goes back to his desk, staring at the typewriter for a long moment before he starts typing. It’s as clear a dismissal as anything and at this point, Seokjin is more than happy to leave Meyers to his stacks of papers.

Paris is the next stop for Seokjin. He has a friend, Henri, who works at one of the bigger film archives in the city and he might have leads for him. But first he needs a moment to himself, so he spends his first night in the hotel. Where he figures he might as well listen to the interview while he’s got some time. It could give him some help in where to look when he goes to see Henri tomorrow.

The interview seems normal enough. Backovic talks like most of the more pretentious indie filmmakers. Those who believe that their art is superior and above so much else of what’s out there, especially what comes out of Hollywood. Seokjin vows to never tell Taehyung about the interview because he’ll only use it as fodder to mock him and how he has the same ideas with his theater. Which is not true. Seokjin shows plenty of films aside from indies. They’re just usually classics, films from the 70s and 80s, cult classics that don’t really show in theaters that much. Things that draw specific crowds but aren’t always popular with most but the theater does just fine with how it is now. He sees no reason to change.

Halfway through listening to the interview, a searing pain flairs in Seokjin’s head and he jerks the headphones off as he tries to blink the orange ring from his vision.

His heart is pounding for the start and he sees the flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He stumbles off the bed to move towards the bathroom where he saw the shadow. The room is empty, which should be unsurprising since Seokjin is alone in his hotel room, though now he can’t remember if he had left the light on or not.

But it seemed so real, like there really was someone else here. He glances at the mirror and for a brief second, he swears that he sees Taehyung. He rubs at his eyes, heels digging in almost painfully. He blinks the spots from his vision and stares at the mirror a little longer, like if he stares at it enough, something will happen. Like Taehyung might appear on the surface again and prove that Seokjin is not losing his mind right now. But when nothing happens, he finally, reluctantly, moves back to the main room, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands shake as he picks up his phone to send a quick message to Taehyung.

He gets a response within a few minutes and it makes discomfort settle in him when Taehyung confirms that he’s at the theater right now working. He even makes a joke how he’s sure people come to see the old films on the days that he hangs around not for the films but to see Taehyung’s face. He knows Taehyung’s just trying to draw a response from him, to tease and coax him into some flirtatious banter. But Seokjin’s suddenly much too exhausted for that. He lays down without responding, but it takes him a long time to fall asleep and even when he does, it’s restless and plagued by dreams that leave him the second he wakes. But while the images fade with the growing light, the sound remains; the chilling screams that sound so much like Taehyung that Seokjin almost calls him just to confirm that he’s okay.

In the morning, he makes his way to the archives to speak with Henri, who apologizes that he can’t be of too much help since they’re in the process of moving, but he says he can help direct Seokjin in the right direction if he tells him what movie he’s looking for. Seokjin is a little reluctant after the meeting with the critic. He waves off the help, telling Henri that he’ll just look around on his own to not get in his way. Henri insists, saying that the move will make it harder for Seokjin to look.

When Seokjin mentions the film, Herni’s entire demeanor shifts, the friendly man suddenly cold as he tries to warn Seokjin away. When Seokjin won’t, Henri tells him he’s welcome to use his assistant’s office, though there’s not much on the film and that the film is certainly not there. He leaves him with an ominous warning about having to earn this film, hand tucked firmly in his pocket.

Seokjin pours over what little information there is. The most promising thing he gets is the crew list for the film, something that Seokjin didn’t see listed anywhere online and it really only lended to the idea that this film wasn’t real. But now he has some physical evidence that people worked on this, that they saw the film unfold in person. His joy at the discovery is short-lived though when he realizes that this is proving less and less useful with each name he has to cross off because they’re dead. Of the eleven crew members, all but two are dead. He goes out to find Henri, showing him the paper.

“How easy is it to find either of them?”

Henri looks at the list and nods, almost like he knew this was coming. Seokjin wonders how many people he’s seen come through here looking for the movie. “Patton was blinded after filming. And he won’t speak on the film. He nearly killed the last person to ask him about it.”

Seokjin gestures to the other name. “And Backovic? Surely he’d have some idea where his film ended up.”

Henri scoffs. “Backovic is dead.”

“How do you know that? There’s no death certificates or records or anything.”

Henri shoots him a look. “Trust me, Seokjin. Backovic is dead.” When Seokjin goes to speak again, Henri interrupts. “I’m sorry but I have nothing else to tell you.”

Seokjin knows that Henri’s not telling him something. Years of working together and he’s learned a thing or two about his friend and his tells. He doesn’t know what, but there’s something he knows that Seokjin knows he’ll need to be able to find this stupid film. He stops just outside the door, hidden from sight and he hears Henri make a phone call. He doesn’t know much French, but he knows that he mentions the film. Seokjin leaves quickly, making plans to come back later and force Henri to tell him what he knows.

Henri seems startled when Seokjin appears again a few hours later. He really should’ve expected it. Seokjin’s never been one to give up so easily and they both know that.

“I know you’re lying. You know more than you’re telling me.”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand anything that’s happening. There’s so much mystery around this film, how can I possibly know anything. Fuck, last night I saw…” Seokjin trails off, he doesn’t know how to explain last night. Maybe it was just jet lag and exhaustion and the unknown of this film that caused the hallucinations. Or maybe he dreamed the whole thing.

Henri straightens, eyes wide with alarm. He moves closer to Seokjin. “A circle? Like the reel change in a movie?” At Seokjin’s nod, Henri pales. “Then it’s too late. You’ve already started a process which cannot be stopped. It’s only going to get worse. I’m so sorry.”

“What started? I don’t understand.”

“When you look for the film, it does something to you. You see those burns. It’s payment for every step closer you make to the film. You need to stop now. Before it’s really too late. You don’t want to continue on this path, Seokjin. You have to ignore the curiosity. The itch to dig a little deeper, find out a little more. Walk away. I know it’s hard. But you have to.”

“You know?”

Henri nods and pulls his hand from his pocket where he always keeps it tucked, revealing severe burns, so bad that his fingers have fused together. Seokjin takes a small step back in surprise.

“But… How?”

“I was the projectionist at a private screening of the film. I was curious about it too. Much like you. Much like everyone who eventually comes searching for the film that’s only been shown once, twice now. But most don’t know that. It was kept from the public and the film disappeared again.”

Henri pauses and takes a deep breath. “I chickened out. I got scared once it started and I looked away.” He closes his eyes. “When the screaming started, I tried to stop the projector but it wouldn’t stop. So I grabbed the film reel. I saw that some circle you did and I… I blacked out. When I came to, my hand was burned and the film was over.”

Seokjin swallows. This film is starting to seem more and more like a bad idea. Taehyung’s warning flits through his mind as well, telling him not to watch the film. Maybe he should’ve told him to just give up the job. Not that Seokjin would’ve listened. Maybe he should’ve charged more to find this. “I won’t watch it. I’ll just take it and give it to the collector. But… I could really use the money for the theater. I can’t just give up looking.”

Henri’s gaze darts over Seokjin’s face and then he gives a small nod. There’s a sadness in his eyes as he picks up a small piece of paper. “I wouldn’t call this man if I were you. He has an… extensive collection but he’s dangerous.” He hands the number over to Seokjin.

“Does he have it?”

Henri shakes his head. “No. But he’s been given things from the Backovic estate. He can possibly get you in contact with them.”

“Thank you.”

Henri shakes his head again. “Don’t thank me for sending a friend into danger.”

Seokjin takes a taxi to the address given to him when he calls the number that Henri gave him. The warehouse is run down looking and at a dead end about halfway up a big hill. The only other buildings are some houses further up the hill from the road and the town he can see over the road barricade looking down. He pays the taxi driver extra and tells her to stay then makes his way towards the two burly men who have appeared at the massive open doors to the warehouse.

The warehouse is shadowy, lighting sparse and everything appears to be covered by a layer of dust with the exception of a few items in the room that they lead him to.The room is large and another man stands almost in the middle of the room, he’s wearing all dark leather and has his back towards Seokjin. He stands just behind a wooden crate that’s been set on a chair. It has a printed label that reads ‘La Fin Absolue du Monde.’

“It’s not for me.” Seokjin begins. Might as well start with that. Maybe it’ll make it easier for him to get the film.

“But you’re curious.”

“I suppose a little. Have you seen it?”

“No. But I would. Who wouldn’t?” The man walks a few steps away to a camera and begins to fiddle with the settings. “I admire a man like Backovic. So unafraid to be real. I detest the fakeness of Hollywood. I want to be great like Backovic. Groundbreaking. Real.”

Seokjin moves to the crate, opening it up. He’d idly hoped that maybe it was the film and he could take it to Bellinger and be done with this. But the crate is only about half full, mostly with filler to keep a film reel cushioned during transport. Other than that, there’s a few different manila envelopes.

The first envelope has a return address to Katja Backovic. If Seokjin’s remembering correctly, that’s Backovic’s wife and according to Henri, is actually his widow. That’s certainly a good lead. There’s not a lot of information out there about her in recent years either. He sets it down and picks up another, it’s blank on the outside and so he slips the pictures out that are contained within.

The first is of a winged figure, one that appears to be a woman, her face turned away from the camera and surrounded by other people. Her wings look beautiful even through an image, glossy black and full. The next is a silhouette of a figure holding a knife and it looks like they’re in front of a window or some other light source.

As he shuffles through the photos, they become increasingly bizarre. A photo of someone on a neighborhood street and the sky is red but looks off, like someone has overlaid another image over the sky. He thinks they’re set photos. The last one shows two winged figures, both facing away from the camera and chained to the wall. Their heads are bowed towards each other. One seems to be the woman from the first still and the other seems to be a man, but there’s a table or something that blocks Seokjin from seeing much more than his wings and back of his head.

Seokjin is suddenly grabbed from behind, the photos falling from his hands to scatter on the floor as the two men drag him a few feet backwards. The other man, the one who he’d been speaking with has a syringe now. Seokjin’s blood runs cold.

“Oh, you can’t leave already. We have so much left to discuss.”

Seokjin squirms, trying to fight the men off, but their hold on him is firm and in a matter of seconds, the needle is in his neck and consciousness is leaving him.

Seokjin comes to some time later, he has no idea how long but there’s light filtering through the window so it’s either not been that long or he’s been out for a whole day. He’s tied to a chair and duct tape firm across his mouth. He feels foggy and when he looks around, he sees the two burly men are now operating the camera. There’s a woman tied to another chair in front of him and the man from before is now shirtless and holding a machete. Seokjin feels like he’s going to be sick.

He fights against his bonds, but he’s helpless to stop as the man approaches the woman and, with no preamble, embeds the machete in her neck with one strong thwack. He pulls it free and pushes her head so blood sprays his bare chest, head tilting back like he’s being hosed down on a hot day.

Seokjin screams, though it's muffled and continues to fight against his bonds as the man pulls the machete out and makes quick work of getting through her neck. Her head is dropped to the ground and then the man approaches him and Seokjin tries to push himself away. He talks about how he turned her into art, about the realness of what he’s created, but the words barely register to Seokjin in his panicked state. Maybe he should’ve told the taxi driver to call the authorities if he took too long.

The man leans closer. “Something happens when you point the camera at something terrible. The resulting film takes on power.” He grins and rips the tape off of Seokjin’s mouth.

“Snuff is not power! It’s just fucked up! It’s murder.”

The man laughs and straddles Seokjin’s lap and Seokjin feels his heart in his throat as his stomach turns in revulsion. He can feel the blood soaking through his jeans where the man sits.

“You’re not listening to me. You came all this way but you won’t listen. You want to know why the film destroyed its audience?” His hand squishes Seokjin’s cheeks and Seokjin tries not to think about how slick they feel against his skin. “Backovic was an exceptional editor. He understood the value of a cut. But there was more to it. They say the movie works subliminally while you watch it. But the thing that made the film a weapon?” His grin is deranged. “Blood. Spilled blood. What if you got hold of an angel? A divine being with the blood of God flowing through its veins. And what if you sacrificed it on camera?”

Seokjin gets a flash of the circle again, the sharp sting as his vision is suddenly obscured. He sees a flash of a woman, chained to the ground, shuddering and emaciated, a pair of glossy, black wings mounted on the wall behind her. His breath shudders through him as the man bleeds back into focus.

“Something that profound, that personal. It changes everyone who was a part of putting it on film. And everyone who sees it. The closer you get to the film, the more you’ll be changed too. That’s Backovic’s secret. ‘Film is magic,’ he said. And he was right.”

Seokjin sees another flash. A split second of a circle with Taehyung in the middle of it, face full of anguish.

“What do you see? What haunts you? Will they be waiting for you on the other side?”

Seokjin’s vision goes white.

When he comes to again, he’s standing, completely free of his bonds and machete in hand. He drops it immediately, it looks bloodier than it had before. He catches sight of the man laying on the ground not too far from him but he tries not to look at it. Vaguely grateful for the fact that the man has fallen half behind a crate. The camera’s been knocked over as well. The two burly and the woman’s body are gone. He doesn’t want to know what happened. He has a gut feeling and it’s not one that he particularly wants to think too hard on. He’d really just like to forget that this entire warehouse ever existed.

The box is beside him now and he digs through it quickly, finding the envelope with Katja’s address in Vancouver on it and runs, taking the road back to the main street on foot. When he gets to the main road, it’s getting dark and he takes a cab. Shakily handing the driver a few extra bills in the hopes that they won’t ask any questions about his state.

He takes a scalding shower once back at his hotel, scrubs himself raw but he can still feel like blood, no matter how hard and long he scrubs for. He stuffs the bloody clothes into a paper bag and gets dressed. He hastily packs the rest of his things and goes down to check out. He shoves the bag with the bloody clothes into a trash can on the street before getting into a taxi and heading to the airport. He’s ready to be fucking done with this. He’s ready to be away from this city.

Taehyung texts him while he’s on the flight. Asking how the search is going. He’s too exhausted to even think and so he leaves Taehyung unanswered.

He takes another shower once he lands in Vancouver, but he still feels dirty. He stares at himself in the mirror and tries to make it look like he’s not on the verge of a breakdown and leaves his room to Katja’s address.

Seokjin presses the button beside her name on the building.

“Yes?” Her voice is softer than he expected, though he’s not really sure what he was expecting.

“Mrs. Backovic? Can I speak to you for a minute? I’ve come a long way.”

He’s answered by the door buzzing open and he moves quickly through the lobby to the elevator. Seokjin presses the button for the penthouse, scrubbing his hand over his face once the elevator starts moving. Maybe he should make this his last film job. It’s far more than he expected it to be and he’s just so tired. There’s a jolt and then the elevator stops and the lights go out.

He feels a body press to his back and he tenses. It’s not real, he thinks, eyes squeezing shut. Just like everything else.

“Save her. Please.” When Seokjin turns and thrusts his hand out, he’s met only with air. The voice had been hauntingly familiar. It sounded like Taehyung. It’s not real, he repeats to himself. Taehyung is back home. Probably asleep right now. He can’t be here. It’s completely illogical.

The elevator dings and Seokjin opens his eyes to see the doors sliding open to reveal he’s at the top floor. He’d been moving the whole time. Seokjin blinks a few times. He needs to get this film and hand it off. Now. He walks towards the living room, revealing a woman standing there. Katja.

“Something happened in the elevator.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Sure. Something like that.”

“You must want this very bad to have some so far. I must admit, you’re the first to ever make it here.”

“I have… so many questions.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite touch her eyes. “I’m not sure I have your answers. But we’ll see.”

She leads him a little further into the room, taking a seat in an armchair and gesturing for him to take a seat on the adjoining sofa.

They sit in silence for a while, Seokjin taking a moment to think and gather his thoughts before finally speaking. “Do you have a copy of the film?”

She smiles that half smile again. “That’s not what you’re really curious about. You want to know if the stories are true.” Seokjin nods, though both are true. “They are. Unfortunately. Why are you looking for the film?”

“I was paid to.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s not the real reason.”

Seokjin chews his lip. “I… I don’t know anymore. There’s… I just have to find it.” He doesn’t understand. He’s walked away from lesser jobs. He has no idea what keeps compelling him to push here, what’s making him want to find this so badly.

Her head tilts like she didn’t expect his answer. She observes him quietly before nodding to herself, like Seokjin just took some big test and she’s pleased with how he did.

Silence settles again before Seokjin asks a question he’s had since he saw the crew list. “Who produced this film?”

Katja’s eyebrows raise. “You’re quite direct.”

Seokjin just gives a small shrug. “I just want someone to say it.”

Sadness softens her features as she looks down. “I asked Hans the same question. Many times. The producers of this film produce many other things. Chaos, sorrow, suffering, famine.”

Seokjin’s brows furrow. “What does that mean? The devil? Demons?”

Katja gives another sad smile. “Hans never put a name on it. ‘Evil is evil,’ he would say, ‘does a name really matter?’” They stare at each other, the real implication of her words settling between them, and then she stands. “Come with me.”

She leads him to a film editing studio. It’s a little dated, but the equipment is well taken care of. Reels still set up and ready for editing. Like any second Hans might walk in to begin working. Seokjin glances at her.

“How did he die? There’s no official records or anything about it.”

She glances away and Seokjin regrets asking only a little bit. This film has done so much damage, he has to know how the creator met his end. “He became… obsessed with La Fin Absolue du Monde. During the last year of his life, all he did was watch it. Over and over again. Like it was a punishment for what he had done. He got too close to the fire. The film worked the way it was meant. He became paranoid, skittish. It got to him.”

Tears gather in her eyes as she continues. “He grabbed a knife on the way to find me in the bedroom. Only when he slit my throat,” she pulls her scarf down to show a scar running across her throat, “he just disfigured me. When he did it to himself, he died.” She laughs bitterly. “I don’t know who got the better end of that. I was left to watch over the film. I hate that film. I hate everything that it caused. I hate that it was always going to be too late to make it better.”

Seokjin swallows. That’s a lot to take in. It still doesn’t really answer why there’s no record, though he supposes that given enough infamy and money, keeping a death quiet is easy enough.

“Can… I have the film?

She stares at him for a long moment then moves over to a rack of reels. She goes to touch it but her hand stops shy of making contact. “I put it here. I hate even having it in the house.”

Seokjin moves over when she steps back, fingers brushing the shelf just below where the film sits. He honestly can’t believe that he’s here. That he actually found it. What’s more baffling is that it seems that no one ever thought to check with Backovic’s wife for the location of the film. The easiest place to hide, in the most obvious place. “Ever since I’ve been tracking this, I’ve been seeing flashes. Circles with images inside.”

“The cigarette burns?” Katja’s eyes fill with pity at his nod. “When did they start?”

“I heard this interview, with Hans, from the night of the premiere-”

“You were marked. That’s how potent the film is. You don’t even have to watch it to be affected by it. As soon as you start getting close to it, it’s got you. Slowly, like sinking into quicksand.” She gives him a last sad smile, like she already knows what the future holds for him. “Take the film. It’s already too late.”

Seokjin takes the films from the shelf. He feels strange, something not quite sitting right with him. He’s not sure if it’s her cryptic answers or the way the films feel heavier that film reels should. But he leaves, flies back home because his current employer happens to live within driving distance of his apartment. He takes them as soon as he makes it back to his apartment. He wants them gone as soon as possible.

He leaves the reels in the trunk of his car because they make his skin crawl to have them on the seat beside him. He doesn’t want to touch them anymore than he has too.

When Seokjin arrives at Bellinger’s house, the man in question and his butler are both waiting on the steps. Seokjin pops the trunk open and Bellinger is quick to rub his hands across the cases, a pleased hum leaving him. Then he’s pulling them out and handing him to his butler with the instruction to go set up the projector.

Bellinger turns back to Seokjin. “I never showed you how I knew that this film still existed. Would you like to see before you leave?”

Seokjin shifts. He doesn’t really want to. He wants to go home, forget that he ever looked for this film. Go back to his normal life, taking care of his theater and spending time with Taehyung. But it seems rude and so he nods. Bellinger leads him into the house and down a short hallway. When he opens a door, Seokjin feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs with what he sees.

It’s the woman from the circles. Chained to the floor and wings mounted on the wall. Bellinger enters the room and she immediately cowers, giving Seokjin a view of her back and where two long, red cuts sit. Right about where wings would attach. They look fresher than decades old wounds should look. Because Seokjin knows she must be the one from the stills. One of the angels in Backovic’s film. The man from the warehouse’s words comes back to him as he’s staring at her. Divine blood spilled on camera. Seokjin’s chest aches.

Bellinger runs a hand across her head and she curls more into herself. “I happened to be lucky enough to acquire a few props from the film.”

Seokjin’s stomach turns at a being, an angel, being referred to as nothing more than a prop. “Can I have the rest of my payment?”

“Ah! Of course!” Bellinger reaches into his pocket and hands Seokjin an envelope.

Seokjin doesn’t even care if it’s the right amount. He needs to get out of here. He wants to claw his skin off the longer he stays. He turns and leaves, missing the look the angel sends him.

Seokjin rests his forehead against the steering wheel once he’s in the car. He allows himself a few deep breaths before finally pulling away from the house. He needs to just not think about this for a few hours. And then he can figure out what he should do with the new weight of information that’s been bestowed upon him. He taps the console, dialing Taehyung.

“Hey! You’ve been pretty quiet lately, you good?” He answers cheerily.

“Better now.”

“Oh?” Taehyung sounds excited. “What happened?”

“I found it. Fuck, I can’t… I can’t even explain anything properly. But… fuck, Tae, I really found it. I found La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

“Where is it now?”

Seokjin frowns. That’s a weird question. Taehyung knows pretty well how this works, plus Seokjin left Bellinger’s information in his office in case he needed Taehyung to get in contact with him should something go wrong. “Tae, what-” He cuts off when his call waiting pops up, revealing that Bellinger is calling him. “Sorry Tae, that’s the other line. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

“Seokjin no! Wait! Whatever you do, don’t watch-” Seokjin cuts him off as he switches to Bellinger’s call.

Bellinger starts babbling, it sounds like he was babbling before Seokjin even answered the call. It’s hard for Seokjin to follow most of what he’s saying. Eventually he gathers enough that Bellinger needs him to come back. Had he grabbed the wrong film? Had Katja switched them on purpose? Or lied about it still existing? That seems unlikely, but he supposes he’ll find out when he gets back to Bellinger’s mansion. He turns the car around the first chance he gets.

Bellinger’s house is quiet when he enters after he receives no answer to his knocking. But he makes it only a few feet past the foyer when the butler staggers out from a room, covered in cuts and knife still in hand. He points a finger at Seokjin.

“This is all your fault. You brought this evil here!”

And Seokjin can only watch with a horrified expression as the butler stabs the knife into one eye and then the other. Panic wells in his chest and Seokjin moves quickly through the house, finding the small theater room with ease after heading the direction that the butler had come from. There’s no one in the seats, but he sees movement in the projection booth so he heads back there.

Bellinger stands on the other side of the room, next to an empty projector. He murmurs something, though Seokjin’s unsure if he meant it for him or if he is just talking to himself. He lifts a straight razor, setting it on top of the projector like it’s a normal thing to do. He’s sweaty and winces every so often as his arm moves behind the projector. Seokjin wants to help, but he has a feeling he might be a little too late for that. And he’d prefer to not get closer and see just what Bellinger did with that straight razor.

“I’ve done some terrible things,” he gasps out. “You have to to become this rich.”

Seokjin sees a flash of the angel and realization washes over him. “You watched La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

Bellinger jerks forward, wincing at the sudden movement, but there's a wild look in his eye. He seems unphased by the jarring motion that caused him further harm, too engrossed in the need to tell Seokjin about the movie. “Yeah… I recommend it.” He shakes his head and groans. “It’s not a movie though. Just a preview. The coming attractions of the soul.”

“You said you needed help.”

“I was going to ask you to find another movie for me. But… I don’t need it anymore. I have been… inspired.” There’s a disconcerting squelch and then Bellinger flicks the projector on and a second later something red and gooey slides through the projector like a film reel. It takes Seokjin only a second to realize what it is and he covers his mouth in horror and backs out of the room as he retches. Bellinger’s wheezed laughter follows him out as he sits heavily in one of the theater chairs. He just needs a minute to collect himself. He’s never been faced with so much blood and death in person. Movies sure, but those are fake. Actors with makeup and corn syrup. People who get up and walk away after the scene is done. Not this.

He buries his face in his hands. He has no idea how long he sits there, but when he looks up, he’s horrified to realize that the film restarted. He has no idea if it was Bellinger doing it and that’s why he called him here, compelled by the film to get someone else to watch or if there’s some other force at play that started it. Taehyung’s warnings float through his mind.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t watch this. He doesn’t want to, he wants to leave and never come back. Maybe never watch a movie again. But then there’s a scream and something makes him open his eyes. And there, projected on the screen, is Taehyung. Strapped belly down on a table as a masked man laughs and hacks at the base of Taehyung’s wings. Screen Taehyung lets out another anguished scream and Seokjin forces his eyes closed again.

He’s not going to watch. He won’t. There’s a need to do something in his chest but he can’t figure out what it is. A woman screams on screen and with a sudden, bright clarity, Seokjin knows what it is that he needs to do. He scrambles out of his seat, blindly feeling his way out of the room as best he can. Once in the relative safety of the hallway, he heads immediately towards the angel. She’s staring directly at the door when he enters, like she was expecting him. And Seokjin would be disconcerted if he hadn’t just seen his best friend and the guy who he’s maybe interested in getting his literal, actual wings cut off. Seokjin thinks that nothing could ever phase him again after this. He moves to the desk on the far wall, tearing through the drawers until he finds the shackle keys.

He approaches slowly, getting to his knees and crawling the last few feet to her. He reaches out just as slowly, but she doesn’t move an inch. He’d think she was a statue if he hadn’t seen her moving before. He undoes each of the cuffs then slides himself back to give her space.

She doesn’t move at first and when she does, it’s to look back to the door, a small smile gracing her lips. “Taehyung,” she sighs.

Seokjin jerks, turning to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, shirtless with the film reels tucked under one arm. He quickly approaches the woman, completely ignoring Seokjin’s presence. The lack of attention gives Seokjin the opportunity to see Taehyung’s back and see that the same two marks that marr her back also marr his.

The two press their foreheads together and stay like that for a long while. Seokjin begins to feel like an intruder and so he tries to quietly stand and slip out. But he only makes it to standing before Taehyung is turning towards him.

Seokjin…” His eyes are watery. “Thank you.”

Seokjin gives a jerky nod and quickly leaves. He doesn’t know what he’d say to Taehyung. He just found out that he’s actually an angel. What do you even say to that? Sorry some asshole film director mutilated you on film and someone else captured your angel… friend? Partner? Seokjin doesn’t want to think about it. They seem to know what they need now that they’re in possession of the films. He’s not needed anymore.

Seokjin tries to get back to normal life. He really does, though Taehyung’s disappearance leaves a bigger hole in his life than he would’ve thought. It’s a little heartbreaking too. He’d been seriously considering seeing if the younger would be interested in something more.

Plus he’s now lost some of the help he had at the theater. He hires someone else, a sweet kid named Jungkook and he lets him help find more current or interesting films to show alongside some older and more indie films and business steadily picks up. Yoongi questions his sudden change of heart on the films he shows and Seokjin staunchly refuses to admit that he did it in honor of Taehyung who always nagged him to get newer films in. He spends more time with other friends and tries not to think about how much he misses Taehyung.

That is, until he’s home one night and there’s a knock on his balcony door. Which is baffling because Seokjin lives on the 25th floor and it’s a fucking balcony. Cautiously, he slides open the door, jaw dropping when he sees Taehyung and you, looking full and happy and with pretty black wings folded neatly behind you both. Seokjin rubs at his eyes. There’s no way. He’s got to be dreaming.

Taehyung moves in to give Seokjin a hug but Seokjin takes a quick step back. Taehyung’s face falls slightly and you reach out to rub his arm comfortingly.

You give Seokjin a soft smile. “We wanted to come thank you.”

Seokjin flushes. “It was nothing.”

You shake your head. “No you don’t understand. It was everything. Taehyung and I were bound to that film. As long as it existed, we were trapped and broken. But you saved us.”

“Seokjin…” Taehyung’s voice sounds so small and Seokjin aches to hold him.

But he can’t. Not yet. He has to know. It’s been festering in his mind ever since Taehyung disappeared. “Did you befriend me just so I’d find your film?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen and he’s quick to shake his head. “No! I was your friend because I wanted to be! I was trapped here. It was so lonely without Y/n. But I found you and… I don’t know. Something just drew me to you.” Taehyung ducks his head in shame. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you what I was. I didn’t want you to think I was crazy and stop being my friend.”

Seokjin’s heart breaks and before Taehyung can utter another word, Seokjin is crushing him in a hug. Taehyung lets out a watery laugh and they stay like that for a long minute before finally pulling away.

“You two should probably come in so people don’t see the wings and think I’m hiding mothman or something.”

Taehyung perks up. “Oh, we can fix that.”

And before Seokjin can ask what he means, the air around the both of you shimmers and when it clears, you’re both standing there, wingless.

Taehyung grins. “Angel powers are pretty cool, huh?”

Seokjin blinks. “Y-yeah… Uh, you can still come in though. Wings or not.”

Taehyung grins and ushers both Seokjin and you into the apartment. You all sit and an awkward silence settles on the room.

“So… Where did you disappear to?”

Taehyung grimaces and you reach over to take his hand before turning to Seokjin. “Hand to find a creative way to get home without powers so we could get the film destroyed and recover. The recovery didn’t take long. But trying to find the way home proved tricky when we didn’t have our powers to locate other angels.”

Seokjin glances at you then at Taehyung, a lump forming in his throat. “Are… you going to stick around?”

Taehyung smirks and slides closer to Seokjin. “Depends. Do we have a reason to stick around?”

Seokjin gulps. “We?”

You rise and settle on Seokjin’s other side and both your hand and Taehyung’s come to rest on Seokjin’s thighs in perfect synchrony. “We.” You confirm with a coy smile. “We’d really like to thank you properly first though.”

“Can… Can angels even do that?”

He gets two giggles in response and then both you and Taehyung are slipping from the couch to kneel before him. Seokjin wonders how much you’ve done this to be so in sync with one another. It makes him equals parts aroused and jealous. Two hands slide up his thigh, playing with the waistband of his sweats. Taehyung looks smug and you have a matching expression as you bat your eyelashes up at him, looking every inch like an innocent angel despite the hand that is dangerously close to his rapidly filling cock.

“You can say no,” you offer, when his silence continues to stretch.

“No!”

Taehyung snickers. “I told you. We already had a thing almost going. And who wouldn’t go for you.”

You nudge Taehyung playfully. “Stop that. This is about Seokjin.”

Taehyung turns back to Seokjin, grin much darker than before as his hand tightens on Seokjin’s waistband. “You’re right. So? Will you let us thank you?”

Seokjin blinks. He’s still trying to figure out how he ended up here. The two of you look far more salacious than Seokjin thinks a pair of angels should ever look. He wonders if you’re not just some demons pretending. He can’t deny that the thought of both of you doing whatever you deem as showing your thanks is intriguing. And Taehyung’s not wrong. They had been close. He just didn’t expect that to work out this way. He doesn’t think he can find a thing to complain about when he looks at how pretty you both look between his legs and eager to please.

“Hm, do you think he’s distracted by the thought of what we’ll do to him?” Your gaze slides towards Taehyung.” “Or how we look together?”

A groan rumbles in Seokjin’s chest. Fuck, he hadn’t even thought about seeing the two of you together. You both smile at the reaction and take that as consent to tug Seokjin’s pants down and off. His cock rests hard and heavy against his belly as the both of you greedily drink in the sight.

Your tongue darts out to lick your lips as Taehyung presses Seokjin’s legs a little further apart so that both you and Taehyung fit between them. You make eye contact with Seokjin and wink before turning to Taehyung and pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss is immediately filthy and Seokjin groans at the slick sounds coming from you both. It’s clear that you are familiar with each other, an ease that oozes from you both as you kiss. Taehyung’s hands tangle in your hair, drawing a loud moan that he’s quick to swallow.

Seokjin starts to feel a little like an intruder, but as soon as he has the thought, there’s your hand is sliding up his calf. You stop at the bend of his knee and Seokjin only has a moment to ponder what you’re doing before you’re tugging him closer until his ass is perched on the edge of the couch. He’d be a little scared at the casual display of power if it didn’t turn him on more. Not breaking contact with your kiss with Taehyung, your hand continues its path up his leg until you can wrap your hand around his cock.

Seokjin’s hips jerk into your grip and he can see the slightest edge of a smile tugging at your lips. You give him a squeeze before sliding your hand up the thick length. Seokjin wants to squeeze his eyes shut but he’s too drawn to the way you and Taehyung look together. He almost wants to bat your hand away and see what the two of you do together.

Jolting, his gaze drops to where Taehyung’s hand has joined your’s on his cock, thumb circling the head and gathering precum. Then he’s pulling his hand back and slipping his thumb between your mouths. Seokjin sees your tongue brush the pad of his thumb and then brush against Taehyung’s to share the taste of Seokjin with him. It’s unfair how erotic the two of your are together.

Seokjin just might die. Actually, maybe he’s already dead. Maybe that film actually did kill him. If this is the afterlife, he certainly can’t complain. Your hand settles at the base once again and you use your grip to tilt it closer to your and Taehyung’s mouths. You both shift closer, until your tongues brush the head of Seokjin’s cock just as much as they do against each other.

Groaning, Seokjin’s hands curl into fists where they rest on the couch, at a complete loss of what to do as the two of you seem content to torture him by making out with his dick trapped in the middle. The two of you continue like that, tongues brushing the sensitive head of his cock with every brush against each other, lips occasionally dragging with the movement.

Seokjin kind of hopes that he is dead, because he might die with how slow the two of you decide to go. He hesitates for only a moment before he’s unclenching his fists and resting his hand on each of your heads. Getting a pleased hum from you, he takes that as encouragement to push a little more and he pushes both of your heads further down his cock. Your lips barely touch Taehyung’s now that Seokjin’s cock is properly between you, girth forcing you too far apart. You work your tongue, moving lower as Taehyung moves back towards the tip.

You trace a vein until it disappears at the base of his cock, shifting then to lap at his balls. Taehyung’s tongue swirls around the head, taking his time playing with the slit before wrapping his lips around and sucking. Seokjin moans, hands tightening in both yours and Taehyung’s hair.

You let your hand closest to Taehyung trace his thigh before you’re pressing against his clothed erection. Taehyung whines, accidently sliding further down Seokjin’s cock and making himself gag. You smother your laugh against Seokjin’s thigh and Seokjin uses his grip of your hair to pull your face up.

You blink up at him with wide eyes at the sudden action and Seokjin smirks. “I don’t think that was a very nice thing to do, princess.” He gently pulls Taehyung off his cock. “What do you think, prince? Was that very nice?”

Taehyung stares up at Seokjin with wide, blown out eyes, lips plump and spit slick. He licks his lips and shakes his head and Seokjin gives him an indulgent smile and cups his cheek. Taehyung leans into his palm, eyes slipping closed. Seokjin turns back to you and the soft look melts away and you gulp.

He smirks. “Why don’t we give her a taste of her own medicine, my little prince?”

Taehyung shoots you a smug look and nods again, making Seokjin chuckle. He releases Taehyung, who shifts slightly out of the way. Seokjin grips his cock with one hand and guides you down onto it with the other. You open easily, squirming as Seokjin slowly feeds his cock into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat.

He drags you back, just as slow, before pushing you back down, cock hitting the back of your throat with more force and you gag. Taehyung’s hand finds yours, giving it a squeeze as Seokjin quickly works up a rhythm fucking your mouth. You struggle to take him, Seokjin thrusting before you have a chance to catch your breath.

Tears spring to your eyes and Seokjin chuckles. “Where’s the laughter now, hm, princess? It was so funny when Taehyungie was the one gagging on my cock.”

You whine around him and Seokjin picks up his pace, thighs flexing beneath your hands. Taehyung’s nails scratch along Seokjin’s thighs, sliding up to cup his balls and give them a tug. Seokjin moans and takes only a few more thrusts before he’s cuming in your mouth. You suck him through until he pushes you off and you sit back on your heels waiting for him to look at you.

When he does, you open your mouth to show the mouthful of cum and then you smirk and pull Taehyung back in for a messy kiss, swapping Seokjin’s cum between you both. Seokjin groans, watching the time you take to make sure every drop is cleaned from your lips.

Once you’re finished, you both crawl back onto the couch, each straddling one of his thighs. Seokjin cups each of your faces with one of his hands. Taehyung leans forward to press a soft kiss to Seokjin’s lips and when he pulls back you lean in to place a kiss of your own on his lips.

Taehyung grins when you both press your foreheads to Seokjin’s. “We’re gonna stick around for a while.”

Seokjin can’t say he minds having two angels stick around. It’s a good thing he’s got a king sized bed.

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ufuckingpastry · 4 years ago

Text

What Remained in Pandora’s Box

AO3 Link

Disclaimer: This fic is based on the roleplay characters, not the content creators. None of the views or opinions explored in the fic reflect the content creators.

Chapter 1: Godkiller

Dream spat blood onto the obsidian, his shoulders heaving as he tried to breathe through the pain. Quackity watched him, perched on top of the cauldron. He idly wiped at the edge of the glimmering axe. The scar over his eye stretched grotesquely as he grinned. Dream wanted to rip that grin off his face and wished he had the claws to do so. His nails were dulled and bloody from scrabbling at the obsidian, sometimes to feel something, sometimes to escape the honed edge of Quackity’s blade.

“You know,” Quackity’s came through clear, bouncing against the obsidian and deafening in his ears. He lifted his gaze to glare daggers at him, hoping beyond hope they could slice more scars into his face. “I’m getting tired of this game, Dream. The stakes aren’t high enough anymore. The deals feel lackluster at best. And you.” The man glared, frowned his barely contained rage at him. He huffed out a breath and regained his grinning composure. “You’re better at this game than I expected.”

“I’m not giving you the book, Quackity. None of your deals are worth my time. Come back when you have something that I actually want.” Instead of spitting at him or shouting more curses, Quackity’s gaze flickered to the side and. He considered the floor below him.

“Something you… want?” he asked, careful, soft. Dream braced for whatever torture he held in his hands next. The soft voice always, always meant pain. It always meant the worst of what Quackity had to offer. Whatever he was planning, whatever he would do next, Dream hoped he would survive it (or hoped this time the end would come quick). “I’ve been thinking about that, Dream. What else I can do to you. What next torture Sam would let me bring in.” He laughed, gruesome and grinning. “You’ve nearly exhausted me, Dream! I have plans all over my walls of what I was going to do!” Quackity jumped off the cauldron and stepped forward.

“Every single plan I made for you, we’ve done! Every single thing I wanted to do to you, all but one—which Sam doesn’t have the backbone for. And Sam, poor Sam. Unable to stop another person from dying in this cell. I think he almost regrets it. Regrets letting anyone else get close to you.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned forward, the edge of the axe a gentle threat to Dream’s throat. “I even think he regrets letting me in now. This has been going on for too long, Dream. Something’s gotta give.”

“If you think it’s going to be me, guess again,” Dream snarled.

“I’ll make one more deal with you, Dream. And I know this is something you want. Something you want so desperately.” Dream waited. He waited for what Quackity had in store. He waited to know what deal Quackity was going to offer now. The only thing he wanted, wanted most in the world, was—

“Give me the book and I’ll let you go.”

Dream felt the floor drop out from under him, his breath gone out of him in a gasp. Quackity was no longer grinning. He watched. He waited.

“Sam wouldn’t let you,” Dream said in return.

“Sam? Sam’s losing himself more each passing day. First, he loses Tommy in this cell. Then poor old Ghostbur. And now, he’s losing himself. You should see the way he walks the halls. Did you know he took Ponk’s arm? And I know for a fact he regrets it every single hour. All that regret can’t be good for him. And, you know, I care for the guy. I care about him. I don’t want to see him in pain.”

“And yet you’re fine torturing me every day?”

“Dream, the thing about that is: I don’t care about you. I don’t give a damn if anyone on this server does. I don’t. I don’t give a shit. So, yeah. I’m gonna keep coming in here every single damn day, until you give me what I do care about. I care about the book. And Sam? Don’t worry about him. If it puts his mind at rest, I can convince him to do anything I want.”

Dream eyed Quackity, his chest heaving. His breath felt like knives ripping through his lungs. His hands shook uncontrollable. There was nothing he could do to still them and nothing he could do to stop Quackity from coming back over and over again. Except…

“You promise?” he asked softly, a faint glimmer of hope blooming in his chest. Quackity hummed, waiting for him to continue. “You promise that if I give you the book, you’ll let me out? That Sam will let me out?”

“Yeah. I’m only here for the book, Dream. And if letting you go is what gets me it, then I’ll do what I can.”

“The others won’t like that I’ve been set free.”

“Well,” Quackity said with a shrug of his shoulders. “That sounds like a you problem.” Dream hunched his shoulders. Of course, his promise would only extend to getting him out of the prison. Not anything further. Where could he go, though? He chewed his already raw lips, tonguing the scarred flesh. Maybe Techno would let him stay. He could tease him about being homeless again.

“So?” Quackity asked. “Deal?”

Dream’s gaze flicked up at him, studying his face. If… if he did this, there would be no turning back. There was also the possibility Quackity was tricking him. And if he lost the one thing keeping him alive, the one thing the rest of the server saved him for… for what reason would he have to keep existing? Unless… No, Quackity was smart. He’d see through a fake book. Assuming he had seen the original. He had, didn’t he? Otherwise, why would he know of it? Schlatt must’ve let him take a look at it once. Not enough to remember much, probably. Schlatt wouldn’t have let him study it.

Right?

Was that a risk he was willing to bet his life on?

Dream pressed his lips together, the pain grounding him. Did he even have a choice at this point? He breathed out, the warm air ghosting over his lips. Fine. One last time.

“Deal.”

Quackity’s eyes lit up, surprised, but that was quickly smothered with him leaning forward to grin. “I’m listening, Dream.” Dream held up a hand and closed his eyes, breathing in. He went into his head, deep into his head. It was not an image of him that appeared, not a personification of his thoughts as he searched his memory. No, it was him. In the flesh. Dream reached into his memory and pulled free the book. It looked normal, nothing revealing the secrets hidden within. Just like a normal book, if a bit tattered and worn. Dream reached in again and pulled out an image of the book, made it real with the powers XD lent him all those years ago. Then, he took the knowledge from the revival book and transferred it to the copy. But before the words settled into the pages, he adjusted a few steps. Not enough that it was noticeable, not enough that Quackity could sense something was wrong. Just… enough that any revival wouldn’t work. Not without… well. No one needed to know that part. He pushed the original back into his memory, then used a little more admin power to make the copy real.

Dream breathed out and opened his eyes. The process only lasted the amount of time it took for him to breathe, and then the revival book was in his hands. He lifted his gaze to Quackity, who was staring at him. His mouth parted, his attention focused solely on the book. His hands twitched like he wanted to snatch it out of Dream’s hands, but he held them back. Dream offered him the copy, his face blank as the mask sitting broken on the floor beside him, none of his deception present on his face.

“I’m just,” Quackity started as he snatched the offered book away. “Going to check it’s real, you know? Make sure you aren’t going to trick me.”

“Of course.”

Quackity flipped through the pages, his eyes skimming through the instructions. He snapped the book closed with a relieved sigh.

“So,” Dream said. “As you promised?”

Quackity tucked the book away in his inventory, then turned to Dream. His face was blank, like he was staring at a particularly boring wall, at maybe the slightest imperfection. He stood to his feet, still silent, and tilted his head. Then, faster than Dream’s tired eyes could follow, Quackity swung the axe down. Dream felt the blade slice through his flesh and the sound of the edge hitting and shattering his collarbone echoed against the obsidian walls. The sound echoed in his ears as Dream fell over, his utter surprise permanently slapped on his face.

And the world faded to black.

“Let’s go!”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at….”

Eyes flickered open. He stared up into the darkness, breathing out slowly. He couldn’t even see the ceiling; it was so far up. The floor was cold under his back. At least, he assumed it was cold. He really couldn’t feel anything, not even the warmth inside his chest. He decided, maybe, it would be best if he got off the floor and sat up. Maybe see where he was?

When he sat up, burning pain flared in the crook of his neck. He gasped and slapped a hand over his wound and—

There was no blood. He could feel the pain, yes, the burning, yes, even the slice in his flesh, but…

There was no blood. He stood up, feeling over himself, when something caught his eye. He held out his arms, gazed at them with a growing frown. He could see the floor beneath him, the bedrock scattered amongst the blackstone. He could see the floor through his arms. That, that wasn’t normal, right? He touched himself, touched his arms, touched the faded color of his sweater. His hands didn’t pass through him. He stomped the ground and, no, he didn’t phase through it. He was solid, just… transparent. Why? How?

And where was he?

He turned, seeing a hallway to his right. Curious, he stepped forward, stepped into it. His footsteps echoed against the blackstone as he made his way to the end. There was a pen, but no animals left in it. There were signs and item frames on the walls, but nothing sat in them to show them off. It was empty, devoid of life and warmth. He didn’t know what any of this was, nor why he was here. He didn’t remember anything from before he woke up here. He didn’t even remember his name, if he had one.

A chirp echoed from behind him. He spun on his heel and froze when he saw the enderman. He dropped his gaze immediately, somehow instinctually knowing not to look them in the eyes. But… something tugged in his memory. He glanced up again, tried to keep his eyes shifted just to the right of the—

The enderman chirped again, tilting its head. It had its eyes covered with a bandage. It also… didn’t look like any enderman he had seen before, not that he remembered seeing many, or any… Its face was split down the middle, black on one side and white on the other. Its hair and hands were split much the same way, and he saw a tail waving behind it, also split in color. He stepped closer to it, carefully and hesitant. Its head moved with his steps, tracking his movements. When he stopped in front of it, he reached up to touch the bandages, needing to stand on his tip toes to even hope to reach. A black hand rested on his wrist, the claws held away. The enderman vwooped, the sound a refusal if he ever heard one.

“Why are you wearing that?” he asked, curiosity winning out over self-preservation. But the enderman only chirped back. He wished he understood what it was saying. He dropped back on his heels, sad that the first thing he found in this place was someone he couldn’t even understand. The enderman touched his hand and then pointed at the portal. He glanced between the portal and the enderman, not understanding.

“Do you want me to go through? Isn’t that dangerous?” He said, gesturing at himself. He had no armor, no weapons, no tools. The enderman gave him a gentle smile and a glimmering netherite axe appeared in its hand. He jumped back immediately, the wound on his shoulder flaring in pain. “Don’t, please! Don’t hurt me!”

The axe vanished and the enderman immediately went to him, softly chirring and offering comforting pats. He calmed slowly, chewing nervously on his lip. It rubbed at his cheek where tears had formed and, for the first time, he noticed the tear burns on the enderman’s own face. It made something in him warm, a sort of kinship with the enderman. He didn’t know why, but when the enderman offered its hand, he took it. They walked through the nether portal together. He couldn’t feel the heat of the nether, but some part of his brain knew it existed and what it used to feel like. The enderman seemed okay with it. Now that they weren’t in the suffocating dark, he noticed the enderman’s outfit was that of a suit. That was strange, that it wore clothes. But endermen weren’t half white and black either. He just accepted that this was his life now, to not understand things even when they didn’t seem right.

The trip was uneventful, except for the ghast who nearly shot him off the single block wide path. The enderman was handy with its axe, though it seemed to try to warn him before pulling it out. He appreciated it, though he wished he could express his gratitude to it. He also… really did not understand how it saw through the blindfold, but he was comforted to know whatever threats came for them, he was protected and watched over. He almost felt his face break into a smile, but that fell when they came to another portal. The path turned to obsidian and he felt fear and anxiety creep into him at the sight of the blocks. The enderman chirred and held out its hand. He dragged his gaze from the path to the hand and took it. He closed his eyes for good measure and the enderman led him through the portal.

Even though he couldn’t feel the change in temperature, the change from the burning nether to the snow-covered land faintly glowing under the moonlight startled him enough that his breath felt like he had. The air burned in his lungs, but the enderman pulled him forward. It did not release his hand, except to defend him against the mobs that spawned in the night. But once they were slain, the enderman’s hand wrapped tight around his again and he was led further on.

Eventually, he saw smoke rising in the distance. Then they crested a hill and he saw a small complex. Two houses, plus another covered building that looked warm and inviting. Plus, at least twenty dogs relaxing in the snow. They lifted their heads at their approach, barking happily at the enderman. It patted some of their heads as they passed through. He wanted to pat them too and he wondered if he could feel their fur, but the enderman led him up the stairs. He startled at the polar bear tied to one of the buildings, but it ignored him for the most part. The enderman lifted its face to the house, vwooped negatively, then led him across the bridge to the other house. It rapped its knuckles on the door and waited. He waited patiently too, curious as to where they were and why. It knocked again, louder this time, and he heard sounds from above as someone groaned and presumably climbed out of bed.

“Techno, I swear to god if that’s you…!” a voice called out and he jumped back from the door. It sounded angry and he didn’t want anyone’s anger directed at him. Especially not after such a nice trip with the nice enderman! Speaking of the enderman, he glanced at it, hoping it would protect him. More sounds came from inside the house and the enderman… froze. Then shook its head.

“What…? Why is this?” it said. He stared openly as its mouth opened and closed. The mismatched hands came up and undid the bandage and he dropped his gaze away from the enderman’s eyes, but not before he caught sight of what those looked like. Red and green… Mismatched like its body. He heard the enderman turn, then yelp in surprise. He lifted his gaze, just to its shoulder so he wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Um,” he started, but the enderman (hybrid???) started speaking to the door.

“Hey, uh, Phil?” it, no probably, he? The enderman called.

“Ranboo? Why are you here, it’s 3am!” The door cracked open, but it seemed to still hide him from Phil’s (???) gaze. Ranboo quickly looked at the door, a worried expression appearing on his face.

“So, uh. We have a little bit of a problem.”

“What kind of problem? Wil, go back to sleep!” Phil shouted back into the house. There were more sounds from within, of another person descending a later. Probably the Wil-person? The door opened further and he got to watch the man who must be Phil look from Ranboo to him, his mouth parting in what he hoped was surprise and not… something worse. “Wha—?”

“Well…” Beside him, Ranboo threw out his arms in his direction and he lifted a hand in a wave. “We’ve got Gream now!”

#dream smp #dream smp fic #dream #philza #ranboo #wilbur #ghost dream au #mystuff

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zackcollins · 4 years ago

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i still love you || matthew tkachuk

masterlist

Author’s Note: I was listening to the radio yesterday and a song came on that gave me massive Matty vibes. I decided to go for it and write a fic based on the song because everyone probably still needs something to decompress with. The fic is a little bit different than the song but it still has the basic premise of the lyrics; hope that’s okay! GIF credit to matthewtkafuck!

Warnings: I don’t think anything is worth a warning but let me know if I’m wrong. I’ll gladly add whatever it is you think needs one!

Word Count: 1.8k+

Title/Based On: Austin by Blake Shelton

Additional: The reader can be implied to be feminine because of a couple of situations that I’m not going to spoil. As for one of the name of one of the characters I used in the fic. I named the character after the girl in The Reklaws since they came on the radio when I needed a name for the character. Hope that’s okay and I hope you guys enjoy this!

You had come home from work in the worst mood you could possibly imagine. Every one of your coworkers and a majority of the customers had tried your patience. You were ready to go on a destructive rampage through the neighbourhood by the time you pulled into the apartment complex parking garage.

When you walked into your apartment, you could hear your boyfriend, Matthew, playing a video game. By the sounds of it, it was Call of Duty because you could hear him talking to someone. You rolled your eyes as you walked into the living room. Your suspicions were confirmed when you saw Matthew wearing his headset and caught a glimpse of the zombies on the screen.

Matthew nodded to acknowledge you, smiling when you placed a kiss to his forehead. He quickly pushed you aside; you guessed it was because of the voice you heard screaming in his ear about the zombies approaching him. You huffed and sat on the couch beside him. You tried to lean onto Matthew for comfort but he shrugged you off of him and looked at you sternly. Your stomach twisted angrily as a feeling of hurt washed over you.

“I need to leave, Matt,” you said.

Matthew raised an eyebrow as he looked at you. He pressed the button on his headset to mute his microphone. “I’ll get the car keys. We can go to the movies or something.” He unmuted his microphone and told whoever he was playing with that he needed to leave for the time being. Matthew powered the Xbox off before sliding his headset off and placing it on the coffee table. He stood up and turned to head toward the foyer to grab his keys.

You sighed, grabbing Matthew’s forearm. Matthew stopped and looked at you. He furrowed his brows and frowned when he saw the distraught look on your face. “No, I need to leave.”

“Oh. Uh…” Matthew dropped his arm from your grasp, sitting back on the couch, and grabbing your hands. You wanted to protest but you were too stressed to put up a fight. “Is there any reason?”

“I just need to clear my mind,” you said, squeezing Matthew’s hands weakly.

Matthew hummed, running his thumbs across your knuckles. You shivered and felt a sudden wave of emotions wash over you. You suddenly felt guilty for doing this but you knew it had to be done; this was what you felt was best for you right now.

You looked at Matthew with hopeful eyes and he smiled back softly. He took one of his hands away from your hand, using it to cup your chin. Matthew leaned in at the moment, pressing a quick goodbye kiss to your lips. You were beyond crushed when it was over. A part of you wanted your last kiss to mean something more; the other part of you was glad it was over quickly. You didn’t think you would be able to hold it together if it got more meaningful.

Dropping Matthew’s other hand, you looked at him with a painful expression. Matthew looked back, his eyes matching your pained gaze. You sighed, stood up, and walked down the hallway to what used to be yours and Matthew’s bedroom.

In the bedroom, you went through your dresser and placed your clothes and some toiletries into a couple of suitcases. You wanted to grab as much as you could before you got cold feet and decided to stay.

It took fifteen minutes but you eventually had accumulated enough contents in both suitcases to be able to drag them out of the bedroom. When you appeared back in front of Matthew, he looked shocked to see the suitcases.

“Fuck,” Matthew said, running a hand through his hair. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

All you could do was nod. You walked to the door of the apartment, looking back at Matthew. You felt your heart shatter when you saw the defeated expression on Matthew’s face. You wanted to turn around and run into Matthew’s arms; you wanted to stay here with Matthew. You knew you couldn’t because you had to take some time to clear your mind and figure out what you really wanted with your life before you continued this--or any--relationship.

You waved briefly to Matthew before you walked out of the door and out on the relationship you had spent three years building.

Ever since you had left your shared apartment that night, you had avoided watching any of Matthew’s pre-, mid-, or post-game interviews. You didn’t want to make the ache in your heart bigger.

You finally broke down and called him about a year after you had moved out, deciding you couldn’t bear the separation any longer. The phone rang times before it went to Matthew’s voicemail. You sighed and were about to hang up when the voicemail message started playing.

“I sold the car. I’m bowling if it’s Tuesday. If you’re selling something, I’m not buying it. If it’s important, wait for the tone; you know what to do. P.S. If this is (Y/N), I still love you.”

The phone fell from your grasp, landing on the counter with a thunk. Hearing that last line made your heart rate speed up and your head swim. You couldn’t believe that Matthew would hold on to his love for you for this long. You wanted to call right back but knew that would do no good; if Matthew didn’t answer the first time, he probably wouldn’t answer the second time.

Instead, you picked up the phone and opened your photo gallery. You opened the album you had made for pictures of you and Matthew together. You skimmed through them, stopping to closely examine your favourite ones.

As you looked at them, you felt your eyes beginning to well with tears. The longer you looked at the pictures, the closer you were getting to crying. When you got to the last picture of you and Matthew, you allowed the tears to stream down your face. The picture was of you and Matthew holding one of his teammate’s children. You inhaled shakily before sliding off the barstool you were sitting on.

You walked down the hallway and into the bedroom beside the bathroom. You walked across the room and bent over the crib, looking in on your daughter. She was sleeping soundly, thumb in her mouth. You took your phone and snapped a quick picture of her and saved it in the album you had created for her.

You leaned down and kissed your daughter’s forehead, sighing softly as soon as you stood back up. You leaned against the wall behind the crib, crossing your arms over your chest. Letting out a shaky sigh, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“You look just like your father.”

After sitting and stewing about it, you decided to try and call Matthew again after three days. You owed it to him to tell him that he had a daughter, even if nothing came of the relationship between the two of you. He deserved to at least have a relationship with his daughter.

Much like three days prior, the phone rang three times before going to voicemail. When the voicemail message played, you were surprised to see that Matthew had taken the time to change what it had said.

“I’m playing hockey if it’s Friday. I’m going fishing first thing Saturday morning, so long as it doesn’t rain. I’ll be gone for the whole weekend. If you leave your number, I’ll call you back when I return on Sunday afternoon. P.S. If this is (Y/N), I still love you.”

All you left was your number. You felt like spilling your guts about the fact that Matthew had a daughter over voicemail wasn’t the right thing to do. You felt that was to be discussed when Matthew was able to respond during an actual conversation.

As the days went on, you were anxiously waiting for Sunday afternoon. You had deep cleaned your apartment three different times in an attempt to keep your mind occupied. You had also taken your daughter to your usual Saturday afternoon ‘mommy and me’ baby aerobics class but it felt tense this time. No matter how hard you tried to relax, you couldn’t. Every one of your thoughts was focused on waiting for Matthew to call you back.

When Sunday afternoon finally came, you had almost forgotten about the fact that Matthew was supposed to call. That was evident by the fact that you were in the middle of changing your daughter when your phone rang. When you pulled your phone out of your pocket, you nearly had a heart attack when you saw the caller ID. It was Matthew calling. You accepted the call.

“If you’re calling about my heart,” you said, taking a breath to stabilize your voice. “It still belongs to you. I should’ve listened to what it was telling me. Then it wouldn’t have taken me so long to know where I belong.” You paused again, trying to see if you could gauge a reaction from Matthew. His end of the line seemed completely quiet, so you continued talking. “And by the way, this isn’t the voicemail. This is (Y/N). And I still love you. So does your daughter.”

You heard Matthew choke on some air as he started spluttering to breathe. It took a few moments but he eventually regained his composure enough to form coherent words.

“I have a daughter?!” He asked, voice hoarse.

“Yes,” you replied. “Her name is Jenna.”

Matthew inhaled sharply. “Can I see a picture of her?”

Instead of answering, you pressed a button to switch the call to a video call. Matthew accepted the video call request but had a confused look on his face. It shifted to understanding when you moved your phone to show the face of your daughter. It quickly shifted to something heartwarming after that.

“She…” Matthew said, motioning around her face. “She looks just like me.” His voice was small, almost tentative.

“Yeah, I know,” you replied, sighing shakily.

“Jenna?” Matthew said. Jenna immediately took attention to the fact that her name had been called. “It’s daddy, sweetheart. Hi. How’re you?” Jenna giggled and tried to reach for the phone, a gigantic smile on her face.

You felt your heartbeat sputter at what you had just witnessed. It was the most precious thing you could imagine for the first ‘meeting’ between Matthew and Jenna.

“Where do you live now?” Matthew asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. “The team has our bye week after the game tomorrow. I can visit you and Jenna during it.”

“I’m in Yellowknife,” you said.

“Alright. I’ll get the first flight from Calgary to Yellowknife after the game.”

You felt tears falling from the corners of your eyes. You wiped them away as you looked between Matthew and Jenna. Matthew noticed the tears and exhaled softly.

“Our family is finally going to be together,” Matthew said, running a hand through his hair. “That’s a good thing, (Y/N).” You got too hung up on the fact that he said ‘our’ to respond.

If he really thought like that after having only known about his daughter for ten minutes, you were blessed to have Matthew back in your life.

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norabrice1701 · 4 years ago

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An Offer Received - Part IV

A Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston Character (Thomas Conrad) fanfic

Pairing: Thomas Conrad x Fem!reader

Summary: Life as Mr. Conrad’s foot soldier has consequences.

Rating: Controlling behavior, threats, f-bombs, Dark!Conrad

Previously: Part III.2 - 5 Months

A/N: Still here, and still going! The life delay took longer than anticipated, but excited to wrap this up! Thank you to everyone who’s liked and followed this tale!

GIF credit to original poster via the Tumblr search!

Part IV - 5 Minutes

You only limped for two weeks while the incisions healed. But every time you took a step, you swore you could still feel the VI emblazoned in your skin. His mark. His brand. A constant reminder of what you’d been folded into. And, worse, given your word to support.

It should repulse you more, but strangely…it hadn’t been bad so far. Nothing in the office environment changed. You still reviewed divisional output, provided daily briefings, and assisted with whatever Mr. Conrad needed to keep LOKI as the industry frontrunner. He remained just as cold and detached as he had before he marked you, except for a searing, possessive gleam that darkened his eyes if you held his gaze for too long. As if he dared you to give the situation a voice, dared you to press him for everything that remained unspoken.

But you bided your time. At first, you had wondered – now that you were a marked foot soldier – if you would be privileged to know more about the mysterious Operation ‘Blue Sea’. But apparently there were still limits to Mr. Conrad’s trust. As infuriating and frustrating as it was.

It made you wonder if he could actually do it. Would he build the sixth greatest empire that the world had ever known? Was that even possible? And if he failed, what then? How many foot soldiers would go down with him?

Those thoughts shouldn’t concern you right now, though. Mr. Conrad had a meeting in 29 minutes and he needed your notes from this morning’s divisional alignment meeting. Your fingers flew over the keyboard with swift accuracy, recounting the discussion as it happened and nothing more. Mr. Conrad was more than capable of drawing his own conclusions.

“Hey, you.”

The familiar voice warmed your insides and you couldn’t help but look up with a smile. Sebastian Barnes had always been handsome with his dark hair and stormy eyes, and those lips that always edged a playful smile. You’d been surrounded by so much cold precision as of late and Sebastian was a welcome wave of comforting warmth.

He chuckled softly, gaze dancing over your face. “It’s good to see you, too. Been a while.”

You hummed in consideration. “Too long, probably.”

“Too long, but hopefully not too late.” He glanced around the office suite. “Swanky new digs. It’s obvious the new gig agrees with you. Certainly suits you, anyway. Mr. Conrad’s never had someone represent him so directly.”

You arched a dubious brow. “He doesn’t trust me that much.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re good at everything you set out to accomplish. I admired that about you from the start.” His smile brightened boyishly as he stole a quick glance to Conrad’s closed doors before turning back. “But hey, I was wondering if we...could do dinner tonight. We’re both guilty of work getting in the way, but…I think I’d like to make that change. At least, for myself - new year, new resolution and all that. So, yeah….dinner tonight?”

Your throat tightened, so desperate to say yes, to enjoy a night of easy conversation and free laughter outside the delicate web of Conrad’s design. But how could you possibly take that risk? You shook your head slowly, regret softening your face. “That sounds wonderful, Sebastian, really - but I’m…I’m not available. Tonight...or any other night.”

His brow pinched in obvious confusion. “No? Oh, no – please don’t tell me I’m too late. What…is there – is it me? Or…someone else?”

You bit your lip, not wanting to lie to him. “I – yeah, I guess you could say there’s someone else.”

“How did I lose out, huh? We had a good thing – good, if infrequent. How did I get bumped out of line?”

It was a fair question. You’d never said you were exclusive with Sebastian, but you weren’t the kind of girl to play a string of lovers. You sighed, glancing quickly to the clock on your computer screen. Time was running out before Conrad’s meeting. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you started softly, “it had nothing to do with you – I really did enjoy our nights together. But this other guy, he just…just swept me up.”

That seemed to take him aback as he pulled a confused face. “What does that even mean?” He glanced up from you, around the suite. All at once, an idea flashed on his face, revulsion and disbelief seeping into his eyes. “Oh, Christ…I didn’t want to believe it. But it’s true, isn’t it?” He stared at you as if he’d never seen you before. “You did fuck him to get the job.”

“No, god no. I didn’t fuck him to get the job.”

“Oh, so you just fucked him after you got the job?”

You glared up at him, feeling your cheeks flush, betraying the truth. “It’s not like that.”

“Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and down his face. His eyes locked to you, passing undeniable judgment. “I defended you, you know. I thought ‘no, she’s above sleeping with a guy for professional gain.’ I mean, you slept with me with nothing to gain.”

“Sebastian, stop talking. Please-.”

“How could there possibly be another explanation?” He studied your face, tilting his head as he seized on another idea. “Wait…please don’t tell me that you actually like that cold bastard?”

“It’s…it’s complicated.”

“It’s really not. Unless he forced you…,” he blinked, eyes probing your face for more, “please don’t tell me he forced you. Or, better yet…please do. It would be gratifying to take down that smug son of a bitch.”

“No, he didn’t force me. And you should really stop talking now.” You cast a sideways glance towards the still closed double doors. “You do realize that he can probably hear you.”

“Don’t know that I care much. Whatever he did to you, said to you…he stole you from me. And that…,” he paused for a breath, sadness seeping into his face, “that hurts, you know. I like you – well, I did like you. But I guess you weren’t the girl I thought you were.”

You sighed, welling with heartache and hoping this would be the end. The last thing you wanted was for Conrad to make an unwelcome appearance, so better to just rip the bandage off. “Yeah...I guess not.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it just as quick. He half-nodded, still looking hurt and baffled, but then he turned for the office suite doors. Your heart longed to call out after him – he really was a decent guy who deserved someone better than you. Someone better and stronger who wouldn’t have fallen into Conrad’s calculating clutches.

The hydraulic hinge hissed as the door closed behind him and tears stung your eyes. You bowed your head, fighting them back. You knew that you needed to focus now – this meeting was soon. Your notes were expected. You could cry all night, pound the pillows in frustration, and numb yourself with wine later. Later.

“…Darling?”

Your head shot up on the gentle endearment, startled at the suddenness of the voice.

Conrad stared down at you with an alarmingly compassionate, concerned edge. His expression looked so genuine, but you knew him well enough now to know that it wasn’t genuine. How could it be? He hadn’t been genuine with you since that first meeting.

“Darling,” he repeated, his voice so achingly tender, “you look so terribly upset.”

You forced yourself to summon a smile, hoping your eyes and cheeks weren’t too telltale red. “I’m fine, really. Just...early spring allergies.” You sniffled, mostly for effect, but also to help clear your tears. “But I do appreciate your concern, sir.”

He shook his head, the concerned façade disappearing to reveal pure disgust. “You’re a terrible liar, and you should know better.” He crossed behind your desk in a predatory flash, standing alongside your chair, a firm hand on the back to hold you steady. You breathed deep his subtle cologne as he leaned down, warm breath against your ear. “Tell me the truth. Right now. Otherwise…well, you remember what I said about punishment?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hanging your head. What did you have to lose? Sebastian already thought the worst of you. You already wore Conrad’s brand. You swallowed hard. “A lover’s quarrel, that’s all. A quarrel that ended hurtfully.”

Chilled fingertips crept across the skin of your neck. “Good girl. Though, I confess myself disappointed - you never told me that I was second. That someone else in this building was first to convince you to spread your legs.”

You froze, suddenly confused. “I...I wasn’t a virg-”. Your words choked off as his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough. Panic rose in your chest as you forced yourself to keep breathing.

“Don’t be stupid.” His words were little more than a deadly hiss. “It would be embarrassing for a woman of your age to still wear that mantle. Just as I won’t be made a fool of playing second fiddle to a man like Barnes.” His thumb stroked delicately against your skin as he continued to hold you, lips skimming the shell of your ear. “So, you will tell me each detail - how he touched you, how he fucked you. And only when I am satisfied - only when you have earned it, and you’re begging me - will I fuck you until you forget his name and yours.”

You twitched in your chair, feeling your heart race. Nothing about that should sound appealing, but some dark part of you thrilled at his show of dominance. Even if it was, at base level, nothing better than a threat.

You swallowed, gaze darting to your computer clock to stall for time. “But, sir -.” You gasped as his hold tightened.

“You’re not invited to speak unless asked a direct question.”

“But - your meeting!” You tried again, voice ragged. “The notes you need-.”

He sneered a discomforting laugh. “Fuck the meeting. Believe me, this time next week - it won’t matter.”

Fear raced along your spine, both at his words, and the sudden withdrawal of his hand and suffocating presence. You gasped for breath, trying not to jump as strong fingers pressed to the underside of your chin, tilting it sideways and up to look at him.

His eyes burned with dark, glacial fire, his posture the mark of controlled composure. “My office. Five minutes.”

He turned for his office, nothing hurried in his stride, and you drew a deep breath. You didn’t realize you’d forgotten to breathe as the words slammed home in your brain.

His office. Five minutes. Fuck the meeting. Everything he expected you to tell him.

You rested your head in your hands, fighting to bury every last feeling you had for Barnes. They wouldn’t help you, and you refused to give Conrad the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Perhaps you could - well, not lie exactly - but stretch the truth. What you shared with Barnes was not Conrad’s business, and if he thought he could make you think differently...then, he had another thing coming. If he wanted to control you, flay you open and rebuild you in his image, then...then you damn well wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Two minutes now. You hit the ‘do not disturb’ setting on your phone and computer status before rising, steeling yourself. Your heels sank into the carpet as you approached his open office door.

He stood at his desk, grey suit jacket slung across the back of his chair as his fingers worked at his tie. Your throat went dry at the sight - he’d never been seen around the office without his tie perfectly placed.

With a whisper of fabric, he pulled it free from his shirt collar, letting it drop to his desk. His gaze landed on yours as his fingers turned to his cufflinks. “Close the door.”

Your heart accelerated, feeling the heady pulse of adrenaline as you followed his order.

The cufflink clinked to the glass desktop, nimble fingers now rolling up his sleeves to expose strong forearms. “You understand my expectations?”

You bit your lip. “Yes, sir.”

He turned his attention to his other sleeve, letting the anticipation, the tension build.

His office had never felt so suffocating, the air so thick you might choke. You watched as he came around the front of his desk, fingers skimming the discarded tie in an unspoken threat, an unspoken promise. An unbidden current of heat flared to life within you.

He leveled you with those piercing eyes. “Now, where were we?”

Up Next: Part V - 5 Days

#tom hiddleston #villain #the art of villainy #hiddlesedit #good to be bad #world domination #loki #avengers reference #fanfic #an offer received #wannabe writer #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #not rpf

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tfw-needs-baby · 5 years ago

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sam winchester | internet personas

based on my own experience.

read on ao3?

Sam Winchester and his brother stumbled upon fanfiction and the fandom a while ago. He swore to himself that he would never, ever go back and visit the crazy people that existed there.

Well, sitting in his room in the bunker, he was bored and had nothing much to do because the supernatural had been pretty quiet for the past month or so and he was scrolling aimlessly through new articles and finding nothing. He doesn’t know how or why the idea popped into his head, but it came and he was curious at the time, so why not?

‘Best places to’ Nope, delete that.

‘Where to join a fandom’ Delete that too. That just sounded stupid.

‘Fandom friendly sites.’ Yeah, that sounded about right. He clicked onto the first link, and it immediately brought him to a site called ‘Fandom.’

How ironic. Although it didn’t exactly help him much, it was just an explanation guide to their platform and what it had to offer. The rest of the links weren’t much help either, and he sighed. Alright, how to find the fans...wasn’t there something called livejournal?

According to a couple of articles, old and inactive journals had been purged, but were still doing pretty well. And then, the Winchester searched up ‘best places to read fanfiction.’

A couple of suggestions appeared underneath ‘Popular on the web.’

‘Wattpad - tumblr - kindle words - deviantart - archive of our own - asianfanfics’

Huh. Visiting a couple of sites, Wattpad and Fanfiction.net and Archive Of Our Own popped up frequently, so he decided to visit Wattpad first. He went to browse works and choose fanfiction, and it brought him to a selection of hot and trendy stories with millions of views on them. Woah. It ranged from k-pop to a selection of animes to CBS shows and weird crossovers. The ‘x reader’ tag seemed very popular and he shivered, reminding him of Becky.

Signing up wasn’t hard either. It had only taken him a couple of minutes. But when he was reading a selected few from the hot section, they didn’t exactly grab his attention. A lot of them seemed to be written by younger ten to fifteen year olds. They did have a large amount of potential and amazing storylines, he’ll give them that.

Then he wandered over to Fanfiction.net. The sign up process was easy, but the site was a bit more historical and a bit more him. There were multiple forums, and he scrolled down and viewed a couple of them. Oh. They were similar to roleplay, but just - more building along a storyline with it, if that made any sense. The sign up was pretty easy here too, and he smiled as two notifications popped up in his gmail for both sites.

Backtracking now, he went off to ‘archive of our own,’ nicknamed ‘ao3’ for short and a paragraph popped up and he skimmed through it quickly. It was just a warning that everything could be viewed by whoever and whatnot. The writing here definitely seems way more advanced, way more complex and interesting, with canon divergences going all out and unheard au’s. And the cliche plots we’re simply adorable.

He went over to sign up, and raised an eyebrow when it stated that you needed to get an invitation, and all you had to do was enter in an email. And wait a day for an invitation.

Hopping onto tumblr, he made an account quickly and started scrolling through it, and everything seemed different somehow. Like, more modern day than the last time he came to the page. The fandom had definitely become smaller due to a ‘nsfw ban’ and he couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad thing. They had gifsets of memories that had happened about three years ago, with their final stand against Chuck, and he smiled as he went through year’s old blogs that never updated anymore, reblogging everything ‘Supernatural’ underneath the username ‘babytrenchcoatnougat’ and he started to tear up when he stumbled upon a post where they had created a small art of playing the rainbow slinky with Dean based on a gifset of a memory. He still remembers how happy Dean had been when he got it just for him, he played with it for the next week.

A couple of week’s later, Sam want’s to do more than reblog and comment on content. Sam does have artistic potential, and he could definitely look into that. Although, writing seems easier at the moment, and he scrolls through an endless amount of fanfiction on archive of our own - ranging from major character death to general fanfiction - from his brother and best friend sleeping together to him turning into the boyking to high school universes to Apocalyptic worlds where they have failed.

He wants to write his own world, where they’re all happy and care-free and able to actually live happily, where no one he’s loved has died. Making a post on tumblr he states: By any chance, is there anyone on this platform that can help me with a non-romantic general Supernatural fanfiction?

He places a couple of normal tags that fit into the category, then presses post. About an hour later, he gets a reblog from someone called @ misha-moose-dean-burger-lover [and wow, that sounds like a handful] offering to help.

I’m available if you need me to, @ babytrenchcoatnougat ; what’s the plot? We can discuss more in DM’s if you’d like! Besides, I’m free for the week, but if you need a beta reader I can offer a couple of people that I know.

Sam sends her a message.

babytrenchcoatnougat: can you give me some advice or writing tips if you have any? i'm not looking to make any implied romantic pairings in the fic

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: well, that depends, what’s the fic going to be about?

babytrenchcoatnougat: i don't know yet, maybe team free will 2.0 just taking a roadtrip to nowhere without a destination in sight after defeating chuck?

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: eeeeee

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: that sounds like a awesome idea misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: you're definitely going to want to have specific destinations in mind, and only a hint of angst, and what they’re going to do at these locations

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: use transition words and make sure it doesn’t repeat often, descriptive details but don’t use it in every scene, and make sure there are frequent movements in the characters so they don’t sound so stiff, and make sure to slowly transition into the next scene, as time skipping to every scene will make the story seem boring. misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: make sure the characters aren’t ooc either!

And so, Sam writes. He writes until his eyes hurt and he definitely needs some sleep, so he sends a quick message to a beta to read it over for him and they do, gushing about how the plot was wonderful and badly needed after all the terrible angst that occurred this season. He smiles, giving his thanks before uploading the first chapter out of 15, 13k words, onto ao3.

[He checks over the grammar and tags over fifteen times.]

He can hardly contain his excitement, jumping around happily all day, even baking Dean a pie which makes him get sprayed with holy water and go through every test just to make sure he isn’t some supernatural creature.

Later that afternoon, he checks his ao3 underneath the same username and finds out it’s gotten about 150 hits, and 38 kudos, which makes his heart swell. He’s also gotten a comment, and he presses comments eagerly.

‘Kill yourself, psycho virgin fag.’

He re-reads the comment a couple of times, eyes tearing up and dropping his phone onto the kitchen table recklessly. What the fuck. Was his story really that bad? Did those people who didn’t leave a kudo really hate his story that much? Did the fans think his story was too child-like? Badly written? OOC? Do they really hate him that bad that he actually should commit-

Sam breaks down right then and there, pushing his computer aside, placing his head down and crying softly. Castiel and Dean don’t find him until an hour later, and he’s still softly crying. They rush over to him, Dean quickly sitting to the right while Castiel sits to the left. “Sammy? What happened?” Dean asks, and the younger Winchester shakes his head.

“N’thing.” He mumbles, and the older Winchester sighs. He’s just being stubborn, when he doesn’t want other people to worry about him, afraid that he’ll give them his problems. “Sam, please, if you talk to us, then we may fix the problem together. Remember, we made that promise two years ago, to be more open with each other.” The former-angel now archangel says, pushing Sam’s hair out of his face. Sam takes a shaky breath, pushing himself off the desk and grabs the laptop, opening it up to the recent fanfiction he had written, and Castiel and Dean both skim through it before Dean snatches the laptop. “Is this a fanfiction?” He looks at him as if he’s crazy, and Sam slowly shakes his head in agreement. Castiel walks over to Dean, both of them reading the first chapter silently, and everytime he glances over to see their reactions it seems unchanged. His brother probably thinks he’s weird, and Castiel is going to find him crazy-

“Damn, Sammy, you’ve got talent.” Dean says, and he actually sounds impressed. “W- what?”

“That is incredibly written and a wonderful idea, I think we should go on a roadtrip ourselves,” Dean nodded in agreement. “Is this why you’re crying? I think this is perfect.”

“Wait - you two do find it weird or anything?”

Castiel and Dean look confused. “Why would you think that Sammy? I like it.”

“You should uh - read the comment.” He says, and it takes the angel and older hunter a moment to find the comment section at the bottom, Castiel pointing at the button. Their faces turn into pure fury.

“I’m going to smite them.” Castiel all but growls out, and Dean shuts the laptop closed. “Don’t listen to ‘em, this is fucking amazing, got it? I want the second chapter. Don’t listen to what anyone else says, they're probably jealous that we’ve got a New York bestseller writer and all they can do is write the abc’s.” Dean hugs his brother, Castiel immediately joining right in and Sam sighs happily. They stay there for a bit, muttering out a ‘thank you’ before jumping up slightly, seeing that he’s gotten two more comments on his fanfiction, and nervously opens up the comment section to see that a user called ‘quicksilvermalec’ writing on how much they enjoyed the fic and can’t wait to read the second chapter while an anonymous user has attacked the one that insulted him, throwing a whole truckload of insults and Castiel smiles. “They got what they deserved.” The archangel says, and Dean shouts ‘damn straight’ joyfully. “Would the two of you want to write fanfiction with me, then?” Sam asks while writing the second chapter about an hour later, and the unison ‘yes’ gives him a warm feeling in his chest.

#sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #archangel!castiel #ficlet #gen fic #genfic #supernatural #fluff #representation week

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

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The Whole Truth - 2

(Full story available on AO3! If you want to be tagged as new chapters are posted, leave a comment “tag me” on this post!)

(Please note: Tumblr continues to make my Italics disappear. It’s very frustrating, so I apologize if the formatting makes anything confusing.)

Monday

1999

Aziraphale stared at the book on his desk. “What kind of curse?”

“Don’t know, not my department.” Gabriel smiled, excited, just a little distracted. It tugged at something in Aziraphale, made him want to prove he was worth the Archangel’s attention, too. “Michael’s soldiers seized it in a raid. Very dramatic stuff. Pity you weren’t able to make it.”

“Ah, yes, well…”

“Could have used another sword.” A nudge of the elbow, so hard Aziraphale staggered a little. “Those demons fought back hard.”

“Yes, terribly sorry. As I’d said there was this urgent business to attend to. Demonic possession. Entire family cursed. The house itself had become sentient. And. Carnivorous. I really had to deal with it all immediately.”

“Sounds frightening.”

“Oh, it was. Very frightening. And gory. And certainly not rated for general audiences.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat. The last thing he needed was for Gabriel to learn about movie night. Well. It was mid-ranked on the very long list of things Gabriel shouldn’t know. He hated lying to the Archangel, but no – things were better this way. “Regardless. You say these – these demons had this book in their possession?”

“Oh, yes. Not sure what they were planning to do with it, but it’s cursed. Very cursed.”

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale picked up a pen and used it to lift the cover, peering at the first page. He could just make out the writing. “It’s printed, not handwritten. Not Roman or Cyrillic alphabet.” He let the cover fall and started searching for a pair of gloves. “In fact, I don’t recognize the script at all. I’ll need a larger sample—”

Gabriel clapped his hands. “Good! Excellent, that’s just what I like to hear. Your obsession with material objects and human record keeping finally has a use. So glad we have an expert to consult on this.” Aziraphale hid a little smile at that. Expert. “See what you can find out by the end of the week.”

“End of the – you can’t be serious.” Aziraphale pulled his glasses off, waving them as politely as he could. “I mean, I’m sure you have your reasons, O holy Archangel, but deciphering an unknown text takes time. Not to mention identifying a curse—”

“We already have a team on that,” Gabriel interrupted, before Aziraphale could confess to knowing very little about demonic curses, apart from the sort Crowley shouted at other drivers.

“Oh. Jolly good.”

“Yes, they’ve told me the curse is so potent, any angel attempting to remove it would be immediately destroyed. Incinerated was the term they used.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale took a step away from the desk. “Well, I suppose that does change things.”

Gabriel shrugged. “As long as you don’t try to remove the curse yourself, you’re fine. Anyway, by Friday night, they’ll have worked out a proper disposal method. I proposed launching the book into the sun but apparently that would cause a, what did they call it, Superb Nova.”

“Oh dear.” Another step away. “You know, Gabriel, as…happy as I am that you wish to entrust this task to me, er, we are currently located in a major population center, and I don’t think—”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel gave him that warm look, the one he saw so rarely, the one that made him feel included. “This raid was a big deal. I don’t want to start any rumors, but…it’s possible the demons were planning something. I would consider it a huge favor if you could just, I don’t know, poke around a bit? Find out what they wanted?”

“Well…as…as a favor…” There was a shiver of happiness running up his spine at that. Gabriel never asked for favors. “Yes, I think I can…learn a few things that might help you out. As long as it’s safe?”

“It’s fine!” Gabriel picked up the book and waved it around. “Perfectly harmless to angels; obviously, don’t let any humans near it. They might set something off. Probably blow up half the city!” He laughed, tossing the book. It hit the table with a crack, falling open to a random page.

“Oh, dear.” That hardly sounded safe. “What…if a demon tried? Er, someone come looking for his lost property, perhaps?”

“It would be very bad. No one touches this but you. Understand?”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling rather ill. He should say no, there were too many things that could go wrong.

His eyes drifted to the open book, the strange writing, a drawing of some horrifying creature. One word was a little larger than the rest and for a second, it looked familiar. He bent closer, almost instinctively. “This text…I almost think I’ve seen it before. No, it’s gone now, but perhaps…” He looked up in time to catch an eager gleam in Gabriel’s eyes. “Yes, I think…I can take a look. As…as a favor.”

“Excellent! That’s exactly the attitude I like to see. Now if you’ll excuse me, lots to do, places to be. I’ll follow up with you on Friday. Say, four o’clock?”

In a twinkling of light and a pop of air pressure, Aziraphale was alone with the book.

“He just – just left you with a cursed book?” Crowley paid the ice cream vendor and handed Aziraphale his cone.

“Yes. Is that so strange? I am an expert on Earth tomes, and languages, and treatises on magic.” He puffed his chest a little. “Why shouldn’t Heaven give me such a fascinating project?”

“Because they don’t care about any of that,” Crowley snapped flatly. “Besides, languages? I’ve heard you speak French.”

“I was having a bit of an off day,” Aziraphale pouted. “I shouldn’t be judged based on a single incident – what was it, two hundred and six years ago now? For all you know, I’ve been brushing up on my French ever since.” He licked the ice cream, smiling at the thick, creamy texture of it.

“Have you though?” Crowley sauntered alongside him, hands in his pockets, red hair slicked and gelled tight against his head.

“Well, no, but only because I’ve already read everything of interest in French.”

“Is that so?” Crowley smirked as if he was so clever. “Does this mean you finally got around to reading Proust?”

“Well. No. But neither have you.” Aziraphale took a quick bite of his ice cream before it could melt down his hand.

“Yeah, but I don’t live in a bookshop,” Crowley took a few steps ahead and started walking backwards, smirk evolving into a rather large grin. “So that makes me wonder who else you haven’t read. Dickens? Twain? Dostoyevsky? Is the Principality Aziraphale, in fact, a giant sham?”

The angel pursed his lips. “Any luck getting your car to play other music?”

Crowley’s face fell. “No,” he muttered, circling back to walk beside Aziraphale again. “At this point I’m really starting to get sick of Queen. Hope it doesn’t go on too much longer.”

Aziraphale stood before his desk, book lying innocuously on the blotter. He wore the thickest gloves he could find and – just to be safe – had rolled his sleeves up past the elbow. He still approached it with extreme caution.

One finger carefully tapped the spine, pulling away instantly.

No sparks. No chills. No cloud of demonic energy.

Just a perfectly ordinary book, really.

With feather-light touch, he brushed his fingers down the cover. Leather-bound, deep red-brown. Hopefully normal leather, but you never knew with demonic books, or for that matter certain obscure human texts. Sturdy and thick, the binding worn through in a few places just enough to indicate irregular use. No title, but gold pressed into the leather formed some sort of broad-leafed plant. Nothing he recognized.

Lifting the cover, he inspected the pages inside. Thick, rough paper – the edges a bit uneven and ragged in places. When he leaned close to inspect them, he detected the distinct dusty scent of old book, with just a hint of spice.

It seemed that Gabriel was correct. Nothing suggested the book was dangerous to touch.

Aziraphale set his armchair beside the desk and settled in for some proper investigation.

The first step of his process: Aziraphale turned to a page at random. He liked to think providence was guiding him to the first clues.

It looked much as that page he’d glimpsed during Gabriel’s visit, yet also entirely different. Small, curving letters – a bit like calligraphy, half unical, he thought, perhaps English or Irish – arrayed around complex illustrations of green plants on one side, and something that might have been an insect on the other. The artwork was immensely detailed, with subtle color variations, but resembled nothing he had ever seen.

The text was also strange, the longer he looked at it. He skimmed the page looking for patterns, groups of letters that appeared together more than once. Nothing. There were distinct words, all between four and seven characters, but each was unique. And the characters each looked sharp and clear and perfectly uniform in size, but there was variation, each uniquely formed, as if handwritten.

He turned the pages, sheet after sheet, looking for anything he recognized, leaning closer as he read. Sometimes a word would look almost familiar and then – no, it was gone.--

(The horror movie Aziraphale mentions is supposed to be “The Haunting” but I got it a bit confused with other movies from the late 90s. The mysterious writing and diagrams are loosely based on several mysterious texts, most notably the Voynich Manuscript.)

#good omens prime #good omens fanfiction #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfic #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #current wip #my writing #ao3fic #ao3 link #the whole truth

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ambitionsource · 4 years ago

Photo

hey bud!! i’m gonna bump my more in-depth response to this under a read more, just because in GENERAL we want to keep this blog more specifically focused on ambition rather than the Thinly Linked Source Material of yore. but i will say overall, i think you can tell how we felt about that storyline based on how the dynamics of AAA have panned out – that is to say, that love triangle does not at all exist, even a whiff, in aaa bc it never needed to exist… ever. lmao

more of my specific response to your question tho under the cut :)

– Maggie

EDIT: this used to be an actual ask response but i deleted it and reposted just bc tumblr wouldn’t let me use a read more... so anyway!

so just quick, regardless of what ship you most prefer, i think everyone agrees the love triangle was not needed. for me, as a writer, it felt like a waste of story and screen time when there was so much other cool stuff to be building and focusing on (which is a shame this all happened like it did because triangle aside, i think mj and co. were doing some great work in S2. like that was the highest peak of the show for me… and yet, also included the lowest…)

i also agree that the texas stuff should have served to give backstory on lucas and zay, not… create… that. you may not know this if you’re just finding us through ambition, but i was an original hardcore lucas stan, and full disclosure my love for him (and then, by extension, rl) is honestly the reason i still even care about it to this day and why ambition even exists (in the sense that if i cared and loved lucas less, i would’ve stopped caring or thinking about this silly show, and es and i would have never been prompted to discuss what became ambition). so that was something i really wanted, more about him as a character outside of rm relation, and i totally understand that he was supporting and not The Main Character, but we could’ve gotten more. we could’ve. i basically filled in the blanks when i wrote my end of gmw master fic, gravity on the open road. (honestly, it’s really interesting to go back and skim through gotor and be here 3 years later and just see what seeds really blossomed… like the lucas dedication… my overall impression of what’s at the core of rl… the appearance of dylan and asher who 3 years later have grown into basically my own characters and now are my favorite people in the world… yeah)

overall, what i kind of thought mj was gonna do was dig deeper on the fear riley had of becoming jack and rachel and thus losing touch with lucas if they dared be romantic, and she didn’t want to lose him as a friend – and with her kinda pushing maya at him, that piece made sense to me in that context. i think there was a LOT they could’ve explored there that fits with mj’s common themes and also is helpful for like… young viewers to process as they’re starting to determine what their own feelings are in this crazy world. on the other side of that, i thought that maya’s Emotions towards lucas with the bull that she was confused about were gonna be like… feelings of genuine Care in terms of like friendship. because she had been clowning him for two years straight, so that would be a major moment for her of like oh wait shit i really do care about this nerd and that’s shocking when my whole world for so long has been farkle and riley and i’ve never let anyone else in… and i think the confusion around that made sense, but making it romantic, and THEN retconning and making it her turning into riley……, there was no sense to that GFJDKLG. like ships aside i think everyone agrees that the “i became riley” explanation made no sense LOLLLLLL. but also i really do think the fandom’s consumption and then spin on all this stuff made everything way worse, like just the story itself isn’t HORRIBLE, but how the fandom twisted everything in existence made it way more awful.

anyway, that’s basically what i thought it should’ve been like. back in my former existence, i wrote a post about how i would’ve ended the triangle in gm new years here (which i believe was the original plan until uriah was injured? to end it there, not like the way i wrote it lmao), and then here’s a general post about what i would’ve changed about the show that i wrote like… a year ago? so with a bit more distance than right after the show ended. hopefully that answers your question!

but yeah. we really don’t think of ambition as a replica of gmw at ALL, and that’s partially why lmao

[ es’s addition: i don’t have lots to say like maggie but I agree with her wholeheartedly and think the love triangle was ridiculous and just so unnecessary, it destroyed s3 and made the fandom even more toxic. and in terms of ships rl all the way baybee ]

#tell me honestly... can you even imagine aaa lucas and aaa maya being a love triangle together #like... they hate each other so much gFJDGKLDSHJKFD #we'll play with that a little bit in S3 but... still no #TO CLARIFY I MEAN WE'LL PLAY WITH THEIR DYNAMIC IN GENERAL NOT A LOVE TRIANGLE #whew. didn't wanna alarm y'all #answered #anonymous

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evilisk · 5 years ago

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Reading Len’En Profiles Part 4

This took a while didn’t it? This is being split up into two parts since Fumikado’s profile is way bigger (with more info about other characters, including future characters in BPoHC) than initially expected. Teams, Sese, Tsugumi, Shion and Tenkai are covered in this part.

= = =

As always, here’s a quick look on the profiles for the returning characters.

Team Profiles

Shrine Team:

I like how Yabusame’s profile mentions that they wear lighter clothes in Winter than in Summer yet the only discernible difference I can tell from their sprite is “Yabu choosing not to wear shoes”

I can't believe Tsuba’s profile casually reveals that they remodeled their body structure so they can't feel the cold. What the heck Tsuba?

Slaver Team

Kuroji’s profile is such a swerve. We went from “gotta put food on the table for my siblings” to Kuroji going full “Ameyama Telegraph style Reimu” who shakes down people [youkai] for money

Kuroji having ambitions to open a school in Mugenri is unexpected

Wait, so Kuroji, who is described as being a scholar of pre-history, wants to open a school (and presumably wants to teach at it). And Keine, from Touhou, is a were-hakutaku who can manipulate history, that teaches at a school. HMMMMMMM.....

“This is kinda dangerous” lmao at that being in Saragimaru’s profile. I appreciate how this is referenced in Yaorochi’s profile (their profile mentions that they feel like they’re being watched)

It’s revealed that Saragimaru doesn’t actually know if they are related by blood which is kinda weird? I got the impression that the one who was in the dark about everything was Yaorochi, not Saragimaru. Maybe I should take another look at their EMS profile...

Bottle Opener Team

I mentioned previously that one of the EMS profiles confirmed that Orochi was a youkai. Well Yaorochi’s profile 200% confirms that Orochi was a youkai with the line “[Yaorochi’s] a youkai very much like Yamato no Orochi” which is good to know

It’s been a while so I forgot, and ended up chuckling at, the bottle opener stuff. Especially the “Yaorochi has been training so good they’re good at the bottle opener now too!” angle

"For the sake of creativity, [Sukune doesn’t] speak like a normal person.” So that’s the reason for their accent? Lol okay

I like how Sukune’s wings are given a small explanation here. I wouldn’t have guessed that they could fly without them (I would have assumed they can’t normally fly, and that they fought on-foot in EMS)

= = =

Boss Profiles

Stage 1 / Stage Extra+ Boss - Sese Kitsugai

Original Opinion: While I find their in-game spellcards (as a Stage 1 boss) to be rather zany, I love this Bony Baby. Seriously, I cannot look at their sprite, with their cute smiling baby fangs, and see Sese as an adult (I think they’re referred to as “a kid” by some of the teams too). I am not so hot on EX-Sese as a design, but in concept? I LOVE IT. I think their BPoHC design (which I love, love LOVE, but more on that in the next post) is a better middle ground between “base” Sese and EX-Sese, but I digress. Sese is 'Sese-rious’ fun!

Comments on Profile:

Interesting, interesting. So apparently Sese Kitsugai (or just “Sese”, according to their Wiki entry) isn’t their real name. They just thought it was a pleasant nickname.

It seems that without their skull, they don’t remember much (like their original name). It’s weird since they draw attention to Sese’s current skull helmet in Yaorochi’s route (Sukune can’t remove it, Yaorochi seems to think it’s special) but I suppose that Sese’s original skull should be WAY bigger than their current one.

Sese has a second profile which adds a lot more details. Apparently, they were scavenging bones near Harujion while that big epic fight was happening in Stage 6.

So EX Sese’s appearance is their canon true/”original” appearance. Boo. I honestly think their BPoHC design is way better. It also seems that without the original skull, Sese cannot maintain their original appearance.

Sese’s EX Profile has an extra ability: “something like conquering the above-ground”. That’s not ominous at all.

I cannot help but wonder if Sese originally fought Tsurubami and just got whooped really hard... okay, now I have the mental image of Tsurubami booting Sese’s skull so hard that they became dumb.

Oh and Sese is mentioned as excavating becoming a hobby for them. Good for Sese.

New Opinion: Y’know, it just hit me that Sese is *basically* Rumia / EX-Rumia but canon and with 200% more bones...

Regardless, Sese is so good. Just like the two other Stage 1 bosses so far. It’s crazy how good JynX is at doing Stage 1 bosses, I dislike most Touhou Stage 1 bosses (the only good ones are Eika and Nazrin).

= = =

Stage 2 Boss - Tsugumi Umatachi

Original Opinion: Tsugumi is the one character I say has aged like fine wine (to me). I thought that Tsugumi being a grumpy goon, despite being a steampunk-looking, bat wing-wearing, eggplant-riding jockey, was such a strange design choice. Then I realized that “grumpy person who dresses colorfully” is basically my real life aesthetic and I totally got it. Though I outright like Fumikado more, I appreciate their personality and their fun musical theme.

Comments on Profile:

...After reading this profile, I’m not sure what to take at face value.

Okay so first off, they were hired by a certain someone. It’s unclear if this someone is Fumikado (the obvious choice) or Iyozane (who is technically the person who put out the bounty that Tsugumi and Kuroji are following up on in the game).

There’s some reference to boke and tsukkomi that I honestly do not understand. Like I recognize the terms from Gintama, but I’m not sure what JynX is trying to say about Tsugumi as a character when they say “Ninjas!” or that Tsugumi wasn’t born in Japan.

Also, their species is “Eggplant Jockey”. I have no frame of reference for what this is supposed to mena.

New Opinion: I... have no new opinion because I have no idea what I just read. I was going to say “oh so Tsugumi isn’t Japanese” but I just skimmed their page on the Shout Wiki and there is no reference to this fact (which makes it seem like that was just an example of this boke and tsukkomi thing mentioned before)

I got nothing :/ Tsugumi is still cool tho

= = =

Stage 6 Boss - Shion

Original Opinion: Just as Sese continues the unbroken tradition of Len’En games having incredibly good Stage 1 bosses, Shion continues the tradition of Len’En games having incredibly underwhelming final bosses

Yaorochi and Clause both had something keeping them from being great final bosses; for Clause, its their joke character personality that lets them down, while with Yaorochi, it’s their theme. In Shion’s case, it’s the fact that they come completely out of nowhere, hijacking Fumikado’s rightful place as Final Boss that gets me all hot and bothered. (I think that Shion giving off strong “low rent Yuyuko vibes doesn’t help their case either)

It’s an absolute shame, since Shion seems to have clearly learned from Clause and Yaorochi, since they’ve got the creepy (cool) personality and the kickass boss theme. If only they had actual relevance to RMI’s plot...

Comments on Profile:

So apparently Shion is from a magical plant that can resurrect or grant immortality, it always pops up in a random place and the Senri Priests are usually supposed to cut it down when that does happen... oh dear.

Oh I see now, Shion is like Ermac from Mortal Kombat i.e. they’re a mass of souls and experiences that collectively form a new being. That’s a pretty cool backstory, actually! ...Wait, so the final spellcard that Shion has... are those like the names of the souls they absorbed?? That seems interesting.

So it goes that the souls in Shion were split at some point: the good souls formed the body while the evil souls formed the spirit. This intended equilibrium, however, was distorted by Mugenri’s barrier and instead of a split of good and evil it was just evil and more evil. Well that basically explains why Shion went from no chill to being very chill after Stage 6. Shion is mentioned as literally getting killed in all the endings (because everyone apparently went too ham). So we basically have “Evil and Eviler Shion” dying and then Harujion bringing them back as “Equilibrium of Good and Evil Shion”. Interesting, interesting.

This last part of the profile is such a mood. “[...] a good number of those voices were playing the same melody in unison, that “the world is full of malice.” “...Shion had no doubt about that claim. If their body is a miniature copy of the world itself, then they are evil itself.”

New Opinion: While I still hate that Shion hijacked Fumikado’s role as final villain, they are a way more interesting character than I initially thought. I do know that Shion is apparently a playable character in BPoHC, but have no idea how JynX intends to use them, so I’m interested to see what JynX’s plans are for them

= = =

Stage Extra Boss - Tenkai Zuifeng

Original Opinion: I think my first thoughts went exactly like “oh god that outfit is horrible” to “oh god this fight is insane” to “oh so they’re just Tsurubami’s really, really tired friend, I dig it”. I think the aspect I appreciate most is that they’re basically the straight man character the series has been missing. Yabusame and Tsubakura are weirdos, Kuroji is a scoundrel, the Adagumos operate on weird youkai logic and Sukune lacks common, human sense.

Tenkai is your only option if you’re looking for a sensible recurring character. And this sensibility only makes the interpretation of a Tenkai who is “endlessly tired of everyone’s shit” stronger in my mind. Beyond the personality, they have a great theme, a cool backstory and, most importantly, a really damn good shot type in BPoHC. Now if only their outfits weren’t absolutely, consistently garish. It’s like JynX heard me say “the Len’En games need more colour” and decided to concentrate it in Tenkai’s outfit which has like, EVERY SINGLE COLOUR.

I still love my Tired Barrier Carpenter but please stop picking your own outfits

Comments on Profile:

Okay so Tenkai is from a renowned family of barrier builders that has worked with the Senri Shrine. Note the focus on the word *builders*; apparently these builders aren’t so good at repairing barriers. Cue Tenkai getting a job to repair the Mugenri Barrier as part of her ‘training’ (at least, that’s what it seems like on the surface. It’s mentioned that this training is also an attack on Tenkai’s prestige).

The profile mentions Tenkai pulling some prank as a way to get back at her bosses. Tenkai hating her bosses just makes tired Tenkai more and more real in my head.

From my knowledge of the routes in-game, this prank was not repairing the barrier immediately, letting the souls outside the Barrier into Mugenri and basically letting the events of the game happen (Fumikado and co. start gathering souls, Harujion sprouts near Fumikado, Shion is born, Sese transforms in the Extra etc.). I guess it’s also meant to be an excuse to test Tsubakura and Yabusame. In short, we can all thank Tenkai for the events of this game.

IIRC, I think Tenkai is referenced as being from the Outside World? Maybe? I know it’s brought up in the Kuroji / Saragimaru route.

It’s also not mentioned in the profile I believe Lumen is responsible for punching a hole in the barrier in the first place which is HILARIOUS

Their title is of the “Old Dictators”. So basically, Tenkai is the Marisa to Tsurubami’s Reimu.

New Opinion: I already liked Tenkai, this is just cementing my headcanon of Tenkai being a very, very tired person. There’s not a whole lot to say about Tenaki since this is all just plot and worldbuilding details

= = =

I will finally get into Iyozane (who has a small profile, but has a large role in Fumikado’s profile) and Fumikado (who has a huge, huge profile) in the next part.

#len'en #len'en lore #reactivate majestical imperial #len'en project #len'en content #len'en reiretsuden #sese kitsugai #tsugumi umatachi #shion len'en #tenkai zuifeng #len'en reiretsuden reactivate majestical imperial #not a reblog

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rebeccathewinterqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Awakening: Megumi-chan

Title: Awakening (The Samaya Court Book 1)

Fandoms: Yu-Gi-Oh! and Pokemon

Characters: Yuugi Mutou, Jounouchi Katsuya, Honda Hiroto, Miho Nosaka, Anzu Mazaki, Sugoroku Mutou, Kimiko Mutou (Yuugi’s mother), Eevee

A/N: No, the manga mentioned here isn’t Pokemon Adventures. I have a plan for that later in the series, but not for a while. Also, trying to lengthen the chapters a bit so every episode doesn’t end up three parts, though this was a lot longer than I originally intended. Do you guys prefer longer chapters?

Read Chapter 3: Furious Battle pt 3 here

A few days after discovering Eevee in his room, and Yuugi still hadn’t told his grandfather. He just didn’t know how to tell the older man. How does one go about telling someone a creature from a game is actually real? Yuugi wondered, poking listlessly at his breakfast.

“Well, isn’t this interesting,” Sugoroku murmured, laying the morning’s newspaper on the table. “Yuugi, have you seen this article? That game you like is being featured.” He abandoned breakfast and scooted around the table to see what his grandfather was talking about.

INDUSTRIAL ILLUSIONS GAME BROUGHT TO LIFE?

Yuugi frowned, skimming quickly over the paragraphs. According to the article, real life Pokemon had been spotted around all of Kanto over the last few days. The journalist questioned if it was merely an elaborate prank, or if Industrial Illusions, the company that created the Pokemon card game, had created mechanical versions of the monsters as a promotion for their upcoming expansion pack.

This was the best opportunity he was going to get, he decided. He took a breath. “Jii-chan?”

“Yes, Yuugi?”

“Do you think this article is real?”

“I should hope not,” Kimiko said briskly, bustling in with her own breakfast. Yuugi flinched; he had thought she would be gone for the day already. In addition to keeping the books for the shop, his mother also did payroll for a few other small businesses in the area, and today was a day she normally did her rounds. “I’ve seen those cards. Normal animals are messy enough, let alone having ones running around spitting fire.” She grimaced.

“It might not be so bad,” Sugoroku said thoughtfully. He scratched his chin. “Some of them are pretty cute.”

“In the manga they’re friendly,” Yuugi offered quietly. They had started releasing volumes every month since last September. After Eevee’s appearance he had looked through his cards and the few chapters that had been released for just a little information on his new friend. There wasn’t much.

The card had only recently been released as part of the Jungle expansion and mentioned eevee having an irregular genetic code that could be influenced by radiation from elemental stones. The listed attacks were Tail Wag and Quick Attack. The former kept the opponent from attacking eevee on their next turn and the latter was a simple attack that might do more damage if the player managed to flip heads. And the manga had only mentioned an eevee once in passing.

The manga was cute and fun, but if Yuugi was honest, if it hadn’t been related to his favorite card game he probably wouldn’t have bothered with it. It was pretty basic.

“Cats and dogs are friendly,” Kimiko pointed out, “but they still make a mess. Yuugi, you should finish getting ready for school, dear. You’ll need to leave soon.”

“Right.” He shoved another few bites in his mouth and stood. “Thanks for breakfast!” He took his dishes to the sink and headed back upstairs to grab his school bag, managing to sneak his portion fish in a napkin up with him.

“I hope he’s not going to start asking for a pet,” his mother grumbled as he rounded the corner to the stairs.

“Maybe you should let him have one,” his grandfather suggested mildly. “Something small, like a cat, maybe.”

“One more thing for me to clean up.”

Yuugi shook his head and went upstairs. He didn’t blame his mother for not wanting to clean up after an animal when she already did so much around the house, plus her bookkeeping. He had been trying to do better with keeping his room clean for the last few days so his mother wouldn’t have to search around for laundry—the less searching she had to do, the better Eevee could hide.

The Pokemon was sleeping in his windowsill when he opened the door. She cracked her eyes open and made a quiet noise before closing them again. She didn’t even uncurl or move around. He set the fish on the desk and petted her gently before heading out. He wasn’t worried; she had managed to hide this long without his interference, so he knew her hearing must be as sharp as any cat or dog’s.

He should take her out, he decided as he headed down the stairs. He managed to sneak her outside in the evenings to do her business, but she really needed to run around and play. He hadn’t before because he hadn’t found a secluded enough spot, but if the newspaper article was right, he might not even need to because other Pokemon were popping up all over the place.

“I’m headed out,” he called, barely listening to his mother and grandfather wish him a good day. The park would probably be fine, he decided. He would just stay away from the road. Maybe after school. His mother would be gone until sometime this evening, so he would have a couple hours to let her run around. They might even see another Pokemon, he thought with a grin.

“Well, don’t you look happy today,” Anzu teased, walking up next to him. “Good news at home?”

Yuugi shook his head. “Not particularly. But I saw a really cool news article.”

“What, the thing about the Pokemon sightings?” Yuugi nodded. “Yeah, that was kinda cool to see,” Anzu admitted. “Surprised it was the headliner, though. Did you see the article about the prison break?”

“There was a prison break?” Yuugi asked.

Anzu nodded. “Some guy called Jiro the Jorogumo. Apparently he’s really good at disguises and he got put away for robbery.”

“Guess I should make sure Jii-chan knows.” Domino was a small city and not without it’s crime, but they lived in a relatively quiet area. They still locked their doors, but it might be a good idea to lock up the more valuable merchandise until they caught the guy again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“No, I swear I saw a caterpie hanging around Kaa-san’s Oran bushes!”

Another girl snorted. “Probably just a caterpillar, that’s what it’s based on, right?”

“Caterpillars don’t get that big,” her friend insisted. She held her hands about a foot apart. “Like that!”

“It’s just a hoax,” her friend insisted. She held the other girl’s hand. “I know you really like Pokemon and butterfree’s like, your favorite, but—”

The girl pulled away, scowling. “But nothing! I didn’t imagine it, it wasn’t a trick, it was real!” Her face grew stormier with every word. “You think I’m lying?”

Yuugi dropped into his seat and set his bag on his desk’s hook. The news article was the most popular topic of conversation that morning. He didn’t know either girl very well, but they had always been friends. He had never heard them argue before.

Jounouchi took the seat in front of him, Honda and Miho not too far behind. “What are those two fighting about?”

“Um, remember the card game? Pokemon?” Yuugi kept his voice down, trying not to draw the attention of the arguing girls. Jounouchi nodded. “Did you see the newspaper this morning?”

“No.” Jou frowned at him. “Why, what’s that got to do with it?”

“Oh, I saw it,” Honda said, nodding. “Seems like some kind of elaborate prank to me.”

“There have been sightings of real life Pokemon all around Kanto,” Yuugi elaborated. “People seeing them all over the place.”

“That would be super cool,” Jou said with a grin. “Can you imagine having a charmander?”

“Some people just have way too much time on their hands,” Honda muttered. “Seriously, who has the time to do a prank like this? It completely took over the front page.”

“Well, what if it was real?” Yuugi asked nervously. His palms started to sweat a little, and he discreetly wiped them off. “What if we could have a Pokemon?”

“What, like, pick them up off the street?” Anzu wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I could handle a feral cat, let alone a monster from a card game.”

“The manga makes them look pretty sweet,” Miho said, biting her lip. “I don’t think they’d be very feral. It would be really cool to have a vulpix, too.” She clapped her hands together and smiled. “They’re so adorable!”

“I…didn’t know you read the manga, Miho-chan,” Honda said weakly, looking torn. Yuugi knew Honda—as the president of the beautification club he worked hard to be seen as sensible and make the school as presentable as possible, and these Pokemon sightings weren’t sensible at all. But Miho was clearly interested and thought they would be cool, and he had such a huge crush on her he tended to agree with everything she said.

Miho nodded, oblivious to the internal conflict Yuugi could see brewing in Honda’s eyes. “Oh yes. It’s really cute. I like the game, too. There’s not as many cute Pokemon cards as I would like, but the upcoming expansion is supposed to change that.”

“I have a deck, too,” Anzu confessed, “though I haven’t played very much.”

“Yep, me three,” Jou said, nodding along. “And I’ve seen Yuugi’s deck, so I know he’s into it too.”

Yuugi nodded enthusiastically. “I started playing not long after it came out.” He smiled at Honda. “If you want, I could bring you some of my extra cards. You can build a deck and we can all play together.”

Miho bounced slightly on her toes. “That sounds like so much fun! Hey, maybe we could meet up after school? We’ll get Honda-kun started, and then we could all play each other.”

“That sounds fun,” Anzu agreed happily. “Should we go to Yuugi’s after school?”

Yuugi froze, his smile becoming fixed. If they came over to his house, they would see Eevee, and he still hadn’t told them about her. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea…”

Jou frowned. “Why not?”

“Um…” The bell rang, saving him from having to answer, and his friends were forced to go to their seats. He sighed quietly as the homeroom teacher walked in and they rose in greeting.

Maybe he should just tell them? But what if they didn’t believe him? It would be great to show them, but would it be a good idea to crowd everyone into his room for it? What if Eevee didn’t like crowds?

A trip to the park was sounding better and better. Maybe they could hang out there? That way he could introduce them without Eevee feeling like she was trapped, and then they could play cards together after. He perked up. It would be great, he was sure. They would all love Eevee—she was small and cute and most assuredly not a robot or a puppet. He would tell them at lunch he wanted to go to park.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By the end of the day Yuugi thought he was going to throw up. What if his friends were mad at him for waiting to tell them? He knew he hadn’t known Jou, Honda, or Miho for very long, but he had known Anzu since elementary school and he really should have told her sooner. She was always honest and straightforward with him—it was one of the things he liked best about her.

Well, he thought, he would just have to make it up to her. He marched home—alone for the first time in the last few days. Anzu had always been on-and-off about whether she could walk home with him or not, or if he could walk with her, but Jou had been stuck to his side like glue ever since they had become friends. It felt odd that he wasn’t there now.

“Jii-chan, I’m home,” Yuugi called, walking in the front door of the game shop.

“Welcome home,” Sugoroku responded cheerfully. He set down the magazine he had been reading, the pages revealing a colorful two-page spread about the upcoming Pokemon expansion. “How was school?”

“Pretty boring,” Yuugi confessed. He cracked a smile. “Mostly everyone talked about the news.”

“The Pokemon article? I imagine everyone would have been excited about that one.”

“Yeah, mostly that and the breakout.”

“Oh, yes, I saw that article too.” Sugoroku frowned thoughtfully. “I guess I should keep some of the pricier merchandise in the stock room overnight. I can’t imagine what that man would try to steal here—I remember his case, and he always targeted places like jewelry stores—but I suppose if he was desperate enough…”

“I guess so.” Yuugi stepped over to the side door that led to the house and kicked off his shoes. “I’m just going to grab my cards, then I’m hanging out at the park with my friends. We’re going to see if we can get Honda started on a deck.”

“Go on, then,” the older man said, waving him on with a smile. “And make sure you’re home by dinner.”

“Okay!”

Eevee was waiting for him when he opened his bedroom door, lying on his bed on her back, paws in the air as she wriggled. She rolled over onto her stomach, ears pricked. “Vee?”

Yuugi quickly emptied his bag. “We’re going to the park today,” he said, keeping his voice low. He scratched her ears. “I want to introduce you to my friends.”

“Eevee!” She jumped to her feet, tail wagging and eyes shining. She hopped onto the floor and raced over to him, jumping at his chest. He caught her reflexively, giggling helplessly when she licked his cheek.

“Alright, alright!” He felt even guiltier now. He should have found a way to take her out sooner. “Let me get my cards and then we’ll go. Are you okay being in my bag?” She looked at it critically, then barked her agreement. “Let’s go, then.”

His extra cards didn’t take up too much space, thankfully. He picked them up from his desk. They mostly stayed in a small flat box, the inside separated into three slots for Pokemon, trainer cards, and energy cards. He set it on the bottom of the bag and let Eevee jump in after. He zipped the bag most of the way, leaving the top slightly open so she could breathe and wouldn’t feel too claustrophobic.

“Just keep your head down, okay?” he whispered, carefully putting the backpack on. He felt Eevee scrunch down against his back, then went back downstairs, much slower than he normally was.

“Jii-chan, I’m going now,” he called through the doorway. He hastily slid his shoes back on, trying to get out the door before his grandfather could see him.

“You must have more cards than I thought,” Sugoroku commented, looking up from his magazine. “Have fun with your friends, Yuugi.”

Yuugi froze for a moment, shoulders tensed. He forcibly relaxed them. “I will!”

He sighed in relief as the door closed behind him. That was way too close for comfort. He was just glad his grandfather thought he was carrying a lot of cards and didn’t notice the shape of the bump was too round to be his card box.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yuugi had hoped to be the first one to arrive at the park. He had wanted to pick a more secluded spot so he could introduce Eevee, maybe let her out beforehand so she could look around too. Unfortunately, by the time he got there Honda and Jou were already sitting at the pavilion, a covered area with several picnic benches. Jou had a Ziploc of cards sitting on the table, but neither of them were looking at them and their faces were uncharacteristically grim.

Jou smiled and waved when he saw him, though, erasing the dark look entirely. It was almost enough to make Yuugi think he had made a mistake, but Honda wasn’t nearly as good at hiding his face.

“Hey Jounouchi-kun, Honda-kun,” Yuugi greeted. He carefully shrugged out of his backpack and set it on the table. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah, man.” Jounouchi leaned back with an easy smile, hands locked behind his head. Honda stayed quiet, face still serious. “Everything’s good. What all do you have in the bag? You can’t tell me it’s all cards.”

“It’s not all cards,” Yuugi admitted. He winked. “But I’m not telling until the girls get here.”

“They shouldn’t be too long, should they?” Jou leaned forward, reaching for the bag. “Nothing wrong with a little peek, right?”

Yuugi pulled the bag to his chest, hugging it tightly. Eevee shifted slightly, but Jou and Honda didn’t seem to notice. “No peeking!”

Jou sat up with a pout, arms crossed. “Fine, no peeking.” He gave Yuugi his best rendition of puppy dog eyes. “At least a hint?”

“Okay.” Yuugi thought for a minute. What kind of hint could Yuugi give that wouldn’t give the whole thing away? If he referenced the news article they would get it immediately. “It…it has to do with the game,” he finally said, feeling his way slowly through the words. “And Miho will really like it.”

“Y-you brought Miho a present?” Honda gave him a despairing look.

Yuugi winced. “Um, not a present for her. It’s mine. I just think it’s something she’ll happen to like.”

This didn’t seem to help. Honda stood, hands planted on the table. “Why not bring her a present? Miho’s beauty and kindness put even the most perfect rose to shame, she deserves—!”

“Easy, Honda,” Jou sighed. He grabbed his friend’s arm and tugged him back down. “Relax, will you?”

Maybe he should have picked a better hint, Yuugi thought. Invoking Miho was a sure-shot way of getting Honda all worked up.

“Hey guys!” Yuugi looked over to see Anzu waving at them, Miho walking next to her with a huge pink binder. The girls joined them, Anzu sitting next to Yuugi and Miho placing her binder carefully on the table before sitting next to her. “Sorry we took so long. Miho hid her cards too well.”

“My cards are very important,” the other girl huffed, nose in the air. “I don’t want anyone to steal them. Especially with that escaped thief running around.”

Anzu pulled a small deck builder box from her school bag and set it on the table next to the binder. “Miho, I don’t think that guy’s interested in stealing game cards.”

“Well, he could be! Didn’t you hear about that collector in Unova? Someone killed him, and the only thing missing was his Mew card!”

“I remember hearing about that,” Yuugi said, frowning thoughtfully. “It was a really rare promotional card from when the game first released. Only four were ever released, put into random card packs. They’re worth at least 300,000 yen.”

“And our cards won’t compare to that,” Anzu finished. She patted Miho’s hand. “You’re a really good player, but your cards aren’t that rare. Which you should be glad about.”

Miho deflated and sighed. “I guess so.”

“Cheer up, Miho!” Honda grabbed her hand with both of his. “Yuugi brought something with him that he said you’ll like!”

“A present? For me?” Miho blinked and turned to Yuugi with a bright smile. “You didn’t have to bring me anything, Yuugi!”

Yuugi almost smacked himself in the forehead. He leaned onto the table, face cradled in one hand, but the landing was still pretty hard. “It isn’t a present,” he muttered. “I just wanted to introduce you guys, jeez…”

Jou blinked. “What, like, a pet or something? You carried a pet all the way in your school bag?”

“Yuugi,” Anzu groaned. “What if it made a mess?”

“She didn’t make a mess,” Yuugi protested, waving his hands. He took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll just…” He unzipped his bag. “Eevee, you can come out now.”

“Veeeee~.” He ignored his friends looks—from the confused looks Honda and Jou sported to Miho’s excitement and Anzu’s unease—they weren’t what mattered right then. Eevee stood with a luxurious stretch, her back arched much like a cat’s, but since she was in the backpack all his friends could see was a set of ears and a fluffy tail. Then she jumped out, using Yuugi’s arm as a brief launching pad to get to the picnic table.

“This is Eevee,” Yuugi said, petting her head gently. “Eevee, these are my friends. Anzu, Miho-chan, Jounouchi-kun, and Honda-kun.” He pointed to each of them in turn, letting Eevee focus on them briefly before moving on. The manga showed Pokemon as very willing to battle and occasionally more than a little protective, and he didn’t want her to mistake his friends’ joking and playing as “attacking” him.

“She’s so adorable!” Miho exclaimed, hands clasped over her heart. She scooped Eevee up, cuddling her close.

“That’s an Eevee,” Jou said slowly, face blank.

Anzu reached over to carefully run her hand down the length of Eevee’s back, burying her fingers in the luxurious fur. “It’s real! Yuugi, how…?”

“She,” he corrected her gently. “And I’m not sure.” He wrapped his hand around the Puzzle. “Well, I think I have a theory, but you might think it’s silly…”

“We won’t laugh,” Anzu promised. She glared at the boys. “Right?”

Honda and Jou shrank back. “Right.”

“Well,” Yuugi said, “remember how I completed the Millennium Puzzle a few days ago?” His friends nodded. “It…well, it started glowing, and then Eevee was there the next day. I woke up, and she was asleep on the bed.”

“So you think solving the Puzzle made it—sorry, her,” Jou corrected hurriedly, raising his hands. Eevee had twisted to glare at him, and Yuugi struggled to keep a straight face when Jou backed off, acting the same way he did when Anzu was upset. “Sorry. You think solving it made her appear?”

Yuugi nodded jerkily. Eevee wriggled in Miho’s arms until the girl let her go, then stood in front of Yuugi, snuggling against his face happily. He hugged her back.

“That kind of makes sense,” Anzu said thoughtfully. She tapped her cheek with one finger. “Yeah, I can see how you might come to that conclusion. You solve the Millennium Puzzle, and then Eevee appears, so the Puzzle must be why.”

“But you don’t think it’s true,” Yuugi said softly. He looked down at Eevee and petted her.

“Sorry, no,” Anzu said, shaking her head. “I mean, the Puzzle is really small, it’s not like she could fit in there. And the other Pokemon wouldn’t, either, assuming they’re not a hoax.”

“Jii-chan said it was a magical artifact,” Yuugi pointed out. “I don’t think they would have been physically trapped in the Puzzle. Maybe…maybe it just unlocked something?”

“…I think maybe Yuugi’s right,” Miho said, smiling. “What other explanation is there?”

“Well…” Honda said slowly. Yuugi wondered how hard it was for him to disagree with anything Miho said. “There’s a rumor Kaiba Corp partnered with Industrial Illusions for a video game. You’ve heard it, right? Maybe they’re robots! Or maybe they were grown in a lab somewhere. Plus the release of the new card expansion is right around the corner. They could have released their creations as a promotion.” Honda looked at Jounouchi, who was sitting with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. “Right, Jou?”

“I don’t think even Kaiba Corp has the technology to make an entirely new biological creature,” Jou said. He cracked one eye open to look at the girls. “And did she feel like a robot to you?” Miho shook her head rapidly, and after a moment, Anzu followed suit. “Then I think Yuugi’s idea has the most merit.” Yuugi looked up, staring at Jou with wide eyes.

“Magic?” Honda asked dryly. Jou nodded. “…magic?”

Jou twitched. “Makes more sense than Kaiba Corp growing her in a lab,” he growled. “They aren’t even involved in medicine, they’re a tech company!”

This devolved into Jou and Honda arguing. Anzu and Miho scooted closer to Yuugi.

“…do you really think the Puzzle is why Eevee is here?” Anzu asked softly. Yuugi nodded, his stomach knotting up. “Well…I guess unlocking something makes more sense than her coming from the Puzzle directly…”

“Maybe we should ask your grandfather,” Miho said softly, scritching Eevee on top of her head. Yuugi froze.

He hadn’t told Jii-chan.

He had been so focused on hiding Eevee he had forgotten Jii-chan. He could have said something before he left! It would have been the perfect time, too, because Kaa-san hadn’t come back yet. And Jii-chan might have been able to help him convince Kaa-san.

“You didn’t tell him?” Anzu hissed, taking in the look on his face with wide eyes. “Yuugi!”

“I forgot,” he wailed. Eevee licked his cheek, but it didn’t do much to distract him. “I was trying to think of a name and I wanted to get her to the park and I forgot!” Honda and Jou stopped arguing to look at him, their faces alarmed.

“Well, damn,” Jou muttered. “What are you going to do? I can’t take her home for you, pal. Sorry.”

“I can’t either,” Anzu murmured. Miho shook her head.

“I’ll tell Jii-chan,” Yuugi assured them. He bit his lip. “Next time Kaa-san’s out…I can hide her in my room until then…”

Understanding dawned on Anzu’s face. “That’s right, I forgot. Your mom doesn’t like pets.”

“My parents work in Celadon,” Honda said, licking his lips. “Maybe…I mean, they won’t be back until the weekend, so she could stay with me a couple days, you know? Until you get the opportunity to tell your grandfather.”

“Really? You would do that for me, Honda-kun?” Yuugi asked, vision blurring slightly. He blinked rapidly.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Honda assured him. “Just let me know when you want to pick her up. And you can come see her any time.”

“Thank you!” He half-launched himself over the table and grabbed Honda around the neck, pulling him into a hug. Honda yelped, then patted him on the back. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou—”

Miho giggled. “Yuugi, smothering Honda-kun isn’t a good way to show gratitude.”

Yuugi flushed and let him go. “Sorry, Honda-kun.”

“It’s fine.” Honda rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, I have an idea! Why don’t we come up with a name for Eevee-chan? That’ll make introducing her to Mutou-san much easier.”

“That’s a great idea,” Jou said enthusiastically. “But, uh…why don’t we find a place to get a drink? It’s a little warm out today.”

Yuugi nodded. It was a little warmer than normal, and he was sure Eevee had it worse because of her fur. “There’s a new restaurant that just opened up,” he suggested. “BurgerWorld. I’ve been meaning to try there.”

“Yeah, they already have a pretty good reputation,” Anzu said thoughtfully. “I heard they have a Pecha smoothie that’s to die for.”

“Sounds like it’s settled, then,” Jou said. They stood to go, and Yuugi let Eevee down to walk next to them.

They were silent as they walked, until Miho broke it was a soft hum. “Hey Yuugi…Eevee’s a pretty rare card, right? What about Takara? With the kanji for ‘treasure’.”

Eevee made a face, and Yuugi giggled helplessly. She looked like she had just swallowed a mouthful of vinegar. “Not that one, I guess…hey, if you want to evolve into Vaporeon, we could name you Yoko! We could write it as ‘ocean child’.” Eevee shook her head. “Alright…”

“Well, it’s spring time,” Jou pointed out. “What about Sakiko? For ‘flower child’.” Eevee tilted her head, as if considering it, but ultimately shook it, tail twitching.

Honda was the next to speak up, after a few more minutes of silent walking. “Akemi can be written as ‘bright and beautiful’. That’s an auspicious name.” She almost seemed happy with that one, but shook her head eventually. “I guess you’re more cute, anyway…” Eevee yipped at him, and he held his hands up. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way!”

“Hey, what about Megumi?” Anzu asked. She smiled at Eevee and Yuugi. “It can be written to mean ‘love and affection’. I think that fits her really well.”

Yuugi looked down at Eevee. “What do you think?”

Eevee seemed to think it over for a minute. Then she wagged her tail once, ears pricked. “Vee!”

“I think she approves.” Yuugi smiled brightly. “Thanks, Anzu.”

“It’s no problem!” She reached down and rubbed the newly-named Megumi’s ears. “I’m just glad Megumi-chan likes her new name.”

“Awesome!” Jou cheered. “Good timing too—we’re here! Let’s celebrate!”

#yugioh fanfiction #yugioh fandom #pokemon #pokemon fanfiction #eevee #yuugi mutou #anzu mazaki #miho nosaka #jounouchi katsuya #honda hiroto #sugoroku mutou #Awakening fanfic #The Samaya Court

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