#i used to have so much patience but its just Gone. like....... my fuse is so short n im just. UGH | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-moon-prince · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter XI

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

I’m sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for your patience and support! I’m here with another chapter! I put some uncany descriptions and a tiny fight scene in this chapter. I hope it will dynamic and intresting enough. If you have any feedback, I would be more than glad to recive it! I have some work this week, however I’ll do my best to upload the next chapter as quickly as possible! Thank you, have a great day and I hope you will enjoy the new chapter!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story. (Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter IV ) (Chapter V) (Chapter VI) (Chapter VII)(Chapter VIII)(Chapter IX)(Chapter X) (Chapter XII coming soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 317

TW: Blood // Morbid Descriptions // Violence (? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't bother. I want to make sure that I'm not selling one of my prized items to anyone."-The black-haired man dictated.

(Y/n) cleared their throat-"Understandable. Your collection is impeccable. I can clearly see the devotion put into it."-they agreed with their smile. sitting down on one of the bar benches. Kurapika mimicked the action.

Human and animal parts were too part of the person's collection.

Just another one of those sick scums for Kurapika. He loathed this guy. Referring to (Y/n)'s family as an article in his collection. Still making the reclaim difficult with an air of false supremacy and narcissism.

"I'm glad you recognize it."-the man seemed pleased with the adulation.-"Especially because I'm going to confer you one of my favorite pieces."

(Y/n) nodded-"If I were giving one of my pieces, I would as well be concerned about who was receiving it."-they added with their smile.

"Speaking of, tell me about your collection."-the man challenged.

He pulled up a crystal bottle filled with a dark drink. At the moment of uncovering it, an intensive scent of alcohol came off. He proceeded to pour a generous amount of liquor in a spacious glass with ice

(Y/n) had no collection. Kurapika started to bug. What are they deemed to say to persuade him?

"I have a peculiar appreciation for bodily oddities."-they tilted their head-"I own a hand with polydactyly, another one with syndactyly. A fetus with 15pp tetrasomy, a specimen of dipygus, a pair of lungs with tracheal agenesis, the list can go on."

The man lifted his chin at the answer. Kurapika relaxed. Using his medical knowledge to give examples of abnormalities was skillful.

"That is in the human realm. My favorites are the animal eccentricities. Aren't beasts beautiful?"-they advertised, directing their gate to a taxidermized Golden Pheasant displayed on the shelf behind the man.

By this point, both (Y / n) and Kurapika were certain they had convinced the man sufficiently for him to finally sell them what they were seeking.

"Are they, right?"-the man bragged with his gruff voice-"Your interest shows, kid, that's good."-he nodded, drinking his liquor and refilling the glass-"But do you know what is special about my Fuse?"

Fuse? Didn't that mean beastman or dogman? Kurapika was perplexed. By what right did he refer to them like this...

"It would be the least! The Fuses, aren't they intriguing? Wonderful beasts."-(Y/n) praised, trying to widen their smile. Kurapika could only imagine the pain they felt having to fake that excitement.

The man finished his drink in one gulp and served more.

"Even more for the few that remained. A true rarity! I had a good time studying them."-he shouted. It inflated his ego to be able to show off his collection.-"Imposing! Some tremble with fear when they see them. The demons robed, mated, and killed men, women, and children alike to eat their souls. Since they were disguising themselves as humans, they hid for a while. But they smelled like animals, you know? Beasts in body and soul."-he voiced and made motions of greatness with his hands. Letting out a pant that stank of alcohol.

All of this disgusted Kurapika. The man was putting on a deplorable show: spitting pest and bile out of his filthy mouth. All the collectors were rotten to the core. Would it also own scarlet eyes? What would the miserable bastard state about the Kurta? They were dull and reckless forms who were better off in vases on shelves? His blood was boiling.

(Y/n) didn't took their eyes off the dark-haired for a moment.

"It must be outstanding to hold one! I've been seeking a chance like this for a prolonged time now."-they exclaimed, putting their hands together in triumph. Kurapika felt sorry for them.

"But beasts after all."-the man continued, finishing his drink and serving one plus anew. He was presumably drunk.-"Poor fools, they didn't stand a chance against us."-he started to laugh.-"But enough is enough, I'll go for what you want, kid."

The man finished his 3rth drink, got up, and left his bar counter to climb a wide staircase. Kurapika, who had stayed muted the whole exhibit and was staring at the glass of alcohol, let out a groan once he was assured the bastard was gone. Fuse, it even sounded awful. He turned to see (Y/n). They were looking at the things on the back furniture, their head resting on their hand.

The man went back inside, and they both followed him with their eyes from the entry to his seat. He placed a head on the bar table on a polished wood plank. The head was of a dog. Its fur was light in color, and it had a longer, darker coat on the top of its head from which its ears poked out. His muzzle was somewhat elongated with a slightly recurved blackish nose A dog with human-like traits, resembling (Y/n). Only that he was a child and his grimace was a mixture of surprise and terror. His eyes had been replaced by doll-like ones, cold and lifeless. However, it wasn't him.

They degraded a child to wall decor.

"Look at it!"-the drunk man blurted, elevating the head by the ears to the level of his head.-"A real treasure! Even more, being from a predator, they were the most unusual among the Fuse!"

A twisted and degrading spectacle.

(Y/n) has a face of admiration, and started to clap.-"Wonderful!"

The man laid the head back on the table and sat.

"It is, it is. But it's a pity that it is dead. It would be even more impressive to have it as a pet."-He interjected with a grin, showing his open hand, waiting.

(Y/n) took an envelope out of their bag and handed it to him. The man took money out of it and began to count it. At that, Kurapika took the head and pulled it towards him. On its own, it was quite heavy, and the wooden base didn't help. The fur was soft and covered the moderately battered neck. When viewed up close it was worse.

"Okay, take good care of my Fuse."-he teased displaying his hand to them. They watched it for a moment before pulling their own out and shaking it.

"I will. So you don't have to trouble about that."-they responded smiling.-"We will with-"

"Fuse."-The black-haired interrupted them.

(Y/n) inclined their head, and Kurapika looked up at him. How drunk was this bastard?

"You are a Fuse kid: you have claws. When you shook my hand I saw them, even if you put black nail polish. Your aura is not human either, although you mirror it well. But specialize in hunting beasts, you can't trick me."-the man condemned, with a severe look.

Kurapika felt his blood run cold for a second. (Y/n)'s smile got substituted by a sober expression.

"Why don't you kill me, kid?"-his face changed into an expression of repugnance.

Kurapika was already preparing to attack.

"There is no use in such an act. We will withdraw now."- they calmly declared standing up. They held the head with both hands, and the two directed to the exit.

The man looked down at his now hollow glass, it did not seem that he was going to launch an attack. Nevertheless, Kurapika didn't let his guard down all the walk to the exit. The man didn't seem to move from his chair.

Still, the walk from the bar counter to the door felt heavy. Neither of them would show fear, they couldn't permit it. They would not indulge the wretch.

As soon as they were out the front door, they heard another scream from the man.

"Fuse!"-he shouted that name again. The smell of strong alcohol reached up to them.

Kurapika and (Y/n) stopped, standing on the small path between the porch and the gate. Kurapika turned to see him. This man was nothing to him but a wretch. And he was already on the last nerve of him.

(Y/n) continue to turn their back to the drunk.

"I'll tell you why you don't kill me!"-he shouted-"You don't kill me because you know it won't change anything. You will never get anything back. Because your kind never had anything."-he raged. He seemed almost offended.

(Y/n) tilted their head and remained silent for a couple of seconds. Kurapika was ready to deliver a punch to the man right into his face. At any circumstance, in his current shape, he wasn't going to be capable of much.

"No."-(Y/n) alleged, without turning to see him-"I already reclaimed what was robbed from us."-their tone was not the same as before. This one was more pressing.

Kurapika hadn't heard that tone of theirs before. While they weren't screaming, it radiated indignity.

"They only robbed our bodies."-they maintained-"They will never be able to take away our pride, dignity, nor greatness. And that reality pains you."

The man rushed towards (Y/n), he was fast. In a fit of rage and giddy with alcohol, he concentrated his nen in his right fist and delivered a punch into their head. This action pushed (Y/n)'s head to the floor and their entire body hit the concrete, releasing the puppy's head from their grasp. Which fell to the ground, slightly staining its fur.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Kurapika's eyes glowed scarlet. It could be subtly perceived under the contacts he wore. The man had made the mistake of revealing his type of nen. He was an Enhancer, practicing hand-to-hand combat. That puts him at a disadvantage against Kurapika's ranged techniques.

Kurapika conjured his chains. He dashed towards the man and unleashed his fury in a blow that struck the man in the side, targeting the kidney. The hit was potent enough not only to beat the man off but also to thrust him a few feet away from the two of them.

He was writhing in the grass, panting.

Seeing that (Y/n) didn't get up, Kurapika went to his side and helped him to their feet. Their legs were shaking. They had hit their noses on the pavement. It was bleeding heavily, and their eyes were watery. They also had their left cheek bruised. Neither of them noticed the blow coming.

Once steady on their feet, (Y/n) stepped to the head and lifted it. Whipping the dust and dirt off the pup's face.

"Let me see your other form. Transform yourself."-the man whimpered between gasps, still in the ground.

"Sir, you are drunk."-(Y/n) finished.

In other conditions, Kurapika would keep pounding the bastard. However, the blow (Y/n) received was considerably strong and had a great deal of concentrated aura. Above, they had little physical resistance against direct attacks; their physical fragility could not be ignored. His priority was to get them out of the place. The man did not move and did not say anything again.

Kurapika put a hand on (Y/n) 's back to help them advance to the car.

Getting to the safety of the truck, (Y/n) sat down after putting the puppy in the back. So far it had been a disastrous night. They had to put up with a drunken narcissistic idiot and (Y/n) got beaten, insulted, and denigrated.

When they put their weight on the seat, their frame inclined forward, still shaking. They put their trembling hands together and supported them on their legs meanwhile they puffed.

Kurapika was troubled for their well-being. He moved closer to them to get a better glimpse at the wound. They would have a mark on their cheek and their nose continued to bleed.

"(Y/n), how do you feel?"- he pleaded, a hand in their back.

They sniffed and pulled out a tissue to clean their face.

"I feel better. It is not grave, I'll be fine. Thank you, my love"-they affirmed, turning to see him and offering him a smile.

Kurapika didn't understand. He knew how affable his darling was, except this was exceedingly much. A narcissistic and vulgar man had insulted, not only them but their entire deceased family. Not having respect for the gone is the limit of acceptable decency.

He referred to them as demons, assassins, and other barbarities. He had even demoted them to pets. Yet with all that, he was the one who attacked. He was the one who was boiling in pure anger, not making the smallest attempt to be polite with the bastard. Not (Y/n).

They could have attacked at any time. However, they didn't even conjure their ribbons. They didn't shout at him, they didn't insult him. They remained terribly calm. Even now, when they were alone in the car. It seemed as if they had forgotten everything. They even smiled.

As someone dares to speak like that of the Kurta clan, Kurapika would grind them with his chains and fists.

But this was an enigma to him. Was (Y/n) even vexed? Whatever it is, they had enormous self-control, even excessive...

Kurapika would reflect on this entire experience several times in the future. Despite the fact, there were diverse imports one particular thing adhered with him like glue: the response (Y/n) gave the man screeched they would never recover what was lost.

Kurapika embraced (Y/n) and drew circles on their back, attempting to comfort them. They rested their head on his chest, he could feel them quivering.

"(Y/n)."-he called softly-"It's over, dear, let's go home."

They shook their head.-"Not yet."

#kurapika kurta x reader #kurapika x reader #hxh scenarios #hxh x reader #hxh #kurapika hxh #kurapika kurta #hunter x hunter #kurapika imagine #kurapika x (y/n)#kurapika

29 notes · View notes

subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years ago

Text

Sharp Spikes and Glamour - Fusion AU

Ao3, MasterPost, More of This AU

Relationships: Romantic Dukeceit, mentioned Romantic Royality and Analogical.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex/sexual innuendo, violence against inanimate objects, mentions of injury- for perspective this is Remus-centric, and he’s just like that. Also mild arguing, some self-deprecating thoughts. The Dukeceit fusion uses it/its pronouns (as do I, so no clowning).

Word Count: 3,992

Remus let himself fall backwards onto the hardwood floor, huffing. A satisfying thump echoed through the empty room, but the dull pain at the base of his skull stopped him from slamming his head down again. If Remus kept tripping over himself when his body was in top condition, he probably wouldn’t do any better with a cracked open skull and shattered vertebrae all the way down his back (however fun that might be).

Schmaltzy music lingered in the room still, and with a snap Remus willed it into silence. Now, Remus hated silence, but in that moment it felt like a blessed mercy in the wake of fucking classical fucking ‘music’. He laid flat on the floor, enjoying the quiet and wallowing in his aching muscles. As disgusted as he was by the orchestral garbage, he liked the dancing that went along with it even less- maybe for the simple fact that he was so very bad at it.

So, the big question was why he was doing this to himself. Why had he gone through the trouble of making a dance studio in his side of the Mindpalace? Why the hell was he using it to learn waltzes, rather than his usual style of fast-paced and very suggestive movement?

The answer was simple enough: Janus.

Now, just a month ago, Remus could very confidently say that his and Janus’ relationship was perfect. And it still was, really, but back then he’d been safe in the knowledge that they were also as affectionate and intimate as they could be! Which is to say, very very intimate. Wink, wink, if you catch his meaning. That was the way he liked it; Remus didn’t want there to be a step he hadn’t taken in any situation, but especially a relationship like that!

But then, that month or so prior, a very weird and crazy and impossible and fucking awesome thing happened right in the middle of the goddamn living room, proving Remus unfortunately and/or fortunately wrong about his boyfriend. His brother and his best friend had fused. Like, actually, Roman and Patton had pulled some cartoon bullshit that none of them had ever known they could even do before!

Obviously Remus was floored; everything there was to know about his (and other people’s) physical forms, he knew it and he’d pushed it to the limit before! Except for now, with something he had somehow never found out about that his brother got to first. That was the kicker, that was what made it both shocking and anger-inducing.

There was no question. Remus was going to learn to do that.

So, here he was, trying to learn, but he was not good at like, actually dancing. Which would’ve been fine, if he was dating anyone other than Janus- the most elegant, classy, coordinated side of them all! And Remus knew, somewhere in his sick-and-twisted guts, that Janus deserved to have something special, something that wasn’t more fitting in a sleazy nightclub. He wanted to give him that, no matter how hard it was.

Which was much harder than he’d originally assumed, actually. Before Remus knew it, Virgil and Logan had also managed to form a fusion before he had even gotten the hang of a waltz. And those two hadn’t even danced to get it! Wasn’t that just cementing his confidence?

Remus shook his thoughts away with a frustrated growl. He sat up on his knees braced against the ground, scraping his talons down the shiny wooden floor of his horrible, horrible dance studio. He was gonna get this right, because if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a fucking quitter.

Swinging up to his feet, Remus pushed his hair back from his face and fixed it into a tangled mass of ponytail. He brought his arms down, and then back up again, shaking them wildly. When he deemed that job done, he kicked his legs out in much the same way. Seeing as he was the embodiment of energy, he never managed to get rid of all of it, but the wiggling definitely helped his focus. With a huff of finality, Remus settled, stared at nothing, and snapped his fingers. Shitty ballroom music filled the room again, and it took all of Remus’ effort to count his steps instead of willfully vomiting onto the floor.

But he did restrain himself, he kept his focus for once and propped his arms up on the empty air. Under his hold, the very absence of material wavered, shaping itself into something like a person. And so he laid his hands on that, in relatively respectful places, and began to lead the mannequin around the room in choppy movements. It matched him beat for beat, but it could not offer its own, organic responses like an actual dancing partner might- and that was by design.

It was boring, that was the real problem. How was he supposed to get invested if it was the same four movements, over and over! Each new attempt, he got maybe five minutes in before the fatigue hit, the need to do anything more interesting. What was just a couple of twirls, maybe a dip? Janus would still probably appreciate those additions anyway!

None of the flair attempts went well. He stumbled, hit the wall, tripped, all of it. By the end of twenty minutes Remus was waving the mannequin out of existence, feeling frustration pricking the corners of his eyes. What was he thinking, he wasn’t Roman, this was so stupid!

Remus straightened up (ha, ha) and spun around. He made his way to the corner of the room, fell into a crouch, and sunk his claws into the edges of the glossy wooden floor. Splinters bit his fingers, but he barely noticed them as he began to peel back the panels. They came free in a series of crunches and snaps, spitting shards of wood out and revealing the void beneath the ground. Remus held the chunks of flooring, feeling sharp edges digging into his palms, and he shredded them to pieces. When they weren’t much bigger than pencils, he let them fall into the newly made hole. Once done, Remus set his hands on the new edge, and he did it again.

But, like almost everything he did, the destruction was loud. Shrieking, splitting, crunching kinds of loud. The kind of loud that didn’t go unnoticed.

And the mindscape was as infinitely big as it was claustrophobically small.

Within minutes there was a sharp knock against the doorframe. Remus jolted upright, spitting out the hunks of plank that had one way or another found their way to his mouth. As he turned, he grinned manically, tucking his hands behind his back.

Janus lifted a brow at him from across the room. The side stood with one hand propped on his hip, the other raised above his head so that he leaned on the doorway. His mouth was a thin, quietly concerned line, his eyes flicking around in tiny movements as he assessed the situation.

“This is quite unlike the other rooms you've created,” He observed, clicking the back of his heel on the floor. Remus turned his gaze to the wall just above Janus’ shoulder, discreetly picking the splinters from his hands. In all honesty, this situation wasn’t unexpected- Janus was known to wander around in Remus’ new creations, whenever he wanted to catch his attention- but Remus had been under the impression that when that happened, he wouldn’t be right in the middle of tearing it all down.

Which had clearly been a stupid assumption from the start, because he was. Himself.

“Hey, J.D.!” he chirped, scraping the last of the rubble from his fingertips, “Thought I might try out something new!”

Janus’ eyebrows arched up, a bemused smirk gracing his lips.

“An empty room?”

“Yeah, but obviously it got boring, so-” he gestured at the corner he’d torn into non-existence. “Time to get rid of it! It was probably a dumb idea, anyway.”

Even to his own ears, his cheery tone sounded forced. He threw in a gargled giggle to make up for it, but that came out even worse. Janus narrowed his eyes in that knowing way of his, then, and Remus knew he’d have to explain himself properly.

“Darling,” Janus slipped into the room with long strides, “What is so wrong that you’re using half-truths to talk to me?”

He wasn’t embarrassed that he’d been learning to dance- he was 99% sure he wasn’t able to feel shame (which was very sexy of him, in his opinion)- but he was upset that he was so disappointed at it.

He didn’t need anyone’s approval… but he certainly wanted Janus’.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Remus’ statement rang with honesty. He met Deceit in the middle of the room, his smile challenging, only to be met with calm and patience.

“I don’t care if it doesn’t ‘really’ matter. I just want to know why my partner was angrily devouring housing material in a brand-new corner of the mindscape.”

“It’s not that weird, I’ve eaten a lot worse than plywood!”

Janus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re clearly frustrated.”

“I’m frustrated all the time,” Remus argued, “There are so many stupid things to be frustrated about, you know that. It’s a very easy feeling to have, you get it without even noticing! Like, if it were an injury, it’d be a papercut; everyone has a papercut somewhere on their body most of the time.”

“What?”

“It’s an analogy, I think!”

Janus gave a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Remus felt a small bit of pride at how annoyed he looked, despite the uncomfortable situation he’d gotten himself into.

“Whatever, if you’re really doing so well I suppose I should spare my worry and save us both the headache.”

“Exactly! See, just because I’m feeling a bit manic-panic doesn’t mean it has anything to do with you, scaleface.”

And that was his mistake.

Janus stopped turning away as soon as he’d started, his mouth curving into a deep frown. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he almost seemed to be offended.

“You just lied.”

Remus, internally, screamed. He hadn’t even fuckin’ lied on purpose! That couldn’t be fair!

“So it is about me, then,” Janus went on slowly. “Are you angry with me?”

Remus blinked, falling untense oh-so quickly at what he now saw was Janus’ nervous face.

“Wha- no! That’s not what this is about!”

Janus only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Remus grabbed the snake’s hands with his own scarred ones, pulling him near. He felt his hesitation leave as soon as it had arrived, replaced by his usual affinity for just spitting out whatever he had to say. It wouldn’t turn out any worse than having to see his baby hurt or worried.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. For you.”

The suspicion melted off of Janus' face in increments, leaving him with a confused little half-smile.

“For me?” He echoed, “What was it?’

Remus huffed, snapping his fingers. The lyricless music returned to the desecrated room, and he gestured around with both hands.

“It didn’t really work out the way I planned, so,” he rolled his eyes and huffed. “I was teaching myself to dance all proper.”

Remus could basically see Janus’ thinking, and for some reason it was grating him.

“You want to dance with me? Dear, you know you don’t need to give me traditional romantic gestures like that-”

“It was to fuse!” Remus blurted, “I wanted to fuse with you. Like, properly.”

Janus made a soft sound of realization, his eyes going wide. He was silent for a long moment, holding too-tight onto Remus’ hands. But he had yet to let go, which the creative trait counted as a good sign.

“Oh, Love,” he whispered at last, “You’re really serious.”

Remus would’ve winced, if not for the fact that Janus' face was split in a smile, open and sincere in a way that showed he'd really been caught off-guard. His face was warm, and he looked pleased for all the world. He wasn’t judgmental, then, only surprised.

“Um… yes? I wanna fuse with you?”

Janus shook his head musingly, laughing almost exasperatedly.

“No, no, I understood that bit, but-” he waved a hand at the barren room, smirk growing wider, “Ballroom dancing? You? Really?”

He had a point. The walls were a pristine white, shot through with neat marbled patterns. There were mirrors stretching the surface of either wall, reflecting onto each other with clean clarity. There was no clutter, no objects, nothing but the little box itself. And Remus felt no more frustration as he burst out laughing. He tipped his head back and cackled, tugging Janus’ arms until they were pressed together.

“I don’t know why I thought this would work!” He cackled.

“I never know why you think anything that you do,” Janus’s nose wrinkled as his own resolve cracked, leaving shrill giggling behind. Remus snorted, holding onto his partner just to keep himself upright.

“Sorry, Jay,” he almost wheezed, “There’s no way we’re gonna be able to fuse like this, I’m horrible at it.”

Janus’ giggles tapered to a stop sharply, turning to trills of confusion before cutting off completely. Remus met his eyes, and was surprised to find renewed concern.

“Now, that’s entirely what I meant by that remark, you aren’t misinterpreting at all.”

Remus squinted at him, at the sudden spout of backwards talk.

“...What?”

Janus scoffed.

“Of course I don’t want to fuse with you, it’s not like we’re in a committed relationship, or anything.”

Janus got very lie-ey when he was heated; the ferocity had Remus taken aback.

“Soooo, you… do want to try it with me?”

Janus glared in a very duh-obviously--you-idiot kind of way. Remus might have been annoyed with his little tsundere, but the snake’s grumpy face edged just too much on the endearing side for it to spark any of that. It wasn’t too much of a shocking revelation, he supposed, but when he admitted to failing before it felt pretty final, in his opinion.

“Uh, Okay! You have to lead, though, and I’m at least 60% sure it won’t work, because like I said I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Janus hummed in satisfaction, his grimace curving up into a smirk.

“To start, we’ll need a change of scenery.”

Remus nodded agreeably. They couldn’t risk falling into the nothingness pit he’d made, after all- those were very difficult to get back out of and not a whole lot of fun in general. So when Janus held his hand out invitingly, Remus took it, letting the trait transport them to wherever he had in mind.

But that place was no better than the destroyed dance studio at all. The room they ended up in was also very much destroyed, and cluttered, and generally very slimy.

Remus’ room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Janus’ lips twitch in amusement.

“Dear, let me explain,” he tilted his head back just so, making eye-contact with his boyfriend. “We’re going to fuse. It could be in here, for all I care, or somewhere bigger for our needs, but whatever it is most certainly will be a dancefloor. Because we’re not doing this your way.”

Remus made a startled chuckling noise, almost convincing himself that the doublespeak was somehow triplespeak- which just looped back around to ‘speak’, come to think of it.

“You- that’s a really bad idea.”

Something teasing glinted in Janus’ eyes.

“Aren’t bad ideas your specialty?”

“Yes,” Remus ground his teeth together, “But not yours!”

“Your point?”

Remus breathed exhaled, loud and puffing, as he tried to explain. He wasn’t going to deny the excitement this was all bringing him, but it was hysterical, an almost negative side to enthusiasm. There were so many things that felt needed to be said. To be warned, before Janus made a horribly bad decision for himself.

“My point,” he managed, words heavy in his throat, “Is I don’t think about things, so one of us has to. I want to do this the right way, Jan, this is like the one thing I don’t want to fuck up.”

Janus narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching down.

“You think it won’t work this way.”

“You like doing things so fancy and dramatically!”

“You called it the ‘right way’,” it was hardly above a whisper, he looked surprised at his own words as he said them. Remus could only scoff.

“Well, yeah! If we do it how I would, then you probably won’t wanna be part of the creature that comes out of that!”

Janus’ pupils went from circles to slivers in no time at all, pain washing over his expression. Remus held his hands tighter and leaned in, ready to apologize for whatever he’d said to hurt him, but he couldn’t get a word in.

“It’s going to end up more of you than me. That’s what you’re worried about.”

It wasn’t a question. Remus felt some of his usually infinite energy slip away from him. It left a hole behind.

“I know you, baby,” he was tired, maybe desperate, “You won’t want that.”

“Why shouldn’t I want it?” Janus snapped suddenly, “I’ve already made it clear that I want you. Clearly I must find some of your qualities desirable, why else would I spend nearly all my time with you, around you, thinking of you?”

There was a fragile kind of quietness, broken only by Janus’ hitching breath. Remus found himself blinking and blinking, his eyes stinging like someone was pushing needles into his tear ducts, agonizingly slow. He pulled Janus to his chest, propping his chin on the side’s hat and shivering.

And Remus, to his own shock, had no words. He didn’t have much on his mind at all, knowing only that he felt so much in the moment, so much and so powerful and all serving to remind him why he loved Janus as much as he did.

He wanted to ask more questions, to make sure that Janus was as sure as he said he was, but he couldn’t. His snake was stubborn, would stick to his words no matter how much Remus badgered him, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He pressed a kiss to the top of Janus head, closed his eyes, and let the emotions wash over him.

He breathed in, out, and suddenly the second wave hit him in the chest, his eyes forced open.

Or…

It. Its eyes were forced open. Yes, that sounded right.

It stood in the middle of a room- a familiar room, but certainly not Remus’. It was much bigger, the ceiling higher to accommodate the inhabitants height, and much more organized. There was still plenty of clutter, plenty of skulls and bones and preserved creatures, but all in neat little rows on pretty rustic shelves. The place had the distinct vibe of a house belonging to a very ominous, eccentric, wealthy old murderer. Perfect.

The new creature turned its attention to itself, stretching out its limbs curiously. All nine of them, it turned out; seven arms stacked on their torso, four on the left and three on the right, all of which ending in sharp talons covered by gloves. A wicked grin split its face, and it wasted barely a moment before dashing out of the new room and down the hall. It came to the bathroom door, threw it open, and leapt inside. Two hands gripping the basin, it peered at its reflection. Two piercing, yellow eyes peered back, the pupils mismatched in shape and size. Lime-green scales covered its face and neck in splotches, smooth and diamond-shaped.

As its gaze traveled downwards, it appreciated the too-wide mouth filled with dangerous fangs, those snake-like slits up both sides of the face. Its hair was kept pinned back from its face, partially hidden beneath a black, metal crown. It was clearly messy- probably greasy- colored very dark with shocks of silver running through.

The collar of its shirt rose to nearly past its jaw, then plunged down to reveal a lot more of its chest than necessary. Its clothes were almost entirely black, broken up by the lemon/lime embellishments travelling up its arms and around the clasps in the front. The overcoat had long coattails and striped sleeves, ending in cuffs of fabric about the wrists. Moving lower it had very tight pants that did not leave much to the imagination, and boots that were more than a little over-the-top. Finally, there was the cape, hung around its shoulders and reaching floor length. It billowed when it moved even as much as an inch, looking at first like more black. Then the material caught the light, showing a dazzling display of green and yellow, glittering like a perfectly formed geode.

A laugh sprouted from it, giddy and exuberant. It twirled in the small space, its many hands twisting and toying with its outfit, hair, anything it could reach. From its hazy mind came then came its first intelligible thought, just from its appearance: it was called Rennet.

It stilled, hands hovering in scattered positions. The sharp laughs were quieting, but it still shook like it was laughing. Just shaking in general, probably. The worries of its more excitable half weren’t all gone, not that easily, and it knew it wasn’t yet stable.

Rennet took a breath, but its head didn’t clear, if anything it grew fuzzier. It was two creatures, two creatures that spent hours and hours inside their own heads as it was, and now both of those over-stuffed brains were in one too-small skull. It could almost feel the weight, leaning heavily on the wall just to keep upright.

“Should we stop?” Rennet verbalized the question in a thickly accented voice, knowing that otherwise it would never be able to understand the words through the mess of its mind.

“I don’t know,” it’s tone dropped in pitch, the sharp edges smoother, “Is that what you want?”

But it had barely gotten a chance to be. It couldn’t give up already.

So what was wrong with it?

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything?” Rennet threw its head back, because of course the worst thought was the only one that ended up audible. It sighed, dragged a hand down its face, shook its head. “Just remember the saying- two wrongs don’t make a right!”

Rennet’s mouth shut with a snap, and it felt quite angry with itself. On behalf of itself. It wasn’t sure, really- the indignation was much like something felt when a loved one was insulted, not when one’s self was insulted. That somehow made the sting worse.

“You think you’re wrong?” It said in a whisper, clutching its own wrists tight. Rennet knew the answer, though, knew it as it was ingrained into them.

And with that, its resolve sharpened. It was not going to come apart so easily, it would not accept either bits of it thinking anything so bad about himself, and…

Rennet was going to be the sexiest, baddest bitch the Mindpalace had ever seen. That was for damn certain.

It stood straight up, clapping three pairs of hands together and snapping its fingers with the seventh. It had to bear in mind that it was, for the time being, a giant sparkly monster babe. Now, being sad under those conditions just wouldn’t make any sense, and it intended to keep that thought at the forefront of its newly formed mind. Because Rennet was smart, it’d certainly retained that part of Janus, and it was peppy, if Remus had any part in it at all.

And, it mused, as it walked through the hall and down into the living room- it was undoubtedly very mischievous.

Taglist: @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #fanfiction #dukeceit #fusion #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #fanfic #janus #remus #WijjFusionAU #I kin rennet and also i want it to maul me so it was a very fun character to write

41 notes · View notes

hysteriium · 5 years ago

Note

Ledger!Joker x JP!Joker headcanons 👀 ??

(Edit isn’t mine, made by Anarchy Graphics! They have really cool edits you should check them out!)

(A/n): 👀 HEY THERE DEAR ANON! Your wish is my command ;)) sorry I kinda added some smut hope that’s okie! HEHEH also @pennyship and I are writing a massive fucking one-shot about the duo! We’re thinking of turning this into a series if anyone’s interested?

Pairing: JP! Joker x reader x Heath!Joker

Warnings: NSFW, BDSM themes, swearing.

////

Together

Okay first things first, they will have a hard time ‘sharing’ you. They’re both really assertive characters and their personalities would for sure clash.

They’re very competitive.

What’s probably even weirder is how they resolve their arguments. If you expect them to sit down and shake it out b o i you’re dead wrong.

Honestly, if you catch them in the middle of doing some stupid shit, don’t be surprised.

More often than not, you feel like the mediator between them. You kind of keep them balanced – stop them from going overboard, though admittedly, it’s rare when they reach such a point.

Their unspoken contest keeps them on their toes and that’s just how they like it.

They also really appreciate how you spare them the psychoanalysis – they get enough of it when they’re thrown into Arkham and treated like odd spectacles.

They’re really possessive/protective. If someone even so much as thinks of threatening you, or, even more idiotic, makes it known they ARE, best believe they’re bringing out the big guns. They’ll rain hellfire upon them. This is perhaps the only time where the dynamic duo can work together.

NSFW

A lot of the times they take their frustration out in other activities. If something doesn’t go as ‘planned,’ you’re gonna have a hard time walking tomorrow.

(Coming back to their ‘rivalry’), they’ll leave hickeys on your neck – VISIBLE ONES MIGHT I ADD – just so the other can see. This often leads to more hickeys from the other.

Threesomes. Sorry, not sorry. (Will go into detail in an upcoming fic hehe).

Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker

This. Man. Is. Touch-starved.

You heard me, folks. He loves touching you. This isn’t exclusive to sex either, honestly, he’s happy with even the smallest displays of affection.

He’s also much kinder than Heath’s Joker AND WHAT I MEAN BY THAT is that he’s more open with his affections (see Heath’s section for deetz).

Loves loves loves your smile and your laugh! Every time he snatches a laugh roused by one of his puns or jokes, he’s ecstatic! “You should laugh more,” “you have a pretty smile.” His compliments aren’t always worded the greatest, but you know he means well, his sincerity shining through.

Coupled with the soft smile which almost always follows your joy, it’s enough on its own to convey his thoughts.

The man is incredibly playful and is a relentless flirt. He doesn’t CARE who’s around, he will make it known what nasty things he’s thinking about AND what nasty things he wants to do to you. If it wasn’t for your own protests which are occasionally worn down, he’d take you in front of others. He literally does not care.

Example: when you least expect it, you’ll feel a firm slap against your ass, or sometimes less overt, a grab. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is.

To reiterate, he absolutely has no shame.

Arthur is big on aftercare. He’ll make sure you know how much he loves you. He gets really attached, and his actions communicate this more than his words. Aftercare manifests itself in many forms: cuddling, bubble baths, making sure he hasn’t harmed you in any way, offering sweets.

Nicknames

“Angel.”

“Darling.”

“Doll.” (Heath’s Joker also uses this).

“Sugar.” He often uses this when he’s mad, for example, “okay, listen, sugar.”

“Sweetheart.”

NSFW

Depending on how Arthur’s feeling, funky time can either be really rough or, if he’s feeling a lil extra sentimental, very you-oriented.

He’s a passionate man and seeing how his touch leads to your unravelling is truly one of the highlights for him.

Above all, Arthur’s favourite thing is hearing the way his name spills from your lips – feeling the way you cling onto him as he plunges into you. Your expression of euphoria’s something that’s etched into his brain, like fine glass.

An added bonus for him is thinking about how antsy your loud moans make Heath’s Joker.

Gunplay → Arthur’s slender fingers indent your thighs as he spreads them apart, a sudden metallic chill brushing up against the flesh. Prodding at your entrance with the barrel and slowly pushing in, his slow teasing thrusts morph into a steady pace when you’re practically pleading him to let you cum.

Orgasm Denial → Arthur, being the mischievous boi he is, will damn well make sure he drags everything out. He loves to hear you beg, every time you do it fills him with swirling bursts of pride.

Body worship → sort of ties in with orgasm denial. Arthur will take his sweet ass time caressing your skin, planting kisses against your stomach – against your hips. Honestly anywhere he has access to he will make it known how much he appreciates your body. This can sometimes appear during sex – he’ll slow his pace and utter sweet whispers of praise against you, rendering you even more of a flustered mess.

Hair pulling → works both ways. This would mainly be exhibited during oral than anything else. If he’s going down on you and your trembling fingers jerk his green curls, the vibrations of his moans would tip you over the edge.

He’s more flexible than Heath’s Joker, meaning if you want to top, he’ll let you do so, though he still maintains a cocky air. Giving you one of his killer smirks, his eyebrows flicking in amusement, he’ll relinquish his hold on your hips and recline back into the couch. The way he leans back and places his hands behind his head screams ‘go ahead,’ ‘impress me.’ You always do.

Heath Ledger’s Joker

Will do shit just to spite Arthur; this isn’t because he has a personal vendetta against him, it’s just because of the person he is (a little shit).

Takes a bit longer to open up than Arthur, emotionally. He’s very closed off and is used to his little bubble. It takes patience but eventually you’ll get there.

Acts like the biggest hardass → he likes to portray there’s nothing more to his image other than the ‘agent of chaos,’ but you come to realise this is definitely not the case.

In the dead of night, when he returns from whatever havoc he’s stirred, he crawls into your bed and pulls you against him, arms embracing you loosely.

This is when he’s at his most affectionate. His exhaustion most likely adds to those falling walls.

Most of the time he thinks you’re asleep when this occurs but, spoiler, you’re not; the gentle upturn of your lips the only indication of such. You don’t think you’d ever give the fact away either, fearful of him receding back into his shell to the point where affection is null. Either way, you’re happy with him.

By the morning, he’s gone, already making plans (or executing them).

He seldom shows you his actual face, behind all the makeup. In all honesty, you don’t know the reasoning behind this, and you don’t think you ever will. While he’s blunt, he’s just as secretive; there’s always something going on in the back of his mind.

Perhaps it’s insecurity, discomfort, or, more simply, the ‘persona’ of ‘Joker’ is just what resonates with him. The man underneath is someone he no longer identifies with. The man he’s become – who he’s worked so hard to manifest – is his true self.

NSFW

Okay but he’s a very sexual guy, not even gonna lie.

ALSO HAS NO EMBARRASSMENT. When it comes to sex, this man’s just as open about it as Arthur.

Hair pulling kink → this goes without saying. Unlike Arthur, this kink is one-sided, and he most definitely is the one doing the pulling. Those large hands will lose themselves within your strands and if you’re giving him head, he’s most likely going to guide you by said strands.

Glove kink → he’ll set you on his lap, your back against his chest as his hands hold your wriggling thighs. With your breath hitching in anticipation, one of his gloved hands will slip down your inner thigh, rubbing slow circles against your clit. He tries his best to be patient but lets be honest, he has a really short fuse when it comes to sex; he’ll be dipping one – two – and if he’s feeling particularly torturous – three fingers inside of you before you know it, curling his fingers.

Praise kink → not particularly what you’d expect. He’s also very big into humiliation and mockery, so this kind of ties in with the two. For example, if you do something he’s pleased with, he’ll throw around teasing/sarcastic nicknames like there’s no tomorrow:

“Bunny.”

“Buttercup.”

“Button.”

“Doll.”

“Good girl.”

“Princess.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Sweetheart.”

Loves your brattiness, literally lives for it. He’s always been drawn to a bit of fire – it keeps things interesting.

Has a thing for emotions – for your expressions, both micro and macro. The main three: fear, pain, pleasure.

He’s very erratic. So, when he is praising you, he may tug at your hair the next, choke you or, if he deems necessary, spank you.

Your squeaks of pain get him off – the motherfucker’s sadistic.

Goes through topdrop, and you’d most certain go through subdrop. He’s so used to control and regaining it when lost, in both an everyday context and a sexual one. So, once those feelings develop into something more (which you’ll have trouble differentiating, or sometimes picking up on at all), he’ll become more reserved, no longer displaying his usual vigour until this issue is sorted. (More details in a future drabble/fic).

#joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix #joker x reader #joker imagine #joker 2019 #the dark knight #both jokers #jp joker #heath joker #heath ledger #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #dc x reader #dc headcanon #Joker headcanons #joker headcannons #arthur fleck #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x reader

1K notes · View notes

betweenthetimeandsound · 3 years ago

Text

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (250-241)

(Author's note: I intended to have the list ready by 1 September, but I was a bit lousy in compiling the final spots on there. As a result, they will seem a bit shoddy, but there will be good summaries, I promise! And there will be honorable mentions soon enough.)

#250: Harel Skaat -- Milim (Israel 2010)

“האור נרדם, דמעות של דם, שורפות לי בגרון, ידית שרוטה, תקרה שמוטה, כשאני שר לך את השיר האחרון” “The light fell asleep, tears of blood scorch my throat Scratched handle, sloping ceiling When I sing to you the last song” Curiously, I already knew of Harel Skaat before hearing of Eurovision: I listened to a few of his earlier tracks when I found him singing with another Israeli pop artist, Dor Daniel. I particularly liked משנו ממני and כמה עוד אפשר. Milim is a requiem for what was once lost—the presence of one whom the narrator really loves. The imagery used in this song adds to the melancholic feel—a classic ballad of sorts, with a lot of emotion. And the performance from Harel was very good, even though he butchered a note at the end. Maybe it was the pretty blue lights that really accompanied the mood of the song. Personal ranking: 7th/39 Actual ranking: 14th/25 GF (grand final) in Oslo

#249: Tina Karol -- Show Me Your Love (Ukraine 2006)

"You see it in my eyes, my heart is on fire Don’t hide your love away, don’t wait another day" As mentioned in the note, I had a hard time determining the last few spots on my list. I went through the results of both sorters and picked what I felt in the time. Show Me Your Love is a bit odd, but with the accordion intro striking right away, it deserves a place here! While an overly simple song with stilted lyrics, Show Me Your Love is still a bunch of fun. From the boppy beat to Tina's infectious presence on stage, one can't help but smile as this comes along. And there was a jump rope right in the middle of the performance--never change, Ukraine. :) Personal ranking: 5th/37 Actual ranking: 7th/24 GF in Athens

#248: Alan Sorrenti -- Non so che darei (Italy 1980)

“Non so che darei per fermare il tempo Per dormire al tuo fianco solo una notte Non so che darei per sentirti mia Per tenerti vicina solo una notte” “I don’t know what I can give to stop the time To sleep beside you only for one night I don’t know what I can give To take you close to me only for one night” Recently, I find myself humming to this a lot, because it's so calming and nice. I particularly like Alan’s vocals in this song! He really conveys the pain of losing (or on the verge of losing) the one he loves, expressed by the melancholic lyrics. Together, they form a song which is just as beautiful, if not more so than the winner of its year. Despite its 6th place, it became a continent-wide hit, which was quite deserved (just like a good number of Italian Eurovision songs over the years, haha)! Alongside that, Non so che darei also had the only black conductor at Eurovision while there was an orchestra, along with a couple of women playing fake guitars. For some reason, I imagined they were holding umbrellas instead, but I clearly remembered wrong... Personal ranking: 3rd/19 Actual ranking: 6th/19 in Den Haag

#247: Sanja Vucic ZAA -- Goodbye (Shelter) (Serbia 2016)

"I lick my wounds So that I can keep on fighting" Another last-minute choice, but this is an important song, both in 2016 and now, unfortunately. Despite the advances in women's rights over the decades, domestic violence still persists across the world. Goodbye (Shelter) tells the story through someone who's struggling to get out of a toxic relationship, and there's a mix of vulnerability and strength in the lyrics. Of course, lyrics don't make up the whole song; the music also conveys the story through a dramatic build and beautiful strings. Considering the 2016 contest, it does get a bit lost amongst the crowd, but it feels like a musical number in all the right ways. Also, the performance told the story well, and Sanja is a wonderful singer (she also sings a cover of one all-time favorite you will see towards the end, hehe). I even would shed a tear at points. Personal ranking: 8th/42 Actual ranking: 18th/26 GF in Stockholm

#246: Remedios Amaya--Quien Maneja Mi Barca? (Spain 1983)

“El verde de tus ojos verdes, mírame, Que mira que yo te mire, mírame, Que mira que yo te mire” “The green of your green eyes, look at me, Look at me, so I can look at you, look at me Look at me, so I can look at you” One of those songs that can be defined as an acquired taste--the people who love it enjoy its subversive status in the Eurovision canon for being unapologetically Spanish, while the people who hate it will dismiss it as just a bunch of noise. This is a song which is part of the “New Flamenco” genre popularized since the 1960s, which mixes up flamenco music with other genres, such as rock or electronic music. Quien Maneja mi Barca ‘s studio cut has nebulous lyrics combined with an electronic beat, which is alright at best. I found it quite hollow and quite forgettable there. I prefer it in its orchestral form, which fuses synths and concert instruments fantastically. It definitely amps up the drama with Remedios’ voice, and made me appreciate this very distinct entry. Personal ranking: 6th/20 Actual ranking: Joint last (with Turkey) in Munich

#245: Marianna Efstratiou - To diko sou asteri (Greece 1989)

"Μα στο βραδινό τον ουρανό το δικό σου αστέρι ψάξε βρες Γιατί οι σκιές στο πρώτο φως μοιάζουνε φοβίες παιδικές" "But in the evening sky, search and find your own star Because the shadows in the first light seem to be childish phobias" While To diko sou asteri sounds a bit safe in the grand scheme of things, I think its lack of pretension is what makes this little song shine. The lyrics encourage one to find their star and encourage the listener to pursue what they believe in without any fear. Marianna's vocals also add to this song in that they're quietly hopeful and sweet. Also, for some reason, I got some "True Colors" vibes while listening to it every time, despite there being some differences. Both have this relaxing, calm vibe to help the listener on their journey through life. Then again, True Colors doesn't have some nice flute flourishes throughout the song, haha. Personal ranking: 4th/22 Actual ranking: 9th/22 at Lausanne

#244: Dina -- Amor d'agua fresca (Portugal 1992)

"Peguei, trinquei e meti-te na cesta Ris e dás-me a volta à cabeça" "I picked you, bit into you and put you in the basket You laughed and made my head spin" 1992 is one of the most average years at Eurovision--after the chaos that was 1991, it seems like the songs and production sought something safer, and the whole thing felt really bland. Amor d'agua fresca is anything but dull--it's bubbly and sweet, with quite relaxed atmosphere. The combination of instruments--particular the guitar in the beginning and Dina's vocals-- really help with conveying a mood. But after that, we have the lustful lyrics, describing a romance through enjoying different fruits, which was quite different for me... But hey, different makes things quite a bit better in life! Personal ranking: 4th/23 Actual ranking: 17th/23 in Malmo

#243: Lucia -- Él (Spain 1982)

"Él me perdona porque es un pedazo de buen pan Y me trata con paciencia Sé que no debo ser cruel Que le debo confesar que él a mí, no me interesa" "He forgives me because he’s a scrap of good bread And he treats me with patience I know that I shouldn’t be cruel That I should tell him I’m not interested in him" One interesting thing about me is that I'm a sucker for tango music. There's a sense of drama when one listens to it, and even more so when people get on the dance floor. While I've only danced it a few times, when one does it right, the connection between two people is quite powerful, and you could fall right into a dream. El definitely amps up the drama--Lucia is in a conflicted relationship, but she plays the "player" role quite well. It's very flirty and seductive, and you could immerse yourself in the story. While the dancing was a bit too much for a stage as small as 1982's, it's still quite fun to see. Also, it was sent as a way of supporting Argentina in the Falkland Wars, which is quite interesting... Personal ranking: 4th/18 Actual ranking: 10th/18 in Harrogate

#242: Gabriela Gunčíková -- I Stand (Czech Republic 2016)

"I am thanking you, you made me You are my air, I’ll always care" For those who have an aversion to ballads, why is that? I find it annoying because there can be ones where they can touch you and tell a story. Life can't always be happy bops with heavy beats (or it's because they don't really inhabit my musical atmosphere most of the time...) I Stand sounds like a derivative ballad sonically, but it carries itself with such grace and grandeur. The instruments add to the drama of the song, which thanks a special person for their help in their life (though the lyrics above can come off as a bit co-dependent...or so I've heard) And Gabriela delivers this with the necessary composure and grace the song desires. It feels like a highlight track from a musical--one where two characters meet again and the narrator wants to recognize the latter's good deeds before they're gone forever. Thanks to that, the Czech Republic gets their first grand final appearance (though getting 0 televote points once there was harsh...) Personal ranking: 7th/42 Actual ranking: 25th/26 GF in Stockholm

#241: t.A.T.u -- Ne ver, ne boysia (Russia 2003)

“Кто-то понты а кто-то маньяк, Кто-то как ты, кто-то как я.” “Someone's a psycho and someone's a maniac, Someone like you, someone like me” If I’m right, I may have heard this song without knowing this was from Eurovision. It was because there was a period between middle school and high school where I love t.A.T.u’s music, and this was one of their singles. Ne Ver Ne Bosia is compelling and dark, with an interplay about the people around them using an old Soviet proverb as the title. It’s gripping and intense, and brings the listener into this crazy and mad world they're enveloped in. The performance, on the other hand, almost couldn't have been worse. The vocals were really ropey (especially from Lena, who would usually be trusted to help Yulia), and it didn't come over as a great listening experience. While I love it, t.A.T.u were really lucky they competed in the televote era, as they would've been struck down hard by the juries. (and the worst part: there will be a couple of poorly-performed entries which will be quite high on this list...) Personal ranking: 6th/26 Actual ranking: 3rd/26 in Riga

#esc 250 #esc top 250 #eurovision song contest #esc israel #esc italy #esc 2021 #esc serbia #esc portugal #esc greece #esc russia #esc czech republic #vintage eurovision #three minutes to eternity #esc ukraine

3 notes · View notes

cherubchoirs · 5 years ago

Text

Cake’s Bad End Au Part III: The Holy Grail

Here it is, the posts that will finally outline the events of my Bad End AU! I’m not a writer in any sense, but with so many people enjoying the content I create for this AU and several people asking about it, I wanted to write up a synopsis of the events that take place and, more simply, what this AU even is. This is my idea of what happens when Akira takes Yaldabaoth’s deal on Christmas Eve and all of its implications, so I hope everyone enjoys it and that it puts the pieces for my AU in context. There will be three parts: Akira, The Thieves, and The Holy Grail. This is Part III: The Holy Grail, which details how Akira is saved and how the Thieves ultimately conquer Yaldabaoth. (7,325 words)

(TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse and some descriptions of illness/pain)

When the Thieves meet again, there’s a strained sadness, close to hopelessness as they look at each other in turn and wonder if anyone has any ideas...the longer the silence hangs over them, the closer they come to saying out loud only things Goro has had the courage to say until now but, surprisingly, Ryuji speaks up. He prefaces what he’s about to say with acknowledging how stupid it’s probably going to sound and that he never really understood too much how the Metaverse worked but...with the scar on Akira’s chest, with the way it bled to summon that god, is it possible Akira’s heart was stolen and...if they get it back...maybe…? He trails off with the idea as no one speaks up, thinking it must have been SO stupid the other Thieves don’t even want to recognize it, but Ann says hesitantly that she thought of something similar. Ryuji nods excitedly to her and looks over to Makoto, their stand-in leader, and he’s hopeful by the look of concentration on her face as she considers what Ryuji says. They wait on her silence before she asks Goro about Akira’s heartbeat, how he didn’t feel a pulse, and Goro completes her thought by saying, as a being of the Metaverse, Akira’s heart being stolen has translated into something literal in a sense. His heart is actually gone...but it’s not in the way the Thieves’ had stolen them before, correct? After all, Akira is a pure being that Yaldabaoth is attempting to “perfect”, Makoto positing that perhaps his shadow was destroyed similar to a mental shutdown but Goro suspects it could be that he is severed from his shadow...and if that is the case, his shadow exists in some capacity somewhere as it seems not all of his memories are entirely lost. A rescue mission in a sense seems more feasible after seeing the god that controls him and if they were to find his shadow – or his persona – lost in the sea of souls, there must be a way of reconnecting the two in order for Akira to regain his heart.

All of this is conjecture, they understand that, but Futaba immediately begins to think on how she and her Persona might be able to find Akira’s heart...surely it must remain somewhere in Mementos and if she begins attempting to track for Arsène’s signature, maybe...maybe they could find him. And while he may have forgotten himself being stolen from Akira, perhaps, if Goro really does have similar capabilities, he could negotiate with him in the same way Akira used to in order for Arsène to remember himself. It’s a longshot and they all know it, but what in their work as Thieves hasn’t been? It will require them to face down a hostile Metaverse, perhaps even moreso now, time and time again before they may even get a hint of Arsène, but they all agree to the plan...including Goro, who mostly holds out hope that in finding Arsène, they’ll learn exactly what happened to Akira.

So with a plan in place, they push forward into Mementos once more and day after day they will spend hours roaming its halls, Futaba helping to cloak them along with smokescreens they’ve created using Akira’s old notes, but still they seem endlessly hunted with the Reaper in particular tailing them far more often than it used to. It’s grueling work, however, the team’s morale whittling little by little every day after an excursion that leaves them bone-tired but no closer to finding their answer...and what if they’re wrong? What if the god has totally destroyed Akira’s shadow and has modified him after causing a mental shutdown in him? It must be possible for an entity like that to accomplish as much...but even still, they persist because, after all, this is their best option – they can’t leave Akira as he is, and it’s either fight to the death or bet on Arsène still existing somewhere in the vast reaches of Mementos. It’s exhausting, it’s thankless, and the public continue to shift more and more due to the amounts of hearts Akira reaps, but it also reminds them every day that this cannot stand, that Akira would never have wanted this...even if he was the one that created it.

It makes all their pain well worth it when Futaba’s search finally pings late into the night in another trip to Mementos – a signature like Akira’s, like Arsène’s, wandering deep in the Depths where they know they can’t stay for long without fear of being devoured. It’s a mad dash toward that signal before they lose it, Futaba keeping a good track of it even as it moves erratically through the floor, and finally, finally, all of their patience and hard work can pay off. Arsène obviously isn’t whole, his mask cracked with broken horns and torn wings, making it clear how forcefully he was ripped from Akira in order to sever his will of rebellion and brainwash him for that god. He initially behaves similarly to the other shadows that wander the Metaverse, although his attacks are far more frenzied and disjointed, but, knowing all his weaknesses, the Thieves can easily surround him to attempt a negotiation...and it’s one that proves interesting, even difficult, given Akira’s propensity to wear masks. They must answer in a way Akira would like, the true Akira and not the one molding himself to whatever the other person might want to hear, so it takes the effort of each and every one of them coming together to answer the questions Arsène poses to them. Goro takes the helm on speaking with him, however, distinctly aware of how similar he and Akira could be if the disguise was peeled away from them both, and with that knowledge coupled with consultation between all of the Thieves, they come to reason with Arsène and in doing so, he remembers himself, he remembers Akira.

He takes up residence in Goro’s heart after thanking the Thieves for finding him, admitting that he too initially sought them out but, given his weakened state and his separation from Akira, he forgot himself. They learn from him all that happened to lead Akira here, how the false god had led him through this past year, how they had forged a powerful bond just as Akira had with all of the others here, how that trust was betrayed...how all of them disappeared and Akira was left to decide the fate of the world while held hostage under threat of death, under the coercion of his teammates being revived, under the impression of a cold and callous public that cared not for him nor any of Thieves that had been lost. In that state, he made the wrong choice – he gave in to his own desires and the god ripped Arsène from him, tore out any connection they had to each other in a bid to destroy Akira’s rebellious spirit and make room for him to take up residence where Akira’s heart had once been. Arsène was not gotten rid of himself as Akira was still human at the time and doing so would have killed him, with the false god a bumbling fool himself that has no knowledge of how the human soul works and so could never safely perform the operation himself. So Arsène was cast off into the depths instead, where Yaldabaoth knew he would ultimately forget himself and, in time, possibly expire due to his lack of a human host at that point. In other words, Yaldabaoth is arrogant, narrow-sighted, and stupid, hardly a god but instead just a being given immense power that had twisted Akira’s cognition...for all those months, in fact. Akira, locked in the Depths of Mementos under the guise of the Velvet Room, the two fused in such a way that Akira was, without knowledge, exposed to Yaldabaoth’s distortion each time he stepped foot into that cell – with no image of rebellion to protect him, he was slowly poisoned with Yaldabaoth’s influence, insidiously, to the point that it may have helped tip the scale in Akira’s decision. Now knowing the truth and knowing what their leader had suffered to bring him to this state, all that’s left was to see if the Thieves could return Arsène to him...or if it really would come down to their deaths.

Now would come the full exploration of Akira’s cathedral – the Thieves wait until there is another lull in hearts being stolen, knowing it means Akira must have returned home in order to rest. It could be their final mission, all of them knowing one of three things will happen today: They die, Akira dies, or Akira comes back to them, and while they have no idea which one it will be, they have steeled themselves for any and all possibilities. Back into Mementos, back into the cathedral, now fighting through zealous shadows that attack them for daring to step foot on holy ground again, but when they find Akira isn’t resting on his throne, they know this has become a full on infiltration. They treat it like always, sneaking over the rafters, hiding in shadowy corners, working deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine structure to find where he must rest in order to avoid the shadows that crowd his nave. Out of the public areas, they find the cathedral full of angels that serve Akira and are single-minded in his protection, particularly against the Thieves that have angered their god so. But their resolve is hardened, no longer fearful as they fight through blood and tears to carve a path to Akira’s private quarters where his personal servants launch one last stand against them. They are hellbent on destroying these invaders but it comes nowhere near the absolute rage felt by every single Thief, tearing them apart to finally find Akira once more, already awake and waiting for them. He’s exhausted now, the smile gone from his face that looks sicker than it ever has, wasting and no longer in the mood to humor them. He draws his scythe without words this time and they know it’s now or never, they would have to fight, wear down whatever resolve he still has left, and return Arsène to him just as Yaldabaoth’s control breaks but before he comes to his child’s aid.

The timing needs to be perfect, Goro having to gauge that opening as he stays in close with the others keeping him protected against any of Akira’s blows. The fight is a desperate one, Akira clearly burning himself out by fighting so soon after his punishment for defying Yaldabaoth in saving the Thieves the last they met, but it’s exactly as they had hoped even if it pains them to think what he must have gone through for it. It allows them to reach his breaking point sooner, to rip off that yoke of control where they can hear him, hear their Akira in his voice, and in that second, without a beat between them, Goro breaks through the ranks of the Thieves to summon Arsène. He rushes into Akira, the other boy dropping his weapon as Goro’s hand slams into his chest and all the Thieves huddle in around them, no clue how they could help but lending all their strength and all their pleas to Akira to accept Arsène, to remember himself if only for one second to open his heart again...and Goro feels Arsène leave him, the heaviness of his presence lighting off of his heart. The mark on Akira chest tears again, bleeds once more, but only a moment later it fades...not gone, but now a scar instead of an open wound as Arsène manifests before him once more, asking him to take back his future. The pain it causes Akira is immense, Yaldabaoth roaring in his head and attempting to drown Arsène out, drive him out of his heart once more where only one of them can stay. Akira screams and shudders, collapsing under the weight of a splitting headache...but it feels familiar, like he has been called to this before. He feels like he teeters on the edge of death but Arsène’s voice is familiar...all of their voices are familiar in that instant...he can’t put the memories together, they’re too fractured, but Arsène’s voice drives over Yaldabaoth’s reminding him that he did all of this for them, will he abandon them now and let them die?

Never. Akira will always save them, no matter the cost.

Led only by his emotions, he takes Arsène’s contract to expel Yaldabaoth from his heart in an effort that sees him fold in on himself entirely where Goro catches him, the cathedral beginning to crack and collapse around them like the Palace of a fallen ruler. They move quickly, rushing from the quickly disintegrating building and the palpable anger of a god that’s had his most devout servant stolen from him by Thieves. This is the point at which the Bad End AU splits into its good or bad ending (NO I haven’t decided on what is the “true” ending skdfd) – Akira either dies shortly after these events or he continues to live on in order to assist them in felling Yaldabaoth. If Akira dies, he does so just as they reach the end of Mementos – he tells them he doesn’t have the strength to go on in reality and even now, his body is only sustained by feeding off of Mementos, off of what Yaldabaoth continues to give him. As a last bid to help them, through pained and breathless apologies as a fever grips him and his vision begins to fade out, he uses what’s left of his strength to reopen the Velvet Room and return Morgana to the Thieves, as well as have Lavenza and Igor’s aid as Goro must work in his stead now. He apologizes for this, especially to Goro, thinking...they must have made a promise like this before, right? Goro is stained with his blood by now, coated in the smell of fresh roses as the Velvet Room door opens once more and Morgana rushes out, desperate to help, to guide, to give them hope...but he knows he’s too late seeing Akira’s limp and fading form held fast in Goro’s arms. Lavenza comes behind him, passing by Goro’s shuddering frame as he squeezes Akira, holding him tighter and tighter like that will keep him there with them, and she sits beside him. Akira apologizes to her too, in a voice so quiet only she and Goro can hear, and she forgives him, telling him she always knew he would make the right choice in the end while Morgana comes to join her. He gets in close to Akira, telling him how proud he is and how he doesn’t need to worry anymore – Morgana will lead them all to victory and he can just get some sleep...he’s tired, right? Akira nods, smiling again as Morgana presses in against him and the last things he can feel are Morgana’s comforting warmth and the safety of Goro’s arms before he leaves Yaldabaoth in capable hands.

Should Akira live, however, they reach the edge of Mementos just the same and Akira unlocks the Velvet Room as well, but he instead informs them he can’t possibly exist in reality. He asks them to just leave him to his fate for rebelling against Yaldabaoth, but Morgana and Lavenza arrive to offer him shelter in the Velvet Room which, now free of the god’s control thanks to Akira, he should be safe in as Yaldabaoth will find it impossible to reach. The Thieves know it’s their only choice, very aware that they’ll die if they stick around to think about it too much longer, and so they leave Akira in the hands of the Velvet Room before exiting the Metaverse at Lavenza’s insistence that they go home for a rest – Morgana will contact them the following day to coordinate their efforts. Akira escapes to the Velvet Room, finding himself exhausted and confused to the point that he immediately collapses and spends the next full day asleep. Morgana sticks close to him, only leaving when Akira wakes once more and he needs to go into reality to fetch the other Thieves for a full meeting after all this time.

When they arrive, all of them are ready to rush to Akira, to welcome him back and have a mini celebration for his return...but he’s not healed the way they all expect. He looks no different and he informs all of them he has no memory of them, not even a sliver beyond splintered pieces that flash without his consent that he cannot piece together, and he is not at all human. But Arsène, all of his memories were whole...Akira just shakes his head, suspecting Arsène sacrificed quite a bit in order to fight with Yaldabaoth for his rightful place, so while Akira can feel again, while his rebellious will has returned and he feels an unspeakable amount of betrayal toward his father, the specific memories of his human life are gone. He informs the Thieves that he trusts them implicitly and he will fight for them and their ideals, so they can figure out the rest once Yaldabaoth is...gone, but his voice is full of obvious reluctance and immediately Goro states he’s too much of a liability to go into battle with against his “father”. The Thieves object instantly, saying it’s Akira’s right to stand up against him just like all of them have done in the past and that they believe in his trust of them, that he initially did all of this for them. Akira nods, however, noting that Goro’s point is one based on logic and could be correct – While Akira has regained some of his heart, it is broken in a sense and he doesn’t wish to hold the group back from what they must do. The risk of him bowing to Yaldabaoth’s control isn’t minimal either, so he would ask to act as support and perhaps provide an expert source of navigation for their return to Mementos, given that he understands it as it is really just a part of himself. No one had expected Akira to jump back in as leader, exactly...but to hear him say he would act in a support capacity without fighting to go up against the one who wronged him so terribly is unnerving to the Thieves. It’s just...not how Akira would act. They try prompting him further but his response stays the same – Goro is being logical, he shouldn’t be on the frontlines. Morgana takes over for him at that point, saying it most likely is for the best to let Akira act as he thinks he should with a threat like this looming over all of them. Still, despite the Thieves being put off by an Akira that seems more like a shell than the friend they knew...they have Morgana back and Akira is there to help them at the very least, and they need to take victories where they can. Goro isn’t so easily sated, but he knows he needs to swallow his emotions for the time being too.

Truthfully, Akira knows it may not even be the best logical answer to allow him to go along with them at all as he feels Mementos churning and twisting, having already taken a small private trip before the Thieves had been gathered to see the agitation in the shadows there (just to the first floor, just out of the curiosity that has always plagued him), yet they still don’t move to attack him. He’s slightly puzzled by the development, but he knows it’s something to do with the public’s cognition along with...his father’s, but he has been cut off from Yaldabaoth’s thoughts, and so he doesn’t pursue the question any further for it is not his place to guess at the divine. Akira still believes in the divinity of Yaldabaoth, that he is indeed a god that was born of people’s will, and it’s difficult to accept the fact that he’ll soon be standing by the Thieves’ side in opposition even if he now does believe his father is wrong. Even still thinking of him as a parent, as the one that provided for and protected him...knowing that going to him now with his convictions set to aid the Thieves meaning that either they or his father will have to die. But he can’t let humanity suffer under his cruel and callous rule, he can’t let him drain humans of their independence and their right to grow and change, because Akira knows it’s not out of care for them but instead hatred for their failings. Even in his faltering resolve, he knows what is right and what is wrong...and Yaldabaoth, his father or not, is wrong.

And, though he senses love and devotion from the Thieves, he senses their discomfort with him as well, their fear of him and the way they emotionally recoil when he speaks (he doesn’t have human speech patterns down, so his intonation is still odd and flat). Goro is particularly repulsed by him, lashing out at him and criticizing him while the other Thieves quickly rush to his defense despite the obvious misgivings of their own...but he feels a depth and breadth of emotion in Goro focused solely on him that is nearly alarming to a being like Akira. And for his part, he feels love and devotion to all the Thieves, but it simply lacks context, the memories that would provide him understanding and the human capability to experience emotion to provide him clarity...and similarly, his feelings for Goro are profound and complex, ones he can barely understand and parse let alone come to label in neat categories. All of this mixed emotion dictates to Akira that he must remain strictly as a functional unit of the group, providing them aid and navigation when needed without adding anything unnecessary that may cause strife and therefor miscalculation. The Thieves themselves feel deeply guilty for their own anxiety around Akira, but...he truly isn’t their leader, he isn’t their friend, yet they understand how much of an effort he’s making now to support them. There will be time to heal after all of this and that thought keeps them going as Morgana helps bridge the gap between them, helps ease all the tension they feel in order to work with Akira the way they need to. Only Goro seems resistant to it, but they do know why he, out of all of them, would struggle the most with what’s become of Akira.

They don’t really have the luxury of waiting and getting used to each other, however, Yaldabaoth moving forward with what he had decided on Christmas Eve now that he’s lost Akira. Akira knows his plan, that he will force the real world to fuse with the Metaverse now that the bridge between himself and reality is gone – humanity was judged to be sinful and only granted a reprieve because Akira worked so tirelessly to instill Yaldabaoth’s ideals into the public. So with only some rest, the group can wait no longer as reality bends around them to resemble the Depths of Mementos and, with the Thieves receiving some guidance from the Velvet Room, they move forward to save humanity one last time. Akira does well to mind himself, assisting in tactical orders or, if he finds his mind buckling, keeping himself silent to focus on blocking out Yaldabaoth’s ideals, his insistence, his voice ringing in his ears still. He can manage with the help of Arsène and Futaba by his side but the further they go, the closer they get to his temple, the more silent he becomes and the seed of doubt planted in the Thieves grows little by little...but still, they push forward, they know Akira can overcome this. However, they know all too well that the real test starts when they reach the shrine of the Holy Grail, when they once again face the god that had held him captive and stolen his human life, the very will from his heart. Goro strongly suggests Akira leave them before they do so, but in his first show of true emotion, true conviction, he rejects the idea immediately, saying he will never be free if he doesn’t enter that temple with them...if he doesn’t find closure with his father. He can’t falter now, he can’t afford weakness, or he will surely wither when this world disappears with Yaldabaoth – and he will not betray them. The Thieves all agree after some contemplation and Morgana’s blessing, Goro the last to accept Akira’s presence but there’s something different in his eyes when he watches the other boy now before they enter the shrine.

Their final confrontation arrives, the Grail shining brilliantly in the center of the shrine surrounded by his devout followers and Akira is immediately inundated with thoughts that are not his own, Yaldabaoth’s voice booming against his skull in reprimands, in disgust, in hatred for him. He speaks to the Thieves too but Akira knows his words to them are different and they begin their fight, attacking him from every angle in blows Akira can faintly feel ghosting over his own body. He grits his teeth against the lashes, all of them paling in comparison to the fight to continue controlling his own body under the oppressive weight of Yaldabaoth’s presence encroaching on his heart. There will be a place for you, my child, there is always a place for you by my side to join in my reality...Repent. Repent and return to me if you wish to protect not just these humans but the ones scattered in every corner of the world, the ones who will suffer without you. Repent, or they die along with you. His father is growing angrier, wrathful toward the rebellious Thieves before him and the son that has abandoned him, soon no longer wishing to humor them as he takes his true form, the one they had seen come to Akira’s aid that day in the cathedral. Akira has fallen to the floor, clutching at a chest with a wound that’s reopening, little by little the flesh tears and begins to bleed around his fingers as his resolve wanes in all the pain he feels, in the guilt he feels at his betrayal and the grief he can feel in Yaldabaoth. What a terrible child, what an ungrateful child...what a cruel child to strike at the god that had protected and nurtured him so.

The Thieves stand up against him even now though, the blows they level against him growing more and more painful to Akira, his thoughts breaking apart as he forgets, Arsène’s voice growing weak and distant and Yaldabaoth’s growing ever more powerful...and he finds the pain fading as he takes up his scythe, as the name “Akira” flickers out of his mind. Akira opens his eyes to look up, to see the Thieves bloodied and battered and still fighting as Yaldabaoth rains an onslaught of devastation onto them only for them to support one another, protect the weakened to heal them while the others attack with a ferocity that one exhausted and drained human being should never be capable of. Futaba is focused on the battle in front of her but immediately turns to see Akira as he rises, weapon in hand once more and looking too oddly calm. She calls out to him in fear, the other Thieves picking up on the shaking in her voice and those on the backlines grip their weapons in sweating hands, healing each other once more as the god mocks their sentimentality, their insistence to save those who never asked for them. Akira’s movements are unsteady, each one is fought against as that shred of his heart restored to him screams in protest and while the Thieves are forced to raise their weapons against him again, they know he’s struggling with every swing of his scythe, he’s fighting himself more than he is them. Memories flash, he remembers the fear, the dread of losing his humanity, losing the will to care for the people in front of him now that call to him, who are fighting for their lives but do no harm to him even as he attacks them just as Yaldabaoth commands. But his body is pulled unwillingly, his heart is with him again even if he’s too stupid to remember the people that love him, even if he’s too selfish to keep them safe like he once promised he would. It’s Yaldabaoth’s bid to control him but he is no longer a part of Akira...he can’t be, his heart belongs to him and him alone, and he can’t afford to cause suffering to those that would risk their very lives to return it to him...even if they go against the people and even if they are sinners. That’s what Yaldabaoth would say, but he lied, time and time again he told malignant untruths to Akira, who now does his best to keep standing even as that excruciating pain returns to him in punishing waves. It’s the least he can do, stand with them as they do all the heavy-lifting for him, lower the scythe he can raise at them but not Yaldabaoth still...he wonders if he was this pathetic in his human life, but then isn’t that just like a human? Having to lean on others?

But he is quickly punished for his endless defiance and his wicked treachery, for the very thought that he should admire human weakness. His vision shutters, the sounds around him ripped away, even the feel of the wind battering against him is stolen with such speed and such force it’s almost painful, every sense suspended. Numb even to pain he wishes would come back. Complete deprivation. Akira has felt it, it’s not the first time Yaldabaoth has taken every sense without warning as a way of breaking his hysterias...so they are not totally severed, are they? He closes him off to everything, allowing only the experiences he deems appropriate, usually just his voice, his words after Akira has experienced a loneliness so penetrating he’s on the edge of losing even the false identity of The Son. But here, the silence, the lack of existence, only lasts long enough to remind Akira of all he has suffered, of all he has had, before Yaldabaoth’s voice speaks to him, no longer roaring, no longer shaking him with the very sound of it, but instead how he would speak to him in the days they spent in the Depths alone, only together surrounded by shadows. It’s stern, but it doesn’t have that hostility, it is only for him even if he knows his father must still be striking at the Thieves, working every second to kill them while he comes quietly to his child. He will have no place with them, he is no longer human and he will only repulse those he fights for now, the ones he now swears allegiance to will abandon the unnatural child...it is in human nature to do so. He asks that he repent, that he assist Yaldabaoth is killing Thieves that will only betray him, and the child can return to his only home in the Depths of Mementos, the human who’s heart has stopped and who’s blood is now made of the Holy Grail’s ichor. They are of each other and the two cannot be split, not after Akira’s resurrection through his elixir, and no measure of rebellious will, no measure of human stubbornness, the refusal to admit loss and all the deficiencies and fallacies of mankind, can bring Akira the humanity that has died. So he faces the choice of rejoining his father now, swearing his loyalty and returning his control to the god he is bound to, or Yaldabaoth will offer him the mercy to kill him with the others, to put him out of his misery if he chooses to drive himself mad by aligning himself with humans when he can only be rejected by them. But Akira can feel Yaldabaoth’s grip loosening, not because he wills it but because Akira’s own heart is interfering, gnawing at his power over him and allowing his senses to filter in little by little. Yaldabaoth’s offer, rejoin or perish here, show that his yoke has been thrown off of Akira’s shoulders – he cannot simply kill the Thieves and take Akira for himself again, he must return willingly...and so he appealed to his emotions, threatening him with loneliness, the exact punishment he had used on him to great effectiveness time and again.

But it’s enough. Maybe Akira will always be alone like this, maybe the humans he fights for now will leave him, but he tells his father it’s okay as his sight flickers in and out, muffled, distant sounds reverberating in his ears...because as much as he is no longer human, he is not like Yaldabaoth either, is he? Yaldabaoth is disgusted by him in a way too, he hates the human parts of him that react with emotion, that are irrational and distracted by hobbies, undeserving of the halo around his head in Yaldabaoth’s eyes. Yet his father asks that he stay with him, continues to reach out to him even as he actively opposes him and it is not a functional request - Akira knows Yaldabaoth does not believe he needs him by his side to destroy the Thieves, nor does he fear his child could be his downfall if he does not rejoin him...instead, Yaldabaoth feels richer with him, a fulfillment when they speak together, and he had learned to attach himself to something so imperfect, something that angered him, repelled him, something he should hate and yet felt what, in his own heart, could be thought of as the opposite. So why not the humans too? They will reach out to him, they will feel richer for knowing him, but they will not punish him so for the things they hate about him...and Yaldabaoth has grown malignant in his hatred for humanity, those he is meant to save from suffering. Even as The Son, a being meant to believe only in the word of his father, Akira knew of this hostility, always aware in some part of himself that it was wrong no matter how many times he may have forgotten that. So...weren’t all their arguments just leading up to this? His senses continue to return, flooding into him as he admits to his father this fight is what he wants, he wants to stand in opposition to Yaldabaoth, to the father that retracts his hand now in anger, in insult, in pain of rejection. He can hear Futaba shouting frantically for him when focus returns to his features, his slack frame immediately tightening up at the pain that rushes through him again but he remains upright, spine stricken straight as pearl-like eyes stay fixed to the blinding angles of Yaldabaoth who redoubles his efforts to destroy the Thieves that have stolen the one thing he may have ever cared for.

But there’s a moment as he stands by and watches, eyes moving to follow the movements of the Thieves, that it seems they...his friends...have a chance, it seems they really may be able to stand against his father and triumph...but it’s short-lived. He strikes them all down, each one of their bodies striking the earth beneath them and they can’t move, they can’t stand even though he can feel their struggles, their desperation to just get up one last time, their despair when their bodies refuse to obey. Now only Akira stands behind them, a coward who can feel Yaldabaoth’s gaze on him, burning into whatever soul he may have left, who mocks him for rejoining these pitiful thieves, who mourns the fact that he must kill him now with the others for his foolishness...to lose his child so pointlessly, even a god must grieve for him. Akira chokes on his words, wanting to encourage them to stand again but he can’t, how can he ask so much of them when he’s contributed nothing? And yet...it rises up in him, but he realizes it’s the cognition of the people, of the public as Morgana joins him to stand again and refuses to fall before Yaldabaoth, no matter how many times he may strike him down. Human hope. Human hope, which Akira so deeply admired, now stands up to his father small...but growing. It flickers but Akira can feel it too, he can feel what Yaldabaoth stole from the people, from his friends, from himself, and he begins to straighten his stance again even against the pain blooming from his chest. It’s hope, but hope fueled by anger, by a righteous fury unlike anything he felt working for his father, and Arsène’s voice overtakes Yaldabaoth’s as he can’t bear to hear anymore of his sanctimonious lecturing when he stole Akira’s very heart. Human hope and human anger, human rage at cruelty and unfairness, it overtakes him, a sin! A sin, Yaldabaoth screams at him, a sin to feel such wrath, feel it no more! If the Thieves cause the child to commit such grave atrocities, they will die to cleanse him and force his repentance at the time of his own death.

No more. No more victims, not him, nor the Thieves that saved him, nor the humans he abandoned.

His body burns and it’s licked with blue flames, Arsène appearing at his side as shocks of black return to his brilliant white hair, light, barely there irises showing in eyes no longer blind. The public rises up behind the Thieves, Morgana standing first and the pain is fading from Akira’s body, the others rising in obvious agony as his scar stitches itself up once more and he can no longer hear Yaldabaoth in his head, his voice only on the outside now, only what the other Thieves can hear. He walks forward to join them, raising his scythe as he finally speaks, tells Yaldabaoth this must end, he is no longer in the favor of the people, and if he doesn’t heed what humanity wishes, Akira must be the one to strike him down. An ungrateful child...perhaps so, but he will never be controlled by another, he will never allow himself to abandon his ideals that he fought for and he will not allow himself to ever again forget the humanity he so foolishly lost, so let him be the ungrateful child. And it’s laughable to the Thieves, to Yusuke, to Haru, to Goro who had to do just the same as Akira does now...Goro who stands just by Akira’s side now with barely any space between them, and Akira can feel the spike in anger in his father at the display. They’re not meant for this, are they? Yaldabaoth attempts to strike down the Thieves beside him again but they refuse to fall now, still demanding Akira repent now for joining the sinful masses and Akira rejects his offer, no more salvation. If he wishes to keep humanity in the dark, if he wishes to continue to control them under a vindictive rule, then the son must punish the cruel father.

Akira awakens to his true self then, the one that still sleeps within Arsène – Satanael, the one Akira knows innately as the child of Yaldabaoth in Gnostic lore, the child that works tirelessly for his father until he learns how wrong he is, how false he is, how unfair and resentful he is toward humanity, and he rises up against him to release them before he is cast into hell for his betrayal. The chains of the shackles around his wrists are broken when Satanael is born, taking his stand before Yaldabaoth in defiance for a life lost, for putting his Thieves through so much grief, for nearly sacrificing all of humanity. He cannot take back the mistakes he made, but he can take his stand to save them all now and there’s a quiet moment in that stillness, Satanael leveling his gun at Yaldabaoth’s head, a moment of grief passing between father and son, before Akira allows his persona to pull its trigger and shatter Yaldabaoth, destroy the face that Akira once held a hand in reverence to. And the god folds in on himself, a piece torn from Akira as his life fades out over them and he says his goodbyes to his child, to the one who still somehow came to fulfill his role as the trickster against him. He loses his form, returning to his inert state as the Holy Grail that naturally finds its way back to Akira, floating quietly before him in silent moment of reflection until he reaches out his hand and it dissolves. Ripped open, taken from, and now healed just a bit again...what remains of Yaldabaoth is now a part of him, his humanity forever gone. But in this state, with the will of the Thieves that gather around him now, he can rewrite the world as it should be based on their wishes...and so it is done. The Metaverse fades, reality returns to its untouched state, and Morgana, along with Akira himself, are preserved by their wishes and their wishes alone.

Shibuya has returned to normal, the public milling around them seemingly unaware of what they all just accomplished, but Akira can feel now that they are free, at the very least. He thanks all of the Thieves and they return the sentiment instantly, the wall between them and him seemingly vanished, crumbled at least, as they all express happiness at the peeks of black hair and his clothes now changed in reality, meaning he has some solid form again. He’ll keep getting better and so will they, so they insist they’ll see him tomorrow and absolutely, no questions about it, spend some time at Leblanc to catch up (he’ll love the coffee, they know it). He smiles again, this one more full and more earnest despite his grief, accepting their offer but wishing to return to the Velvet Room for now, too exhausted to carry on and the Thieves all agree...but as the group splits off and he watches his new but familiar friends leave in contentment, in relief, in a renewed sense of trust in him, he sees that Goro doesn’t follow suit with them. He’s quiet, but only because Akira senses a weight on him, one he can’t sort through himself and while Akira can’t fathom the correct human response, he instead just asks if he’ll be there tomorrow too...at Leblanc, a name he thinks he knows, that feels safe...he adds that he hopes he will be when Goro maintains his silence at the question. There’s a moment of hesitation but there’s a shift too, a small bit of surprise, before Goro looks toward him to nod with a faint but sharp smile, adding that he hopes Akira won’t forget before he takes his leave as well. And while Akira still feels so many volatile emotions in him, something did change between them before Yaldabaoth...and he needs to understand who he was, who they were, and without knowing why or how right now, he knows Goro will be integral in regaining what he gave away. He leaves the bustling square only when Goro’s been swallowed by the crowd, exhausted but with Morgana padding along at his heels in high spirits (but sooo ready for a cat nap, he says). And while it will be slow, while Akira distinctly feels he will never be human again, he knows now each step back will be one into his old life, into his friends’ lives, into what he and Goro share, and he can take his time.

#THIS WAS SO LONG AND I AM LIKE...NERVOUS ABOUT IT #is this how the lore works NO....but here i am #YES we still have those ridiculous friendship and romance tropes SORRY....#big clown hours bc i made myself sad writing that part between akira and yaldabaoth #yaldabaoth really does think of akira as his kid BUT he's a terrible parent #and akira does see him as his dad but he knows he and humanity deserve better #also i decided on satanael still remaining as akira's ultimate persona #it REALLY suits him in the bad end au if u can believe it #but that's all everyone!!! thanks for reading!!#p5 #akira kurusu #yaldabaoth #bad end #bad end synopsis

147 notes · View notes

84reedsy · 4 years ago

Text

An Invitation

Characters/Pairings: Severus/Hermione, Violet Snape (OC) Summary: Severus and Hermione have settled into the quietest life they can following the end of the Second Wizarding World. They own a little business and live in their cottage with their daughter Violet. An invitation for a holiday may stir things up a bit, but who says that has to be a bad thing?

Rating: Mature (Suggestive Themes) Word Count: 2125

“Bloody bird,” Severus mumbled as he tried to straighten his now crinkled daily prophet. His lips curled downward as the owl shook its head and tried to steady itself; the letter had planted itself firmly in a stick of softened butter, “You’d think after all this time the Weasley’s would have invested in a halfway decent messenger by now.” His distaste for the family or at least their expansive brood went back years and years to Bill’s early years at Hogwarts. It was mostly harmless.

Hermione hid her smile by turning back to the stove, stirring the morning’s porridge as she added a flavor changing serum to liven it up a bit. She’d never say it aloud, but she somewhat enjoyed her husband’s jealousy towards her high school sweetheart. Ron had been on Snape’s last nerve from the first day of their first year - being friends with Harry didn’t help his cause. But the few years post-war and post-Hogwarts when she and Ron still dated - he’d clearly detested him the most.

She’d had no idea Severus fancied her at all until the first Order reunion after the breakup. She’d been single all of a month. He’d approached her straight away, which seemed a bit odd at the time. Even more odd was later in the evening when he’d asked her to dance. She sighed happily at the thought of dancing with him. His long legs and smooth movements, his quiet confidence.

“Oh Papa, Errol’s a good bird, just a bit clumsy,” Violet leaned far over the table, having to kneel in her chair as she stroked the greying birds feathers. She offered him a bit of her scone. The bird gently nibbled her fingers, causing her to giggle and her eyes to flash purple. She plucked the letter from the butter, her tiny hands careful as she used her napkin to wipe the mess from the envelope, “See, all’s well, Papa,”

She waved as Errol nearly missed the open window, flying off.

He held out his hand as Violet clammored over the chairs around the table to him. She placed the letter in his waiting palm as she stood on a chair next to him. She craned her neck to see the letter.

“It’s for you,” He said, reading the greeting line, recognizing Molly Weasley’s flowy penmanship. He held the letter behind him as Hermione plucked it from his fingers.

“Oh, how sweet. Molly wants us to come for a holiday. I’d imagine they have all sorts of room in the new burrow with everyone grown and gone. What do you think, Sev? Fancy a drive out into the countryside?” She smirked knowing his thoughts by now. He’d stare off and remind her that apparition was far more convenient than her fossil fuel driven muggle contraption. She’s retort with a defence that it was only mentioned in a cliche’d manner.

“Papa, Papa, Papa, can we go??” Violet now climbed in his lap, her tiny legs with their pointy, jabby knees digging into his thigh as she ascended his tall form, “We ‘aven’t seen Aunt Molly in ages,” She begged, trying not to facetiously pout. Her curly black pigtails bounced as she attempted to contain her squirm of excitement.

His sigh almost sounded annoyed, though both girls knew it was his last line of resistance before he’d give in.

“Will that daft git, Ronald, be there?” He picked his paper back up and shook it to straighten the creases; Violet turned in his lap to read along with him, laying her head back against his chest.

“Doubtful,” Hermione was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. She placed the bowls on the table, joining them now. She creamed and sugared Violet’s bowl before preparing her own, “He’s travelling with a regional Quidditch team as an alternate. Likely Molly misses the din of people around. That’d be my guess for the invite.” She bit the corner off her toast as his dark eyes peered over the top of his paper to meet hers. Though it was covered by the rest of the Daily Prophet, she knew he held a sour countenance.

“I know you’d rather not be particularly social, but it might be nice to holiday. Just a few days?” She appealed to him with a bit of a compromise from the week long stay Molly had offered.

“Papa, we can get some shrivelfigs! Aunt Molly has that lovely grove in the back. I bet there’s lots of good ingredients we could get for the laboratory!” Violet might have been just a small girl, barely the age of five, but she was clever and intuitive - she knew how to persuade her father in a way that didn’t make him feel taken advantage of, but rather part of the advantageous.

“I suppose there are worse places to take our holiday -” He waited longer than necessary to affirm his participation, “Will the store be properly staffed?” He questioned Hermione, laying his paper down once more. Violet looked back and forth between her parents.

“As if I hadn’t already considered that,” Hermione cocked an eyebrow as she pointed Violet to her seat. She wriggled from her father's lap, but didn’t once take her concentration from the conversation, “We were due for some time away from the apothecary, so I’d already filled any vacancies.”

“Put your napkin over your jumper, little miss,” Severus said just before she was about to blindly scoop a heaping spoonful. She tucked a napkin into her neckline, protecting the green velvet jumper, covering the silvery embroidered ‘V’, “We could use a bit of countryside,”

Hermione knew that was as close to an affirmative answer she’d wrangle from her husband.

“Yaaay!!!” Violet cheered, flinging her spoon in her pumping fists. The porridge on it sailed through the air, landing on her father’s freshly pressed clothing. Luckily his cloak was still hanging by the door, but his trousers and black buttoned coat had a less lucky fate. Violet went wide eyed, covering her gaping mouth with her hand. Hermione’s eyes widened as well, but her hand concealed a smile of amusement more so than a gasp of shock. With Violet being so young and unable to legally practice magical spells, they did a number of things without them. Occasionally they would teach her something or user a bit of magic here and there, but in this moment, Hermione could see that he wanted to whip out his wand and clean the soiled garment, but her eyes warned him not to. He pursed his lips the way he always did that made the corners almost curl upwards.

“I’m sorry, Papa…” Violet seemed apprehensive, worried she might draw scorn. But as always, Severus remained calm with her - Hermione was often amazed at his even temperament when it came to raising their child. She’d witnessed many times where his patience was thin at best and his temper short-fused.

“Violet, you must remember to be aware of yourself and your actions,” He tried brushing away the mess, but the black cloth shown stains all to obviously, “I ought to change again,” His own napkin snapped to the table as he stood. The chair legs scooted against the floor. He glanced back at his daughter whose eyes flashed purple again behind the welled up tears, “I don’t care for this shirt much, anyway,” He did not smile but there was a subtle wink as he excused himself. Hermione wasn’t even sure he really had until the tender smile on her daughter’s face gave him away.

“Finish up and go collect your books, it's almost time for school,” Hermione ushered her daughter to finish breakfast. She finished the last few bites of her own before excusing herself from the table as well.

Severus hadn’t been particularly thrilled with the idea of his child attending a muggle primary school. It took quite a bit of coaxing and outright bribery to win over his agreement.

“Who’d have ever thought that a five-year-old girl would have Severus Snape wrapped around her tiny little pink painted finger?” Hermione teased Severus as she entered their bedroom. He was unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt, stone faced as ever. Though she teased, she still approached him, starting to unbutton the main division of his coat.

“I could imagine you’re somewhat jealous of that fact. So many men are similarly taken with their wives while you lose out to a toddler.” His sarcasm and satire were always so dry and subtle that a less keen ear wouldn’t have picked up on them. But after all this time, Hermione had learned much about being in the affections of Severus Snape. He was clever and funny, but in his own unique fashion. You had to work to understand him and not react with too much impulse. His rapport was challenging and its what Hermione needed to stay engaged and interested.

They were far more of a pair than either of them (or any one else on Earth for that matter) had imagined.

“I’m not worried about my place in this family, not one bit,” She replied with a confidence that matched his wit, “I’m not easily threatened, darling,” Her words sounded sweet, but they were equally venomous.

“Oh?” He cocked his eyebrow, his eyes darting towards their bedroom door, barely cracked open, “Are you also not easily…” His hand slid behind her neck, snaking up into her hair as he grabbed a handful of her curly mane, “manipulated?” He titled her head back as that small gasp escaped her lips. She had to steady her body by pressing into his. His chest and torso were bare as his shirts hung open.

“If I recall correctly, you respond rather well to being told e x a c t l y what to do,” His voice quieted - he leaned forward, letting his hot breath and lips graze the exposed arc of her neck, “In fact, I bet if I slip my hand down your knickers I’ll find a soaking wet cunt desperate for,” he purposefully stunted his words, his eyes drinking in every feature, every instinctual reaction of her body, “Satisfaction,”

“You think so?” She tried to sound contrary, but she struggled, “Cocky sod, aren’t you…”

A chuckled hummed in his throat; that sound alone could obliviate her knickers in an instant.

“I like it when your feisty,” He released her hair and the two stood toe to toe, breath to breath reveling in their own sexual tension.

“I’m ready!!” Violet’s cheery voice called from down the stairs and Hermione tried to unflush her cheeks.

“Perhaps when you return from dropping Violet off, we could start our own little holiday a bit early,” He suggested, his finger tip tracing the line of her lower lip. She’d grown into such an incredibly attractive and desirable witch of a woman. He couldn’t believe how often he was compelled to touch her.

Hermione smirked, kissing the tip of his finger before suckling it, letting her tongue slowly and lazily swirl around it.

“Perhaps when I get back, Professor Snape might feel like putting a naughty little school girl in her place…” She suggested before kissing his lips softly and retreating from their room to leave him with that thought.

She’d been surprisingly open to being sexually adventurous with him; for them roleplaying wasn’t entirely taboo, but considering he had been her professor, this was maybe a little more so. He redressed in something he often wore as a teacher, imagining the way Hermione still fit marvelously well into her school uniform, though she filled out the sweater slightly more now. She’d fashioned the skirt slightly shorter, the v-neck lower; she played the part of a naughty student well considering how well behaved of a student she’d been...for the most part.

Just as he buttoned up his shirt, Violet burst through the door, her arms wide open for her father. He knelt down without hesitation and accepted her into his own embrace. She was a spectacular child and he loved her deeply, moreso than he’d even imagined.

“Love you, Papa,” She whispered, pulling away slightly.

“And I you, my little flower,” He tapped her forehead with his own then gently nuzzled the tip of his nose to hers. As she ran off again, Hermione stood in the doorway smiling. Severus Snape as a doting, affectionate father (at least in his own way) was not a sight that anyone could have predicted, crystal ball or no.

“You know, the two of you can be nauseatingly sweet sometimes,” She ribbed him a little before following their daughter out of the house.

“Disrespecting the faculty,” He murmured to himself before smiling wickedly, “That’s worth at least one detention, Miss Granger.”

#severus snape #hermione granger #SNAMIONE #Post War AU #snape lives au #snape lives #fan fiction #hpfanfic #harry potter fanfiction

40 notes · View notes

ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years ago

Text

Lace

(Hayffie ❤️🔥. Exploration of the potential of Effie and Haymitch through time using lace as metaphor. I spent several days channeling what I imagine of Effie as I tried to write this just so. It was worth the effort. NSFW. Sexual content toward the end.)

“I used to rummage around in my grandmother’s trunks trying to find them. I love the feeling of chiffon and lace.” — Stevie Nicks

***

Lace was Effie’s earliest gateway to a partially hidden self. Scallops, finely knitted with silk thread, swirled in her hands and opened a dream world. She stepped into it with great anticipation. Beneath white lace she could be a ghost. Not the ghastly kind that frightens the world, wailing the aches of an unfinished life. But the ethereal kind that floats through the halls, unencumbered by expectation. In her imagination, everyone would pause to gaze upon her. They’d all still to listen to the rustling of the fabric of her existence.

In lace, she could become whoever she wanted to be.

As a little girl, she dressed up in riches and regal innocence, draping herself in her Nana’s long pearl necklace and lace shawl. She served tea in painted porcelain cups to painted porcelain dolls. “Manners, children! Don’t slurp your tea. Curl your pinkies, and you’ll grow up to be great ladies.”

By 8 years old, she felt quite grown up herself, caught between innocence and incipient desire, crushing on the boy who’d just won the Games. She picked a bouquet of flowers from the garden. “I’m Proserpina now, goddess of fertility, agriculture, and wine...” She ate six pomegranate seeds, and pulled the shawl over her eyes as a veil. “...Someday I’ll be the bride of Pluto, God of the underworld and mineral wealth. He’ll love me like no other, and I the same for him. They call him Haymitch now, but I know his true identity. I’m the only one.”

She scooped up one of her dolls and wiped its porcelain neck with the corner of the shawl. “There. You’re pretty again, Maysilee darling. Those awful pink birds are gone. You’ll come with us to live in the underworld with diamonds and rubies and sapphires. Nobody there is ever really dead. You’ll be the princess, and I’ll be the queen.”

In lace, she worked through the trauma that existed in witnessing so much death.

“And isn’t that at its core what the princess fantasy is about for all of us?... ‘Princess’ is the wish that we could protect them from pain, that they would never know sorrow, that they will live happily ever after, ensconces in lace and innocence.” — Peggy Orenstein

***

There was lace between them the first time Haymitch touched her. The delicate gloves she wore met his fingers with surprising softness. He’d shaken hands with lacy-gloved Capitol women countless times. He’d pressed his lips to their knuckles when they presented their hands for kissing. He got that shit a lot, and most of the time it annoyed him. Those textures were predictably coarse.

The first touch of Effie was alluring. That silky fabric full of holes peaked his curiousity about the feeling of her skin. They’d just met, and he didn’t want to let go of her. Not yet. Damn. Attraction to an opulent Capitol girl was a complication he didn’t need.

“Nice gloves, sweetheart.” He couldn’t resist. The moment felt too good to say nothing.

Through layers of makeup, he could see her blush. Another surprise. She didn’t drop his hand. They held on until the spots where they touched infused with a shared warmth. It didn’t take long, with both of them wondering how it would feel to play with fire.

Flint struck steel, and sparks flew for years as they goaded each other with words and mannerisms. The burn was slow seduction. There are dualities to lace. It can’t decide whether it’s an angel or a devil. In those years of indecision, Effie touched him many times through gloves: curling her hand in the bend of his elbow, brushing against the back of his neck accidentally on purpose, skimming her fingertips across his forehead to push his hair from his eyes when he was drunk enough not to object.

She took to interlacing her fingers with his the moment one of their tributes was killed in the arena.

“Don’t.” He bristled at first. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?! I don’t want them to die. You know it hurts me too.”

She was getting too attached. She’d need to find a way to toughen up if she was going to keep doing the job. And he wanted her there. Holding her hand took a slight edge off the horror. He was getting too attached — to her. He recognized it.

“I’m not hurting.” His words were unconvincing. He took a long drink, and he didn’t let go of her until the flask was empty.

“Give me lace and whiskey.” — Alice Cooper

***

The system, ultimately fragile, was indeed brought down by berries — and blood. After the revolution, resources that Effie had always taken for granted were scarce. During the early years of reconstruction, she asked Greasy Sae to teach her how to mend lace. The old woman repaired it for resale using just an ironing board, straight pins, a needle, thread, and scissors.

“I ain’t gonna ask how your panties got ripped, dear.” She winked. “But I can show you how to fix ‘em.” Sae could fix most anything, and Effie enjoyed spending time with her. It was like rummaging again in her grandmother’s trunks, but finding treasure in pearls of wisdom.

Effie’s connection with Haymitch had caught fire when the world did. The timing made sense. One intensity begets another, like creation.

After learning on small items, Effie moved on to mending more precious swaths of lace like the heirloom tablecloth in her apartment. Haymitch sank into her sofa, and watched her work in a slip and an sheer robe printed with flowers. Her hair kept falling in her face so she pulled it back into a ponytail.

Her hair alone turned him on. He took swallows from a glass of Capitol liquor that he didn’t know by name, and he thought about holding onto that ponytail and fucking her.

She felt his eyes on her. “You’re suddenly fascinated with sewing?” she asked without looking up from the stitching.

“I’m fascinated with you.” The words weren’t playful. They pulled her heartbeat into her gut. Butterflies. They’d been seeing each other for over two years, and he could still tug at her without touching.

A smile lit up her face.

“Are you almost done with that, sweetheart?”

“Patience. When your leg breaks, you can’t rush the bone to fuse back together.”

“Are you planning on breaking my leg? Because I’ve already got another bone for you to fix.”

“Your ‘bone’ can wait for the sake of art.”

“...I’m gonna make you come, honey. If that ain’t art, then I don’t know what is.”

The flush of her cheeks and the swell along the axis of her body were distracting her, but she finished the task regardless.

She removed the pins, lifted the lace from the ironing board, tied a small knot in the thread, and clipped off the excess to finish. She sat with him on the sofa to inspect her work. Her stitches were precisely as tight as the weave of the lace. The fix was fairly perfect.

The tablecloth draped across her lap and spilled over her legs. Through the lace, he caressed her thighs, her knees, her calves, then back up again. She was too affected to nag him about being careful with her masterpiece.

“You like this,” she murmured.

Hell, yes. “I like almost seeing you through it... touchin’ you... You’re so fine, Effie.”

‘Fine’ was a word he generally used when they argued, when something wasn’t quite right and when he didn’t want to talk about it. This context felt different.

Shit. I’m into her. If I don’t keep this in check, I’m gonna be so into her. “...Can I...?” He asked in response to his unvoiced feelings.

“What do you want, honey?”

He stroked the apex of her thighs through the lace and her satin slip.

She moaned softly.

“You like this too.” His voice was thick with desire to swallow the sounds that escaped her throat. He’d start there, then move on to the rest of her.

“Hell, yes...” she sighed, sliding her fingers up the short sleeve of his shirt.

The tablecloth fell away and they clutched each other, as if she might dissolve into molecules, as if he might disappear. It was like that sometimes — grasping, clinging need.

Stay.

Please stay.

“I stare at her collarbone that’s framed with lace, the hollow of her collarbone, her shoulders that rise with each rise of the weight of her next breath. We’re fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?” — Lauren DeStephano

***

In the old days of the Capitol, lace curtains were a means to show off assets. In the Trinket family home, lace hung for years in the windows of the parlor, showcasing an antique grand piano and furniture made of mahogany and velvet. Less ostentatious and commonplace items were relegated to rooms cloaked in thick window coverings or not visible from the street.

Effie was raised in this manner, instructed in the duality of garnering attention and practicing concealment. Lace has the capacity to reveal, on occasion, something you might rather hide — whether when used to line your parlor, cover your body in a second skin, or partially cloak the contents of your heart. People take risks in lace.

Effie peered into her parents’ marriage and understood her own desires were different. “Did you love Father when you married?” she asked when her mother chastised her about spending so much time with the victor from District 12.

“This conversation is about YOUR future, not my past,” her mother responded without answering the question. “At your age, you certainly should be thinking about marriage, but for heaven sake not with a savage. Taking up with him is impractical. It will ruin your life.”

Effie worked to hold the lid on the pot boiling inside her. “He is not a savage. I ‘took up’ with him years ago, and my life is my own. I might move to 12, and I might never marry. Those are MY choices to make.” She resisted the urge to flinch. As a girl, being that frank with her mother would have prompted a slap in the face, but her childhood was long gone.

Her mother was stunned into silence, so Effie asked again, “Are you in love with my father?”

“...Are you in love with Haymitch?” Her mother again ignored Effie’s question, though her tone softened in curiosity. She at least acknowledged that she knew his name.

“Yes,” Effie answered without hesitation, hoping her admission wouldn’t pose a threat to him. She recognized the balance of power had shifted. The Trinkets’ curtains weren’t lace anymore. The contents of the parlor had been sold. Nothing was as it used to be.

“How do you know?” Her mother asked. “How do you know you love him?”

“I’ve always known.”

“Always?”

“From my early memories, playing that we were king and queen of the underworld. Playing with metaphorical fire, even then. ...I want to be with him. I love him so much it hurts.”

“Love shouldn’t hurt, honey.”

“How could you know?”

“Because I love YOU.”

“And how do you feel about what I’m telling you now?”

“You’re a grown woman, Effie. ...Though I can’t help but feel heartbroken picturing you in that life.”

“Love is a rock against the wind. Not soft like silk and lace.” — Etheridge Knight

***

Haymitch returned from the Hob to find his front door unlocked. Adrenaline shot to his arms and legs, and he unsheathed his knife before stepping inside. All was silent. Maybe he’d simply forgotten to lock it. Unlikely though since he did that reflexively, even when he was drunk. He misplaced his keys sometimes, but he never left home without locking the door.

Anxiety grew in the stillness. He checked every room downstairs, then tiptoed up the staircase. He found the *intruder* asleep on his unmade bed.

Effie was dressed — scarcely — in white stretch lace stockings hooked with garters to a matching top. He remembered her calling that kind of thing a bustier, though he’d never seen this one before. She was curled up on her side, and he saw in profile her naked hip and the smooth curve of her ass.

She’d said she had to work this weekend, so her showing up was a surprise. He sheathed his knife as the increased blood supply eased away from his limbs and flowed straight to his groin. From the rush of adrenaline and Effie’s sensual appearance, his heart beat like crazy. His mind was sharp despite lightheadedness. Fucking adrenaline. He knew it as well as anything else.

He quietly removed his boots, peeled off his clothes, and slipped into bed beside his girl. Her even breathing soothed his frayed nerves. He watched her chest rise and fall, and he took in more details of her attire.

The bustier pushed her breasts together, creating a hint of cleavage in a large teardrop-shaped opening between them. Two extra straps emerged from the lace above the peak of the teardrop. They passed over her collarbones, along the sides of her neck, and slid down her back.

Her nipples, soft in sleep, were visible through the lace. The fabric cupped her breasts then stretched to her waist. Everything below was bare — no panties, no thong, nothing but her. Then the stockings.

He had never wanted to touch someone so badly everywhere at once. He curled his fingers around her hip and plucked kisses on her forehead until she stirred.

Good morning, sweetheart; he tried to tease since it was already late afternoon, but the words must have spun in his lungs with his breath, because nothing came out.

Effie rubbed her eyes awake, like a child dressed up in the body of a goddess. “Hey, stranger...” was all she could say before he sucked the rest of the greeting from between her lips.

“What was the point in satin and lace if it didn’t make a man struggle to speak?” — Alexandra Ivy

***

Their reunion was ardent and greedy. He was all sinewy flesh, and she touched him every place she could reach with her hands, arms, legs, body, mouth... He reciprocated the contact with mutual intensity, barely taking care not to crush her. She was like a bird with lacy feathers. He pulled away long enough for her to sing...

“God, you feel good. You’re worth every mile of that infernal train ride.”

He inched down her body, tracing one of the bustier straps with his chin as he kissed along her neck, down her throat to the lace and the unexpected cleavage. “You surprised me.”

“I’m sorry. I’d planned to call out when you opened the door, but the bed was warm, and the sheets smell like you, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open.”

“I’m not complaining. I’m just feeling every ounce of adrenaline pumping now in my dick.”

Through the lace, he stroked one of her breasts with his tongue and the other with his thumb. When her nipples peeked through the fabric, he scissored one between his teeth.

Her jaw dropped open. She sucked in a breath and held it until he shifted his attention to her other breast. There was a moment of release, then she gasped again as the pleasure deepened. She exhaled in words, “I’ve got plans for you.”

Uneasiness crept in. “What plans?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll like it.” With a fingertip, she traced around the teardrop on her chest. “You want to fuck me... here?”

Sandwiched between her breasts with soft lace covering the head of my dick? “Only a fool would say no to that.”

She propped up on pillows. “Come here...”

He straddled her rib cage, taking care not to crush her. She held his hips as he slipped through the teardrop into the valley between her breasts.

Ahh, fuck...

She positioned her palms to accentuate the function of the bustier, squeezing him with her flesh. Then she entwined her fingers over the lace on top of his dick. “Is this good?”

His answer was obvious. He was already thrusting. “Oh, fuck,” he cried aloud this time, feeling the pressure, friction, and excitement of her sheathing him like a knife.

With each movement, his balls grazed the lace too. It was so much sensation. He ran his fingers along her scalp, threading them through her hair. He couldn’t think, and he was afraid of pressing too hard on her sternum and hurting her. “Are you alright?”

“Honey, this is hot as hell. Keep fucking my breasts for as long as you can hold out.” She tightened her grip.

His strokes quickened. “I haven’t got much left before... God... Effie...”

“Where do you want to come, honey? On my neck? In my mouth? Inside me with me coming too?”

He was close, so damn close. In a blink, he pulled out of the sheath and the teardrop, breathing hard. “Shit. Give me a minute. Don’t move and don’t say anything.”

She froze as requested, with her hands still on her breasts. The veil slipped, and she understood what was happening. He was choosing her — intimate connection and pleasure WITH her. She fought tears from welling up because she didn’t want to explain them. She just wanted him to make love with her, and she realized it was happening.

As if to prove it, he stretched out flush against her body and kissed her as before, like he couldn’t wait. “Inside you, with you coming too. That’s what I want.”

She wrapped her legs, esconced in lace, around him and drew him in. With each plunge he was swimming, feeling the waves as she clenched him deep.

“Slow down, honey. I wanna wait for you.”

Thrilling in his words, she had to force her internal muscles to relax and loosen their grasp.

He propped up on one arm and drew circles on her clit.

“Mmmm... Keep that up, and you won’t have to wait much longer.”

Gentle tugs and circling grew more insistent as his body was losing patience.

Her body clenched him again of its own volition. “Oh... I’m... Oh, honey... It’s so delicious....”

“Fuck, Effie. You’ve gotta... Holy shit...”

“Ohh, I can’t stop... Are you....”

“Yeah.” He grunted as the waves overtook him. “Oh, hell... This is it.”

As they climaxed together, the veil slipped, and he understood what was happening. This was more than adrenaline and far beyond fucking. He was making love with her. He was loving her more than anything they were doing in this bed. He loved this girl, HIS girl.

As their breathing slowed, he kissed her as if she was the most intoxicating drink of his life. And, damn it, she probably was.

“You waited.” Her tears welled up. She couldn’t stop those either.

“It’s like holding back wild horses, sweetheart.”

“Four black horses and an ebony chariot.” She said, thinking of the myth she played at long ago.

“Something like that.” Though the analogy was ominous. It reminded him too much of the Games, and he was already shaky coming down from the rush of adrenaline. He collapsed against her. She felt his tremors, and he felt her tears. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this feeling?

“Shh... It’s alright. We can do this,” she said to herself as much as to him. “We’re a team. Remember?” You’re not alone anymore.

She held him until the shaking stopped. All he had to do was let her.

“What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again.” — Anais Nin

***

The little girl had reached an age when everything in existence was a discovery followed by a question. With all her might she dragged a small cedar chest from the corner of the closet. “What’s this, Nana?”

“It’s buried treasure, Baby Doll. Would you like to open it?”

The little one clapped her hands in anticipation and lifted the latch. Though the springs had worn out long ago, the girl was strong enough to lift the lid without assistance. It fell back onto its hinges, revealing the contents within. She peered inside with eyes wide open.

“Those treasures are old and precious. Most are very fragile. Will you promise to be ever so careful?”

She nodded with serious intent, then rummaged inside to pull treasures out. One by one, she took them to her Nana in the rocking chair...

A lace shawl, a long strand of pearls, two porcelain tea cups, and a porcelain doll with a painted face. A dried bouquet of flowers in a locked wooden box with a glass lid. Golden lace gloves knitted with silk thread. A sheer robe printed with flowers. A yellowed lace tablecloth. A purple corset and a white lace bustier. Plus many sentimental trinkets including a paper card with birds on the front and an inscription inside. The girl was too young still to read.

“What’s it say, Nana?” The little one climbed into her lap and waited for the words.

It reads, “Effie and Haymitch. I wish you happiness. Love, Mother.”

“That’s you and Grampa!”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Where’d all this treasure come from?”

Effie thought a moment.. “it comes from smiles and tears, laughter and fits of madness. From a life full of diamonds and rubies and sapphires — not the kind you dig up from an underground world, but the kind you carry in your heart.”

“It would take a giant heart to carry all that!”

“That’s why we share our lives with the people we love. So we have more than one heart to hold all that treasure.”

The girl rubbed her eyes and snuggled against Effie, “Nana, tell me a story.”

With her arms around her granddaughter, Effie began... “Once upon a time there was a girl who lived inside a rainbow. She’d reach for the colors around her, but her hands were always empty because the rainbow wasn’t real. So she filled her hands with love, and she painted a real life in all the colors she used to live within but couldn’t touch...”

Effie’s granddaughter clutched the old lace shawl as she fell asleep.

“Concealment and revelation. A veil and a shroud. Chastity and wildness. Fragility and resilience. Complexity and simplicity. Curiosity and knowing. Teasing and fulfillment. Thrill and comfort... These are my hopes for you, Baby Doll,” Effie whispered.

Lace becomes what we need it to be.

“Hopes were wallflowers. Hopes hugged the perimeter of a dance floor in your brain, tugging at their party lace, all perfume and hems and doomed expectation. They fanned their dance cards, these guests that pressed against the walls of your heart.” — Karen Russell

22 notes · View notes

secret-engima · 5 years ago

Note

You mentioned an x-over with au and my mind automatically went ‘aeon meeting Nox and Ardyn’

Okay for THIS one I’m gonna be weird and try a fusion. Probably a bad one but HERE WE GO (note that this takes place during the early chapters of your fic? Just cause that’s what the muses wanted).

-Aeon gets thrown to Gilgamesh by a non-time-traveled Ardyn, and he still gets brutally trained by Gilgamesh but because this is a fusion and I’m feeling sappy, we’ll say the time-travel for Ardyn and Nox happened RIGHT after Aeon got thrown into the Tempering Grounds.

-It still takes Ardyn about eight months to finish sorting through the memories of this parallel dimension fused self and go OH SNAP and tear off for the Tempering Grounds with Nox on his heels.

-Aeon is in the middle of scraping what food he can from the scraggly garden when he feels the ground shake. Feels … something roll over his skin like fury and storms and ANGER and blood and hears his (tormentor) mentor howl in hatred that turns … pained?

-Aeon grabs his sword and runs to investigate. A part of him thinks to just take the chance and run, but he doesn’t think he’ll make it that far and if there is a greater threat about to come for him, he wants a chance to watch and see its weaknesses.

-Aeon is NOT expecting to see Ardyn. Ardyn wreathed in blood red flames, Ardyn with an entire armory of blades spinning around him as he tears Gilgamesh limb from limb with a tightlipped expression that Aeon thinks must be the fury he can taste in the air. Aeon decides that, as fascinating as it is to see Gilgamesh and Ardyn screaming at each other and tearing each other apart, this is a prime chance to run. So he does.

-He draws his sword and nearly beheads the person following him a second later. The sword is blocked effortlessly and blood red eyes drill into him with some emotion Aeon doesn’t care about, “Easy,” scoffs the black haired boy who must be his age, something world-weary and dark in his features that reminds Aeon of looking in a mirror, “I know a shortcut out.”

-“I don’t trust you.”

-A curl of lips, dark and feral, “You’d rather deal with all the monsters THAT,” a thumb over his shoulder at the screaming fight, “will stir up?”

-Aeon scowls as the boy slips by him, unafraid of exposing his back to Aeon just like Gilgamesh was unafraid.

-Aeon follows him out.

-He doesn’t know how long its been since he saw sunlight, just that it was too long, and for a moment Aeon has to stop and bask in it despite everything going on. The boy waits a wary distance away, watching the entrance to the Tempering Grounds and not flinching when the earth shakes. Aeon looks around and spots a campfire smoldering and something smells … good. The boy sees his look and says, “I cooked some fresh Behemoth sirloin. Figured you’d be hungry for something that didn’t come out of the ground.”

-Aeon eyes the boy warily, and for a moment considers questioning him as to why he is here, why he came, why ARDYN came and can apparently wield magic.

-Then he decides that it can wait until he’s eaten. The boy keeps watch on the entrance while Aeon eats, and Aeon is just finishing his first non-vegetable meal in months when Ardyn comes out, blood on his clothes but no wounds on his person, a dark look in his eyes that raises every hair on Aeon’s body. “There you are,” murmurs Ardyn and something in his eyes looks … off, “I feared you had died.”

-Aeon bristles, “You’re the one who threw me in there.”

-Ardyn looks away, studying the horizon line, “A grievous sin I have now rectified. There are supplies in the pack to your left, take them. Consider them a present for surviving Gilgamesh.” And Aeon wants to stab the man, wants to throw the bag at Ardyn’s head, but between one blink and the next the man is gone, vanishing into the shadows of the trees.

-The black-haired boy, who’s eyes are now blue rather than red, does not leave. He stays, and when Aeon breaks camp and leaves, he follows behind.

-Aeon snarls at him, hand on his mother’s sword hilt, “What do you want?”

-The boy blinks at him, “My name is Nox.”

-Aeon bares his teeth, his father’s fangs showing, “That’s not what I asked.”

-Another blink and thoughtful stare at the sky and then a slow, “Well. I suppose I want a friend.”

-And its the dumbest lie Aeon has ever heard, to the point where all Aeon can do is walk away in disgust.

-Nox follows him.

-It becomes a theme. Nox occasionally disappears, but never for more than a few days, then he always pops up again, falling into step in Aeon’s peripheral vision, just out of range of attack, content with the silence no matter how much Aeon tries to make him go away. Aeon thinks maybe Nox will leave once Aeon makes it to an outpost. He doesn’t.

-They end up taking Hunts together, only because Aeon can’t make him GO AWAY.

-Eventually he stops trying. Either Nox will get bored and leave or he won’t, and until then Nox follows him around, hunting extra food or helping to bring down monsters for the gil (not that Aeon NEEDS the help, but Nox listens to every demand except the one to GO AWAY)

-And so it continues for like- ten months. And eventually Aeon stops trying to make Nox go away or ignoring Nox when he finally breaks the silence between them to say something. Nox is just … always there. A constant fixture that does nothing to sway Aeon one way or another, or use him, or anything that makes SENSE.

-Sometimes he thinks about what Nox said all those months ago. About wanting a friend.

-Aeon doesn’t quite know when he started to think it just might be true. Not because it makes sense, but because nothing about Nox makes sense (he is Ardyn’s nephew, he claims, but he is so clearly an illegitimate Lucis Caelum even without the open use of magic around Aeon it’s a wonder no one else can tell) and if anyone would hang around Aeon just for … “friendship” rather than to use him as a weapon, it would be Nox. Stubborn, stupid, quiet Nox who sometimes acts just like Aeon and other times acts like someone else altogether (he’s messed up in the head, Aeon is certain, he’s seen the days Nox goes Quiet for reasons beyond Aeon refusing to have a conversation, the days Nox operates on instinct more than conscious thought).

-Aeon ignores the feeling in his chest the first time he grudgingly offers a hand to help Nox out of the dirt after a mistimed warp and Nox smiles at him with something like joy in his face. It makes no sense. But most of Nox doesn’t. So Aeon ignores it like everything else and they resume the hunt.

-Aeon doesn’t register the importance of their similar ages until well after he’s turned fifteen and a month or so after Nox mentions that he’s done the same. It really shouldn’t surprise him that they both present at the same time, when they both operate on the same routine and all, but somehow it does.

-It’s only sheer spite that keeps the two of them going to finish the hunt and not just lie down and drown in their combined emotions going EVERYWHERE, and he takes almost morbid amusement in the realization that Nox has no clue what is happening. Aeon has no patience to explain it beyond “keep fighting and we’ll deal later”.

-The two stagger back to an outpost and book a hotel room and somehow end up passing out in the same bed and for once Aeon is too freaking tired to care that Nox is within touching distance. It’s not like Nox is going to try anything, especially not when he’s just as miserable as Aeon.

-Later, after showers and joint miserable looks, they are approached by an Alpha Guide, who teaches them how to shield themselves. The Alpha Guide also gives Nox a crash course on basic biology that even Aeon knew, but apparently Nox did not as he hadn’t even known what it meant to be an Alpha Guide like Dave the Hunter.

-After they move on, Nox takes to occasionally reaching out with his emotions and mentally brushing against Aeon in affection-recognition-greeting before pulling back. Somehow, Aeon finds himself letting the slightest flickers of annoyance-greeting-affection slip out in return. Nox has grown on him, and even if the rest of the world is untrustworthy … Nox is too strange and dumb to use him as a weapon.

-And things go back to being routine. Him and Nox and occasionally Ardyn, who drops in with more supplies and news for Nox and a spar for Aeon after Aeon insists on learning how to combat the kind of red magic Ardyn uses.

-Then they overhear Niflheim Soldiers talking about their successful kidnapping of the Prince of Lucis and Nox growls, low and feral and for the first time since that day in the Tempering Grounds, Aeon can taste Rage on his tongue.

-Well. He supposes they’re off to rescue a princeling then.

(Gonna leave it here, hope you don’t mind this … basically AU drabble of your fanfic? But I wanted to try a fusion and then Nox was like “imma befriend Aeon before he ever gets revealed as Cor’s son” and so here we are.

Also they rescue Noctis and Noctis insta-recognizes Nox as a Relative and Nox panics and Aeon thinks he’s being Dumb but they walk Noctis to Hammerhead and Aeon gets shot and Nox goes BALLISTIC over it so whoops now they’re both revealed and Regis gets to join Cor on the “my son I didn’t know I had is Feral and Abused AAAAAA” boat).

#SE asks #sparklecryptid asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Nox verse #corling au #xover #sparklecryptid #other people's ocs #other people's fanfics

106 notes · View notes

bravonovel · 4 years ago

Photo

Begin Again: https://www.bravonovel.com/begin-again-7645

Begin Again novel is a second chance romance story, written by Val Sims.

A hot rebound is just what any doctor would recommend for Eden McBride's broken heart after a brutal breakup. Not really. But it's what she needs.

Liam Anderson is the perfect rebound guy. Dubbed the Three Months Prince because he's never with the same girl longer than three months, Liam's had his share of one night stands and doesn't expect Eden to be anything more than a hookup.

When he wakes up and finds her gone along with his favourite denim shirt, Liam is irritated, but oddly intrigued. No woman has ever left his bed willingly or stole from him. Eden has done both. He needs to find her and make her account.

But in a city with more than five million people, finding one person proves impossible, until fate brings them together again two years later.

Eden is no longer the naive girl she was when she jumped into Liam's bed; she now has a secret to protect at all costs. Liam is determined to get everything Eden stole from him, and it's not just his denim shirt.

Begin Again novel Trial Reading

"Can someone please tell me why I left our perfectly comfortable couch to freeze my ass off here?" Eden McBride glared at her three friends waiting patiently in the queue with her.

It's been over an hour, but the long line snaking its way around the block had barely moved.

Out of all the hangouts in Rock Castle, they had to choose Crush, one of the most challenging clubs to get into, especially on the one weekend when the hottest DJ in town makes an appearance.

"To help you get over the man whose name we won't mention!" Sienna, her best friend since primary school, said in a hushed tone. The clear plastic beads dangling on the ends of her long ombre braids chinked as she turned her head to match her death glare.

On her 'bad' days, Sienna was cute. But on a good day, like tonight, she was smoking hot. The guys milling about, desperate to get inside like they were, clearly thought so too. They could barely peel their eyes from her.

"Yeah, Eden, we've given you enough time to mope," Lydia chimed in as she snapped a quick selfie and posted it on her Instagram. Within seconds her phone pinged incessantly with notifications from millions of adoring fans. Lydia is a mega-successful YouTuber whose makeup videos have catapulted her to a goddess-like status on the internet.

"The sooner you get back on the bike, the better," Cassandra added, flicking her long blond hair over her shoulder as she pulled up the collar of her signature leather jacket. In the five or six years Eden's known her, she's never seen her in a dress. Not even once. For a self-proclaimed tomboy, Cassandra was effortlessly chic, and with her tall slim physique and delicate features, she could pull off any look.

In their crew, Eden was the plainest, and she was okay with that. Her skin was so pale she could never get a tan no matter how long she stayed in the sun. She tried colouring her long mousey brown hair a few times, but the constant retouching got old real quick. Her most striking feature was her slanted, brown eyes. Pity, she had to hide them behind thick-lensed glasses because she was almost as blind as a bat without them.

"He's moved on. You should do the same!" Lydia chimed in brutally. Subtlety was not her strong suit.

Eden sighed and rolled her eyes. Her friends meant well. But, she was okay with spending her days and nights in front of the TV binging on carbs and terrible reality shows. She was cool with not brushing her hair or changing her clothes for days on end. She was happy to cry herself to sleep and wake up with a puffy face and swollen eyes. But she didn't want to be rushed through her grief.

How could six weeks be enough to get over a lifetime of memories, of four years of happy moments and hopeful dreams, dashed in an instant?

"If this stupid line doesn't move in the next two minutes, I'm leaving," she hissed and pulled her trench tighter, glad she had the foresight to wear it even when her friends wanted her to ditch it because it was 'ruining her whole aesthetic'.

A Lamborghini screeched in front of the entrance, followed by a Ferrari and a Porsche. A group of men, as tall as the surrounding office towers and good looking enough to have walked straight out of a fashion magazine, jumped out of the three cars, threw their car keys at the valets, and made their way to the door.

Perhaps it was the long line that seemed to be going nowhere fast or the stress of the past few weeks, but when Eden saw the six towers trying to bypass the queue, she lost all her patience. Without thinking, she left her place and stormed to the entrance, her friends trailing behind her.

She tapped the very tall ginger, trying to smooth talk his way into the club, on the shoulder. He turned to look at her, his thick eyebrows fusing in a questioning frown.

Eden paused, her lungs struggling to keep up with her thoughts and take in simple breaths. With hair so bright like flames, she expected his eyes to be green. Not this denim blue. She could feel herself struggle against their pull.

"Eden, don't cause a scene," Sienna gritted her teeth and tugged at her arm.

But, Eden saw no reason to be polite. Not when she was almost frozen solid she could barely feel her ass.

She stretched to her full height as she tried to match the man's towering size. But even in her Jimmy Choo stilettos, she still had to look up at him.

"Can I help you?" He asked in a voice meant to melt the panties off of any woman within a kilometre radius.

As if he wasn't already deadly enough, he had a cleft too. The fact that it wasn't so prominent and only seemed to show itself when he spoke or smiled, which was all he did in the last fifty seconds, made it all the more devastating.

"I don't need your help," Eden said icily, hating him a little. He had no right to be so attractive.

"Okay, then!" He shrugged, showing off two rows of perfectly straight teeth as he smiled. They were so white she thought they might be veneers. They had to be. There was no way anyone would have such great teeth unless they had an excellent dentist.

"If you are done gawking at me–"

Eden held up her hand, irritated with herself for noticing all these things about him and hating him a little more for his presumptuous arrogance.

"Do you see all these people?" She glared at him and pointed at the endless line. "They've been waiting for over an hour. You can't just come here and skip the queue."

"Are you going to stop me, Princess?" His rust-coloured eyebrows shot up, his eyes sparkling with amusement and his Calvin Klein underwear model friends sniggered. Eden wanted so much to wipe the smirk off his face with her puny little fists. But she was an educated person. She didn't have to use her hands to prove her point. Words were just as powerful.

"If you have any decency, you'll do the right thing and wait in line like everyone else." She hissed, blinking furiously behind her black-framed glasses.

A hush fell over the small crowd gathered around them. Eden's friends kept tugging and pulling at her. But she was so over everything, including this night, and she refused to be intimidated by Red as he leaned down to stare at her at eye level condescendingly.

"I guess I'm not a decent person now, am I?" He blew a cold minty breath on her face and shrugged, returning his attention to the bouncer.

He flashed a few notes at the burly man, gathered up his crew, and waved at her group. "They are with us!"

Before Eden could even process his announcement, they were already inside the club, wading through a swarm of sweaty heaving bodies swaying to the music.

......

Continue to read Begin Again novel: https://www.bravonovel.com/begin-again-7645/chapter-1-crush-95332

Read the full story of Begin Again novel on Bravonovel App: https://www.bravonovel.com/download-bravonovel-app

#Begin Again #Bravonovel #novel #story #book #romance #Val Sims

1 note · View note

coconut-cluster · 5 years ago

Text

Family Resemblance

hey look, i wrote it too! because i love angst and pain ig.

Part 2

based off this post \\ ppl who wanted to be tagged: @remythehero @crazycookie13o @occasional-lamp-doodles @orangegiraffe7 @littlebadrose @heyhelloitsk @sunflower-shitposts @chelsvans @pinkroses030 @overlyinvestednverygay

general taglist: @shakesqueer-writes @gryffindorofcabin21 @romanticsanders @existentialburden @a-little-bit-of-ace @anon-turtle @kameraishere @thelowlysatsuma @sticksandanxiety @rosesandstuff @adorably-angsty @jemthebookworm @max-is-tired @analogical-mess @a-grayscale-galaxy @sweetsmalldog @tanyatoloni1334 @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @pawtonsanders

---

Virgil, in his defense, was really stressed out.

It had been a long, long day - a long day full of errands and the obligatory human interaction that came along with errands - and he’d been on edge since noon at least from all the travel, not to mention exhausted after yet another night of no sleep, and he couldn’t seem to shake a dull headache all day. He just wanted to drag himself into a corner and curl into a ball until everything faded away for a while. Needless to say, he wasn’t exactly a beacon of patience at the moment.

“That’s ridiculous, Logan!”

“I assure you, Roman, the only ridiculous aspect of this discussion is your attitude, but if you’re so irate about my suggestion, then I’m sure you have a far better one to offer?”

“I think we need to calm down a little, kiddos-”

Thomas gave a discomfited groan, squeezing his eyes shut while Logan and Roman continued arguing over Patton’s futile attempts at mediation. Virgil just kept his mouth shut, chewing on his bottom lip and tugging at the zipper on his sleeve enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if it wore out completely by the time he sank out; this was a stupid argument, pointless and frustrating and way too loud to just be about a video idea, and he was tempted to just sink out right then and there and let the others hash it out by themselves - but Thomas was anxious, so he was very, very (reluctantly) present.

“What do you think, Virgil?” Roman asked suddenly. Virgil looked up to find his and Logan’s eyes on him, clearly expecting him to pick a side. Hell no.

“I think you should leave me out of it,” he growled, “or you guys could stop acting like children and just compromise for once.”

Roman’s nose scrunched up at that. “Well excuse me, Ruby Gloom, but my idea is perfectly fine on its own, if only Logan,” he sent the logical side a pointed glare, which was quickly returned, “would actually let Thomas have a little fun once in a while!”

“Your ‘idea’ is hardly developed in any sort of executable fashion,” Logan countered. Virgil huffed a hair away from his face, hunching farther down on his step and curling his fingernails into his palms. “Not to mention-”

“I don’t need another lecture! I know what Thomas’ content should look like, thank you very much; need I remind you which one of us is his creativity, a-k-a the very basis of his life’s work? No? It’s me, I’m talking about me-”

“Aren’t you always,” Logan muttered.

“-and I think my ideas should be heralded with just a little more support, because I hate to burst your all’s bubbles, but I actually have pretty good ones! Just because you don’t like every single concept I come up with doesn’t mean I never have anything to bring to the table!”

Why did they have to be so loud? They weren’t even ten feet away from each other-

“Your ideas have been impractical,” Logan said, “not to mention half-witted, on more occasion than one.”

“Half-witted?!”

“It means foolish or idiotic-”

“I know what it means.”

Virgil gritted his teeth. This had gone on too long; Thomas and Patton knew it, too, and his fuse was burning short while they stood silently.

“I can’t- I don’t need you to like all my ideas,” Roman cried, “but you don’t even give them a chance! You’re always so stuck-up with your holier-than-thou attitude, you can’t even imagine that someone knows better than you-”

“Remus, just shut up!”

The yelling stopped.

Virgil expected it to - he never yelled back, just snapped a little louder than usual or, if worst came to worst, Tempest Tongue made an appearance - but the dead silence that fell over the five of them just screamed something bad. He looked up from where he was staring at a hole in his jeans and found everyone staring at him; Patton and Thomas’ eyes were wide, Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, but Roman-

Roman blinked at him with owlish eyes, mouth open as if he was on the verge of retorting but stopped short, and his complexion was ashen, a ghost of Thomas’ usual soft tan - but it was the inexplicable smattering of hurt across his face that made Virgil truly pause.

He’d told Roman to shut up plenty of times. Like, a lot. And a few of those instances had been fueled by the exact same amount of annoyance, and he knew Roman didn’t care too much about volume, so why...?

“Oh,” he realized a moment later. “Oh, my God.”

‘Remus, shut up!’

Remus-

“Roman,” he breathed, “I didn’t- I meant Roman, I didn’t mean to say that, I didn’t mean-”

“Kiddo,” Patton said quietly, reaching a hand toward the prince, who flinched away, and Virgil felt something in his chest constrict.

“It’s okay,” Roman said. His voice wobbled at the end, but he just cleared his throat as his gaze flickered to Logan’s weary expression, then Thomas’ clear discomfort. “It’s okay,” he repeated in a whisper, “I understand. I’ll just- please excuse me.”

And he sank out.

“Shit-” Virgil gripped the edges of his sleeves in his palms, glancing wildly between the three faces before him. “I didn’t mean it,” he insisted. “It was an accident, I really didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, Virgil,” Logan sighed. He shared a look with Patton, something unreadable passing through their met gaze - Virgil couldn’t help but feel it was about him. Couldn’t help but feel he deserved whatever silent criticism they were sharing.

“I have to go find him,” he said thickly, but Patton held a hand out to stop him.

“Give him a little time alone, kiddo.”

Virgil wanted to protest, to sink out right then and comb through the Mindscape until he found Roman and apologize til his throat was raw, because he knew how badly a stupid slip-up like that hurt the prince... but he also knew Patton knew best about emotions and cooldowns and apologies. So he swallowed, swallowed again when his throat just felt tighter, and sank back down on the steps, curling inward like his hoodie would swallow him and his shame if he tried hard enough.

If only.

#roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #angst #my writing

668 notes · View notes

jean-arclight · 5 years ago

Text

Helping Steven

Ok, so I know that we can only theorize that Steven can become corrupted and we can see many of both foreshadowing and theories on Steven corruption. However, I would like to talk about WHO will help Steven should he corrupt. Now how I am going about this is I’m gonna name the character and explain why they may either help in the process or how they may be the key in helping Steven.

Also one more note, most of the characters named have been helped by Steven so in a way, they all are returning their help. Anyways, let’s get to it.

1} The Crystal Gems

Let’s start off with some familiar characters.

Garnet was one of the first of the many character’s introduced in the series. She is more described as the leader of the crystal gems due to her leadership, calmness, and ability to see in the future (sapphire) and her strength, fierceness, and loyalty (ruby). However, we see that even Garnet can have her problems. She does have some doubts about herself such as thinking that she may seem that she might not care about the future due to her future sight and sometimes even getting to caught up in trying to see into the future to plan ahead in how to help. In a way, she’s too worried about what might happen in the future too worry about herself. This is where Steven comes in. Steven reminds Garnet that she shouldn’t worry about the future. That she should not worry at all. In other words, what happens happens. They’ll figure it out when it comes but we should be happy in the now moment. With this in mind, Garnet will help with Steven in helping him remind that they shouldn’t worry about the future. He’s worried that he might not be needed nor will he find that he is anything but useful. Garnet will be the one to remind him that the future is nothing we need to worry about and that we need to focus on the now.

Amethyst is maturity. Steven right now is so focused on being mature, as an adult. Amethyst, at the beginning, was really immature in a way. She acted like a child. She pulled pranks, caused mischief, and hardly ever listen. In a way, she’s Steven older sister. However, she slowly reveals why she acts the way she is. She’s feels unwanted, unneeded, not useful, and wondered why she was ever made. Once the others realize this, they try to change their ways which only caused more stressed. Steven, however, tries a different approach. He takes thing a bit slower. He shows that he needs Amethyst, that he accepts who she is despite her not being perfect. It especially shows their relationship when they fight Jasper before her corruption. With this, she shows that Steven is needed when he questions why he feels unneeded. She shows that it’s okay to still act childish as we all (even adults) have a child in us. That its okay to have fun every now and then.

Pearl can also be helpful in a way with feeling the need to serve another. I mean, she’s a pearl. They’re made to serve those who they’re made for. For Pearl, she served Pink Diamond for the first few thousands of years, then served Rose Quartz for the next thousands of year until Rose’s passing, and then lastly Steven. However, it was Steven who finally severed her servitude to anyone. He shows that she doesn’t need to serve anymore. That she should now focus on serving one person... herself. It’s okay to not serve, to not have to worry about that person, and to provide care for herself. Thus she shows to Steven that he doesn’t need to help anyone anymore. That he needs to start to practice self care now.

2} Connie

Connie is, in a way, Steven’s closest thing to humanity besides his father and the others on Beach City. Of course, with the recent leak, she may both be the cause for a possibly corrupted Steven (from her refusal of marrying him and also Steven taking it the wrong way and thinking that she doesn’t need him nor want him anymore) and the cure for Steven’s (again) possible corruption. From the beginning of the series, she has been by Steven’s side. His knight, much like Rose had Pearl. She went through what Steven had gone through, even as so much as carrying him when he couldn’t stand. In Hear comes a Thought, she had problems too. She is human and humans make mistakes. But Steven helped her through her mistakes, helped her learn to be her own person. To be independent. To be her own being, even this being said in the leak. (I want to be my own person). Steven is getting to a point where he doesn’t feel needed, to where he can’t live without the fear of something going wrong. That the only use for him was to be a protector for others. To be a shield, to be an entertainer, to be a therapist to others, to heal others, etc. He forgets that while he may be half gem, he is also half human. And as humans, we will eventually learn to be independent. That we will have to provide for ourselves. She will be the link in helping Steven find himself as he helped her find herself. She was “forced” to be someone else by her parents (not saying that her parents didn’t care about her but that sometimes when people want the best for their kids, that they need to take a step back to allow their kids to find themselves), she was a book worm and workaholic. Thus she was like a kid running on auto drive. She hardly had any friends nor family time and hardly ever made choices for herself. But Steven helped her with her problems by supporting her. Like helping her face her mom in wanting to fight and learn more about space, etc. or helping her not feel that much guilt in flipping a kid at school and help find a solution (just a few examples). She’ll help Steven calm down and eventually help him find hisself and become independent. Of course, she’ll have to go to college, but (hopefully) he’ll learn by then that it isn’t forever. She’ll be back and she’ll be with him on his path to recovery.

3} Greg

Ok, Greg is Steven’s second closest link to Humanity. He raised him, protected him, and tried his very best to support Steven as much as he could. Being a single father is hard, I know. My father (with the help from his side of the family) did his best to help raise me. It’s hard as I had no mother as did Steven as Rose left Steven. But me and Steven have one thing in common, we made a family. Steven will need Greg as Greg probably knows Steven the best (besides the Crystal Gems and Connie). Greg had hard times as well. His music “wasn’t” really successful (later given his rightful money he earn) and he lost his wife. But the thing that he does know humans can do, is move on. It’s hard, yes. But we have to keep going. Greg lost his wife, but not his son. Thus he’ll keep his act together a such as he can and will do what he can to support his son. He is successful. However, he stills has lots to teach to Steven in being an adult, mostly in moving on. Greg cut his precious hair, worked as much as could in the car wash, was injured (leg sprained, nearly injured from being pushed off a roof, etc.), kidnapped, etc. but despite all that he kept going on for his son. He support Steven as much as could even when he knew it was dangerous. HE had to trust his son to make decisions and despite him being protective, he had to move on as he knew his son was growing up, thus Steven had to learn how to make decisions for himself now. It’s all a part of growing up.

4} The Crystal Gems 2 (Lapis, Peridot, & Bismuth)

Lapis

Lapis is such a relative character that some people can agree on. Especially for some harsh relationships, and again with moving on. However Lapis had to take a lot of time to find a sense of peace and is working on building new relationships. She was hesitant on build relationships especially with people who are both new and were old enemies. She felt as if there was no one she could trust. Especially after that fusion with Jasper, she felt as if she needed it, despite all the abuse she was given and that she gave back. Even when trying to get along with Peridot and the Crystal Gems. She was hesitant. What if they try to force her to fuse? What if they poof her and bubble her or worse, trap her in a mirror? What if they betray me? What if I’m bad? She had all the right to be scared and hesitant, with all that she has been trough, how was she suppose to cope? She was scared. But Steven helped her see that all her fears and worries are just herself trying to cope. Steven helped release her from her prison. Steven helped healed her both physically and mentally. It took time and patience, but Steven was willing to wait for her and was willing to lend a hand when he could. Steven is in a situation where he believes that the people he trust the most as turning their backs. That they (again) don’t need him. That they are leaving because of him or are treating him the way he is, because he is useless. Lapis might help Steven in building relationships again. Yea, our friends will change, some will leave, some will turn enemies, and some will still treat you like a child. But the thing is to take time and let others come into your life when those who have hurt you, let them leave. It will hurt. It will leave you thinking that you did something wrong. But in order to cope, we need to build new relationships. Especially with those who know the same pains, those who won’t leave you, and those who will love you no matter what. Like Lapis did with Steven (helped teach her that things change and that you need time), Peridot (new relationships help bring a sense in belonging and helps cope with other relationships that may have hurt you), and the Crystal Gems (once enemies, can become friends if you give them the chance).

Peridot

Peridot, much like Amethyst, felt as if she was defective. That she needed the support the Diamonds once gave her. And like Pearl, that she needed to do everything that was need of those higher than her. She followed every rule. Rules are not meant to be broken. That’s what she was taught. However, spending time with Steven and the Crystal Gems, she was eventually taught that some rules are meant to be broken. Not all rules show that they are right. Some are justifiable but others are needed to be improved. Thus, once she slowly started to break her “rules”, she started to be the Peridot that we all know and love. She doesn’t use her limbs-enhancer anymore ( this being a rule with covering their flaws), she uses her powers now (forbidden), and she even talks back more (unacceptable). Thus she’ll show that its okay to break a few rules if they don’t sound right and that its okay to show your flaws. It what makes you, you.

Bismuth

Speaking on not wanting other for you to be around, Bismuth had shown a lot of that during her debut. She felt unwanted by Rose (of course, being used by Rose) and she felt unneeded by the Gems. However, Steven told her that they do still need her. Maybe not in the same way as they did in the past but as a friend to hang out with. A friend to play, to talk, to listen, and to learn. She has really improved. It shows that when they are fighting Blue and Yellow diamonds. She’ll show Steven that everyone still needs him, but not as their protector, not as their instructor, and certainly not as their entertainer. They need him as their friend. As their family.

5} centi

Obviously, Centi was helped by Steven who had absolute faith that she’ll regain herself. He helped her find her mind and body, just by having faith that she is still there. Centi will really help Steven cope if he’s ever corrupted. She’ll have faith that he’ll find himself, just like he did when Steven did with her. Thus instead of learning, She’ll help Steven as she was the first corrupted gem who he worked with. Thus in return, she along with other corrupted gems will help Steven heal.

6} Sadie & killer suspects

Sadie and the Killer suspects (or was once known as) was a bit of a hard one to think about. However, Steven had gotten them together. He helped them find their talents and while Buck, Sour Cream, and Jenny split from the group, they all had found something they love. Steven had been a piece in helping them find that.

Sadie

Sadie found her talent. Steven helped her bring it out and supported her through it all. He helped her in bringing out her talents and not to shame it but to embrace it. She’ll help Steven find something he’ll enjoy and maybe even help Steven in bringing out his true self.

Sour Cream

Sour Cream is kind of like a cousin to Steven as he was constantly babysit by Greg thus he’s bound to know Steven like a little brother or a cousin. While he didn’t have the best dad, his mother and step father helped him. Steven helped Sour Cream better understand family. Helped Sour Cream better understand his step father and helped ease his tension with his biological father. Thus Sour Cream will help Steven by reminding him that family is there to help him.

Jenny and Buck are a bit harder as they only appear is a few episodes. However, like Sadie, Sour Cream, and maybe Lars, they see Steven like a little brother or cousin as well. Steven has always supported them and helped them when needed thus they’ll be happy to return the favor.

7} Lars of the stars

Lars wasn’t the best at first the whole franchise. But he improved after a few seasons. He wanted to be cool. He wanted to be one of the cool kids. Yet somehow Steven always stole his chances in ever being cool. However the more time he spent with Steven, he sees that Steven is just being himself. How? He’s a kid? He’s nowhere near as cool as the other kids. Yet the cool kids are always hanging out with Steven. Why? Well, Steven is just being himself as he has the courage to be himself. He wants others to see him as who he is and not what he isn’t. Courage. Lars had always been on of the ones who would say “yea, I’m strong, I have no fear” yet he’ll run away rather than join the fight. Thus when he and Steven are taken to homeworld, It is all that is needed to have Lars grow a pair and gain courage. Thus he fights. When he fights, he truly shows who he is and then he isn’t afraid anymore. He can probably understand why Steven is able to get along with others so well as when he starts being himself, the other defective gems start to admire him. They like him for being himself. Thus, when Steven is starting to act differently, he starts becoming someone else (shown when he try’s to be a therapist, try’s to be a leader, and try’s to be a gardener). Lars will show Steven that he needs to be brave and be himself.

8} Andy

Andy is another hard one as he appear for a couple episodes. However, he is really supportive of his nephew. Yea, Greg may have left the family, but he still cares. I need help with this one but like the other humans, he may show that despite him traveling and hardly being in any episode, he’ll come back and help in any way he could. This showing that there is proof that even if his friends are somewhere far away, they’ll always come back.

9} Lion

Lion was another hard one to think about. I think he’ll be more like an emotional support animal. However, he’s clearly more than that. Pets sometimes mirror their owners actions. Thus when he was with Rose, he might have learned how to “heal” people. Specifically, again, like an emotional support animal. But he also won’t hesitant on letting anyone know that they did something wrong. Such as when Steven gave himself up to the diamonds, Connie was furious thus being around Connie a lot, he picked up on her emotions to know something was right. Thus acted against Steven letting him know that he did something wrong. I think Lion can help my calming him and with however he knows something is wrong, he’ll support the others in “taming” Steven as such as Steven (and Rose) tamed him.

10} the diamonds

The diamonds came a long way from being the enemies, to being friends. They still have their flaws but they’ve been learning to right their wrongs and change.

Blue

Blue is a lot more cheery and is able to get along with gets in an emotional way as she is able to express that she has feelings and that she doesn’t always have to hide them nor show that she has to be strong. Thus she’ll help with Steven’s emotions as to help him express it more than hide them.

Yellow

Yellow is a lot more at ease than keeping up the strict attitude. She makes jokes and shows that she loves them and is even shown that she likes to make Blue laugh. Thus she’ll show Steven to loosen up. Yea, we need a strict attitude and must keep professional, but we also meed to loosen up.

White

White saw everything was flawed and that needed to be corrected. That she had to be the symbol for perfection. However, even the shiniest diamond has her flaws. She was more of a mother. However, probably due to Pink’s childish nature and her tantrums. She probably thought she was doing something wrong. Why wasn’t she like Blue, Yellow, or herself? She had to fix it. She changed to something as what she sought as perfect and from there changed to a “villain”. But it took Steven to show that change is good but it can be bad. Flaws? Its natural. There is no such thing as perfection. Its all just an illusion. Its something that makes us different from others and that difference, that change, its good. Thus with all that has been changing around Steven and all the mistakes and flaws he sees, he may need some advice from someone who has been there. White lost Pink. A relationship lost. Change was bound to happen as she may have wanted to prevent any more lost of relationships. But theres a healthy way and a bad way to cope. Steven showed a better side to change and a better understanding of flaws. Thus White may need to remind Steven of what it means to change and have flaws.

11} Spinel

Spinel was also hurt a lot. She was left and abandoned. She felt as if she was played. Much like Lapis and Amethyst, she felt as if she was unneeded. But she coped differently unlike Lapis who ran away and Amethyst who acted like a kid or teen and gives attitude. She thought revenge would serve her right. She felt as if she needed to right the wrong by hurt others. And after the movie, she felt as if she messed up the chance to make things right and build new relationships. However, Steven told her to not give up hope. There is still time to make amends and time to make new friends. Now it is Spinel’s turn to remind Steven that there is hope. That he won’t be left alone. Least not for 6000 years. She’ll help remind him that amends can be made and that she’ll help him find a new healthy relationship once again.

12} Volleyball

Volleyball saw the worst side of Pink. It scarred her. Thus she hides it. She chooses to believe the better side and forget the worst. However, while trying to heal she learns from Pearl that you’ll heal. It’ll still hurt but its okay. You’ll cope. She learned it from Pearl, but she’ll need to teach Steven that while trying to forget and heal from his mother’s mistakes, that he needs to learn that bad side that he knows, shouldn’t outshine the other side as well. His mother made a lot of mistakes. But like I said before, we all have our flaws. His mother wasn’t a bad person, she just need time and trials to figure out how to stop her own mess and her own problems (I’m not saying that she is good and forgiven nor that she is bad and she should not ever be forgiven). But healing is going to need both sides to shine and yes it’ll still hurt but it’ll be alright. Your coping.

13} Jasper

Jasper may help Steven as well. In the beginning of Steven Universe Future, Jasper was shown to still have a grudge with Steven. While he may have attempted to help Jasper and hardly have ever any success, Jasper will help when Steven is corrupted and when he is healed. Steven shows that he keeps a lot of negative emotions hidden and we need to think, what is Steven’s power tied to? His emotions. Thus Jasper will be sort of a punching bag. She’ll help Steven cope with his negative emotions and spar with him to release the negative emotions. We even saw a little of that in the beginning of this season. She was really impressed with Steven and was happy that he fought her. In a way, they may both help each other by doing this. Jasper still has lots of hate and hurt in her as she feels weak and powerless and that Steven and his friends made her feel that way with fusion. Steven has a lot of bottled up emotions from both the past and present. Thus they may both heal from the sparring.s as we even got a little view of that in

14} Pink Diamond

Yes, the main “villain” of the story. But is she really? Yes, everything started because of her. Yes, Steven has to face her problems she left. But did she know any better? I don’t know. We all tend to make decisions that may seem the best and yet sometimes they can turn in the wrong direction. Pink was able to learn from her mistakes and she was able to learn from new things and she learned to adapt into new life. She fought for her freedom, she fought for other gems freedom, she fought for humanity’s freedom. Yes, this may not justify some of her actions but because she built a new life she was able to create new life through Steven. As parents, we want only what is best for their children. However, how do we know if what we choose is best for our kids? Well she already learned that the diamonds aren’t the best example of adults. Thus she wanted to be better than them as much as she wants Steven to be better than her. Now Steven fixed her mistakes, fixed the right she wronged, help build a new world for gems to live freely in. But at what cost? This I feel like if Steven were to be corrupted, she would appear in an ghost like image in his mind (just guessing or imagining but lets just say). She isn’t truly gone yet. A bit of her stays in Steven as in all kids, there is something that we have of our parents. She may appear to him to try to right her last mistake. Leaving her son to do all the work. She left when he needed her. When everyone needed her. And remember, in this season, Steven is trying to escape from his mothers past and her mistakes. He hides her portrait in lion’s mane, he denys any mention or fact about her, and he, I’m guessing, blames her for a lot of things. Thus she may appear to “knock” some sense into Steven. Thus he’ll eventually calm down and we may even learn more about her from herself and maybe even finally get some mother and son time. We also got to remember the chest in lion’s mane. We have no idea what is in there. This may be the perfect chance for Pink to give Steven a key to the chest. Maybe in there will reveal more stuff about Pink or maybe something else. This may not happen but it’s fun to think about.

15} Everyone

Of course, maybe talking to Steven in his corrupted form is going to be hard as we all know how corrupted gems first act when meeting others. However, I think everyone would work together in bringing Steven back. Basically using this slot as how everyone would give back to Steven in their owns ways as show in the list above. I know I missed a lot of characters, but I honestly think those characters will help too but as in the side lines. Thus seeing everyone work together will help Steven calm down and maybe reveal all what he has been holding in.

I can’t wait for the episodes and hope you all enjoy the last few episodes of Steven Universe.

#steven universe #steven corruption theory #steven universe lars #su connie #sadie su #garnet #pearl steven universe #amethyst #peridot #lapis lazuli #bismuth #spinel #diamond authority #greg universe #andy demayo #su lion

10 notes · View notes

garden-uprooted · 5 years ago

Note

“One body, two souls” (( god I can't imagine there being any personality that'd be worse to fuse Spinel's with than Dom's and vice versa and I MUST hear what your take on what that Hell Fusion would be like is omfggggggggggg ))

Send “One body, two souls” to see what I think the fusion of our muses would be like // Still Accepting!

Gemstone Name & Reasoning: Mookaite (yes I KNOW there’s no reason the gem would change since Spinel’s the only Gem in the fusion, but finding the gemstone for the fusion is half the fun, shut up-)

Okay so I KNOW the name sounds weird, but I NEEDED a specific feel for the fusion to fully WORK, y’know? Their fusion would lack ANY sort of Spinel’s typical restraint; a completely wild free spirit. I needed a gemstone that encouraged the release of inhibitions and made you set your sights on things that you’d previously held yourself back from.

“Embrace your wanderlust and let Mookaite be your spiritual compass, pointing you in the direction of adventure. Awaken your true potential with the energy of this stone, and pursue the passions you’ve put on hold. The willpower that mookaite stimulates in your solar plexus and root chakras will rouse in you a desire to explore new activities. Its exciting, yet comforting energy makes for a great travel companion for those on a solo journey.”

I would go into more detail, but in order to properly do that, I’d need to jump onto the next section uwu…

Personality:

OKAY. I HAVE SO MANY FUCKIN’ THOUGHTS ON THIS MESS WHOM I ALREADY IMMEDIATELY ADORE

Okay okay okay, SO. Obviously they’re a pretty toxic fusion. This should go without saying- two chaotic energies in ONE body??

… But it ISN’T because Spinel and Lord D DON’T get along, oh no..

It’s BECAUSE they get along so SWIMMINGLY.

Spinel is naturally impulsive and reckless, sometimes, due to Trauma TM, and also just because she’s Like That, but she HAS self-restraint. She can tell (most of the time) when she’s gone too far with something. And Lord D, while not nearly AS hyperactive as Spinel (but ABSOLUTELY is also an ADHD mess), has undoubted patience and self-control, as well.

They’re “bouncing off of the walls” off the shits chaos lesbians, but they both know how to reign themselves in.

While fused as Mookaite, however?

That ALL goes out of the window.

They FEED into each other’s boundless thoughts- they ENCOURAGE each other’s deepest darkest carnal desires ALL in the name of

FUN.

Spinel is a people-pleaser, above all. She’s LITERALLY an entertainer, and she ADORES her job/”life purpose”. She won’t hesitate to change herself or mold herself into what others want/expect her to be so long as she looks up to and wants to impress said person.

And DING DING DING, Lord Dominator fits that criteria. Spinel gladly falls into the more submissive role in their fusion- letting Lord D pull the strings from the back (AKA, the Front).

A little confusing? Don’t worry, I’ll clear that up a little later down the line.

For now, let’s just say that Mookaite is THE definition of discord and madness. She practically BATHES in the tears of others- RELISHES in pained cries as she tramples over (or SLASHES through) people. Jokes? Japes? Cruel pranks? Snarky remarks? Low blows to people’s self-esteem via honing in on their weaknesses and using it against them?

You want it, Mookaite’s got it all! There are absolutely NO remnants of Spinel’s kindness or compassion to be had. It’s all overshadowed by the desire to be ACTIVE and to MOVE and to spend all of her child-like ENERGY (that has practically no limit to it, so long as they’re fused together).

She’s INTELLIGENT, though. SCARILY so. A force that you DO. NOT. WANT. To reckon with. If she WANTS something, she GETS it. There is no escape, so don’t even bother hiding or running.

A MASTER manipulator and strategist, as well as wild party animal and unrestrained force of destruction. She’ll gladly restrain herself long enough to string people along- only for the SWEET sweet eventual payment of said person’s bitter tears as they either have their heart, or their spine broken.

…However… I WILL say that, SHOULD Mookaite ever encounter someone that Spinel KNOWS (and thus most likely automatically CARES about), and the Dom part of them goes “OH, someone to hurt/”prank”!!!”, Spinel WILL go “Wait wait wait, but- but they’re my FRIEND, I’m not gonna-??”

It’s SO MUCH more DIFFICULT for Spinel to vent our her feelings/frustrations on someone who ISN’T a complete stranger to her. All of that empathy and WANT to be somebody’s very best friend never VANISHED. It just got restrained.

The SECOND Mookaite tries to/decides to ATTACK/HURT, say, someone like STEVEN, Spinel takes full control and unfuses at once.

Physical Appearance:

Oh, they want to make sure they can at LEAST tower over most humans they encounter. I’d IMAGINE Dom is around 5′7″, and Spinel just barely naturally reaches 5′3″ in her current form (I headcanon she WAS 5′0″ or so before Pink left her- height is intimidating), and so Mookaite is looking to be around 6′5″ to possibly JUST shy of being 7′0″. Of course, they can stretch, still, so their natural standing height isn’t all THAT important.

Remember how I described their personality earlier, though? What with Spinel playing the more subservient role while Dom takes the reigns? Yeah, that’s coming back into play here, baybey!!!

While Mookaite takes on Dom’s slender and athletic physique and generally uses her body as a base, their face resembles Spinel’s the most. At first glance, SPINEL would seem like the dominant in the fusion, actually.

However, in spite of that, Spinel’s loud and proud presence in Mookaite is only representative of her and Dom’s RELATIONSHIP. Dominator is Spinel’s enabler- turning her from a loose canon to one fully loaded and ready to fire; the consequences be damned.

So, in actuality, Dom is still, naturally, the dominant. Spinel is just her willing (?) puppet to enact out their obscene horrors.

Their hair is styled almost exactly like Dom’s- except it’s colored like Spinel’s, and it’s an absolute jagged frizzy mess. It kinda looks like they took a pair of scissors and tried to style it themselves, to be honest; but it’s stylish in the “manic pixie dream girl” way, if you know what I mean?

Dom’s white hair shows in white streaks throughout. Mooktaite’s entire color scheme is themed around blacks, dark magentas/reds, deep browns, oranges, and yellows, to boot; drawing inspiration from the gemstone, Mookaite, itself, and Dominator’s attire.

They keep Spinel’s poofy bottom, but it acts more like short shorts that flow seamlessly into Dom’s split dress; which is masterfully torn and tattered just at the knees. They also keep Spinel’s gloves- they just gain a more ragged look, as well, and are styled after Dom’s elbow-length ones.

Say bye bye to Spinel’s fuckign clown shoes, tho, they’re Dom’s sneakers, now. RIP clown shoes. Ye shall be missed.

Mookaite’s eyes are Forever Swirly And Crazed. It makes her look like she downed ten espresso shots in one sitting and went back to the coffee shop for more. Her mascara is also There, but it’s X2.

It’s ALWAYS running down her face- yes, actually running down her chin and dripping right off. An endless supply of messy, drippy mascara that LOOKS like they’ve been crying in it for five hours, but

HAHA!

Mookaite doesn’t CRY!

On the outside.

Oh, also, did I mention the fact that they have extra limbs? Typically it’s only just two arms and two legs, but as an extra “HEY, WATCH THIS, AND ALSO FUCK YOU!!!” they can sprout another pair of arms from their back at will. And yes it makes sickening cracking sounds, because Dominator has bones that CAN make those sounds.

Does it ACTUALLY hurt her to do, though?

Eh. Your choice.

Oh oh oh and NATURALLY they have sharp, shark-like teeth. Why??? Would they NOT???? Bruh they’re fuckin off the wall, they’re demonic as all hell and so basically I Love Them

…. Oh, and uh…. Sarah Stiles’ Spinel’s New Yorker accent that tends to be more of an undertone, than anything..?

It’s fully pronounced in Mookaite. High pitched, squeaky, psychotic Betty Boop hours, folks.

Combat:

My fingers hurt but you know how Spinel has her scythe, Suzie? And Dom can control magma and ice/frost? AND you know how they BOTH can stretch and extend their limbs/Dom is super flexible?

Now, I’m not saying crazy fast contortionist that can wreck you from like twenty feet away, but- okay I totally am.

Something tells me Mookaite would be MUCH more a fan of hands-on fighting, though. Sure she COULD either suit up or use Dom’s powers and Spinel’s elasticity to one-hit KO their opponent, but where’s the FUN in THAT?

And thus where Suzie comes in.

Mookaite is a brick POWERHOUSE- chaotic demented laughter all the while while she SLASHES through her enemies; twirling through the air and jumping on top of/off of their shoulders or heads. She’s a bratty gamer girl about it the whole time, too; mocking her adversaries for being “too slow” or “not putting up enough of a fight/challenge”.

She’s ALWAYS looking for fights and worthy opponents- swinging Suzie around like the huge scythe is a baton and not a VERY deadly weapon. She treats her like a prized cane half the time; preferring to have her fully activated and ready to go at the drop of a hat.

#[LONG Post]#[Out Of Laughter]#[Question Answered]#[Ask Meme]#thegreatestinthegalaxy

17 notes · View notes

echoise · 5 years ago

Text

they’ll never leave him alone. they’ll hunt him down as long as he lives. (steelstep, m!sidestep (Keith!). sequel to this. still thanks to @technologicalnoiz for letting me use his idea uwu) 2,520 words

Fluorescent lights. Smell of disinfectant. Wheels of a gurney.

subject ---- retrieved. status: stable. returning to base.

Needles under your skin, quicksilver into your veins, cyanide like rotten syrup. It’s metal and it’s earth and it’s smoke as it trickles down your throat and you choke, gurgle, drown and the burning paralysis travels up your arm. It’s poison, no, venom, there’s a difference and it’s both, it burns and freezes and you want to scream but no sound comes out. All of it familiar in a way you haven’t missed.

how bad? the arms are the worst. is its spine broken?

White coats. Whiter teeth.

careful. don’t knock it out yet.

Mask off, another on, your identity stripped and replaced with a tube of oxygen. Air in your lungs and you still can’t scream, can’t move, can’t feel, limbs relaxed in the restraints tied both too tight and not tight enough. But you scream anyway, the mind that’s already been scratched bloody spiraling out, out of control, out of bounds, out of time, tendrils desperately clawing at anything to hold onto, anyone to hold onto--

make sure the operating room is ready. bosses want it alive.

Heavy mental pressure. Painful static of telepathic dampeners.

shh. it’s alright. you’re going home.

You wake up to your own voice screaming and smooth hands holding you down.

“Keith!”

You hear the voice but can’t place it. You’re uprooted, a wayward leaf torn from the branches and spiraling in the wind--

“Keith, it’s alright. Calm down.”

--a building collapsing in the aftershocks, crushing bone and marrow and everything in between--

“You’re safe.“

--a man out of time, always in the wrong place.

You open your eyes. Staring back at you is a scarred face, a familiar face, hair too short, wrinkles too deep. Eyes dark in color but not in disposition when they look down at you. Mind sharp and his body tense as he holds you down, careful about putting his weight on you, intensely aware of all the metal in his body and the perceived frailty in yours. You can’t contest that: he could snap you like a twig, if he wanted. With the way your arm hurts, you think he might as well have.

“Chen?“ You manage to croak out. There’s a flash on his face like relief and he lets you go. The mattress shifts under his weight as he leans back, worry written clearly across his features. Worry. Not anger. Not disgust. Not even betrayal. Worry. You can’t understand why. You remember--

You sit up, too fast. Your chest compresses like he’s stepped on you, ribs pressing inward like fingers clenching into a fist and you can’t breathe, you can’t think, white spots in your eyes. Blood rushes in your ears and you almost fall back into the dream with the gurney and surgical equipment, but then his hands are on you again, steadying you.

You don’t struggle as he props you up against the pillows, gentle enough to shatter your soul and you don’t understand.

“Why?” You gasp when your lungs have space again to expand. Then, “where?“

“My apartment,“ Chen says, brushing damp hair from your forehead. You try to focus, grasp at anything to hold onto on the level of thought; look past him because you don’t trust this, don’t trust him, because you’ve been tricked before and you swore you’d never let that happen again. And you find it: a small pinprick of light, your pole star, a piece of reality to wrap your mental fingers around and squeeze.

Spoon senses you and scratches at the door harder, his high-pitched whine a lifeline you use to ground yourself, drag yourself out of your head. Out of the memories of white asepsis and into the now.

“Why?“ You ask again, quieter, but no less breathless. In lieu of answering Chen holds up a pair of pills and a glass of water, the question in his mind but not on his lips. You manage the smallest of nods and let him feed them to you, not even caring what they are. The paranoia from just minutes ago is gone, replaced by calm, a strange sense of certainty. He won’t harm you. Whatever he wants, whatever his goals, he won’t harm you, won’t turn you in. He wouldn’t have brought to his home, to Spoon, if he was going to. You know him well enough to say that.

At least you hope you do.

“I want to understand,“ is what he says, finally. When you give him a blank look, he continues. “I want to understand why you’re doing this.“

“What does it matter?” Your tongue feels alien in your mouth. Too large, numb, moving of its own accord.

“It matters to me.“ His eyes dart downward and then back up, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Well, mostly. Of course you are: he needed to patch you up, and he wouldn’t have left you in the armor anyway. The large gash on your side caused by Argent’s claws has been expertly bandaged and your worst bruises bound. Your right arm is in a sling, resting against your chest. And there, in plain view, the ugly neon lines criss-crossing your skin, screaming your inhumanity in his face and he has the nerve to ask you why.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You choke on the words, voice cracking, and gesture at your skin.

“I want you to tell me.“ His patience is a poker in the embers of your anger and it flares up, a hot flash in your chest that scorches your lungs and again you can’t breathe.

“Why do you think?” The words slip past your lips, too easy and too sharp. “You think I want to do this?“ He has the sense not to interrupt you, his mind a pool of calm and you want it to ripple, tear into it until your hands bleed and shake and go numb for entirely new reasons. You want to shake him, break the immutable serenity and you want him to crumble, like you have. “I have no choice, Chen.“

“You do, though,” he says softly, and your vision dims with white. Your body reacts faster than your mind can keep up. You lash out, raise your uninjured hand, go for a punch that is in no way proper: it’s weak and in poor form. He deflects it easily and you go limp, too tired to fight. Let him hold your wrist with gentleness you’re still not used to.

“I don’t,“ you whisper, hating the way your eyes burn. “Don’t you get it? I tried. The first time. And they just took me back, they--“ You breathe in deep and release it as a slow whistle, eyes screwed shut. Chen has let go of your hand so you bury your face in them, cling to the roughness of the bandages against your face, to the the way your hands tremble with intensity you’ve rarely felt, to the pain in your arm as you twist it in its sling. “They’ll never leave me alone. They’ll hunt me down as long as I live.“

As long as they live, is the part you don’t vocalize, but he knows.

“No they won’t.“ His thoughts are shielded, but the sentiment seeps through. Not if I have anything to say about it.

Your laughter is more of sob, a bark, a kicked dog’s whine. “You have no control over it, Steel.“ You lower your hands and the smile on your face is cold, the edge of a razor. The name from your lips is easy to spit out, easy to think of him as the armored behemoth, a living bulldozer. Trying to distance yourself because this is too close, you’ve let yourself get too close and it’s the only way you can break away anymore. Make him into the Ranger and yourself the villain.

He looks at you for a long moment, studies you, eyes not cold but not soft either. Mind dimmed at the change in name, but no visual change about him. Unreadable in ways only Marshal Steel can be, polished metal and sleek carbon fiber obscuring the shape of a man.

When he speaks again, it’s quiet, halting, almost hesitant. “What do you want, Keith? Revenge?“

“Revenge...“ The word tastes like antiseptic and rotting flesh. Isn’t that how it started? With leaking tubes and hospital gowns. Helplessness of being tied to a table and surrounded by slowly opening gates. Freedom in crashing through glass and tumbling down, Humpty Dumpy escaping all the King’s horses and all the King’s men.

Isn’t that how it started?

But was it her, or was it you?

“I want,“ you whisper, and something cracks inside you, shatters like the window in your dreams. Sidestep plummeting four stories down to his death again, like he’s been falling for seven years. Like you’ve been falling for seven years.

“I want to live.“ Your throat clicks audibly and closes up, leaves you heaving with sobs too violent for your damaged body. You cave in on yourself and slip into the void waiting at the edges of your mind. You go to drown, to let go, but Chen won’t let you: the mattress shifts and his hand is on your shoulder, a steady weight that’s not quite like real hands but it’s real enough. He drags you back, reaches out with mind and body. Mechanical fingers fusing with your broken ones, his synapses becoming yours, his mind a log in the dark waters for your body to get caught on and stop getting carried off by the river, saved though you’ve given up trying to swim.

You don’t know how much time passes. How long he holds you for, arms lightly wrapped around you, your forehead leaning on his shoulder. Doing his best to hold you up rather than weigh you down, conscious of his weight and your injuries and projecting calm though under it you can feel his mind racing.

You try to focus, find reality again, and a familiar presence claws at the edges of your consciousness.

“Where’s my armor?” You mumble into his shoulder. You can feel it: The Rat King, five chittering minds cajoling for you in tandem, worried paws and tails stumbling over one another trying to get to you. Dragging you back towards the world, away from the vacuum that is inside you. They sense your distress, but are too far to properly help you. And so desperate to.

“You’re not getting it back,” Chen says immediately, his hold on you tightening just a fraction. You resist the urge to laugh.

“Not why I asked.” The words are slow to come, sticking to your tongue like bugs to flypaper. Your throat is full of sand and you taste ash. He lets you pull back from him when you try, no resistance in him physically, though plenty in his mind. You keep your eyes cast down, ignoring the thoughts so tantalizingly close in his mind, not properly shielded, obscured just enough that they’re not right in your face. The throbbing behind your eyes has dulled and your vision is blurring, making it hard to focus. “Do me a favor?“

He looks at you for a moment, but then pulls back. “Fine.”

“There’s a detachable part in the back of the neck,“ you explain, leaning back against the pillows. Feeling like you might sink into them, soft like cartoon clouds. “A small cylinder. Can you bring it to me?“

“Not unless you tell me what it is.” He’s suspicious of you, and honestly, you can’t blame him. Won’t. A part of you is happy for it: distrust is so much easier to deal with than... whatever he’s truly feeling for you.

You sink your head into the pillows and sling an arm over your eyes, willing the inertia to subside, your head to clear. It, to no one’s surprise, doesn’t. “Do you remember Psychopathor’s cannon?“

“Yes.” Chen narrows his eyes, mind rippling as he tries to puzzle you out. He remembers alright: remembers getting hit by it, the stinging pain, the rubble he crashed in, the emptiness when his head hit the ground and mind went dark. He remembers waking up later, to you limping and Ortega stealing odd glances at you. You try to not choke at the memory.

“It had a targeting matrix,“ you mumble, words taking conscious effort to keep from slurring. “Linked rodent brains. Telepathic.“ He remembers. You explained this once before, to a much more rattled brain. The scar somewhere on your shin aches.

He speaks before you can finish gathering your next words. “You stole it for yourself.“

You just nod. “I know you have them here.“ You lift your arm and crack open an eye to look at him. “I swear I won’t try anything,“ and you won’t, you’d will him to believe it if that wasn’t exactly the opposite of what you want and just said. “I just want them safe.“

The skin around his eyes twitches and his mind spikes at your choice of pronoun, but he buries it from you as soon as it shows up. And you’re too weary to care what he thinks. You close your eyes again as he finally gets up, the bed audibly creaking as he does, and he walks out. You don’t follow his mind, stumbling instead on Spoon’s, where it waits behind the door and stays there, because Chen won’t let him in. All the better, you’re not sure you could handle a lap full of greyhound right now. His mind is enough, still anxious for you, but simple, welcoming. Familiar.

When Chen returns, its with five more distinct animal imprints, excitedly crowding to your mind. You reach out to them in turn to greet them and soothe them, assure them that you’re alright and they have nothing to worry about. They knot their tails together and coil protectively around your mind, a determined buffer between you and the world.

You don’t notice you’ve started smiling before Chen’s thoughts tell you so, soft at the edges when he looks at you, floating freely between you. He doesn’t mind you hearing that he likes your smile, the way your features soften, the way you look just a little bit more alive.

He sets the Rat King on the nightstand next to you and sits back down, causing the bed to protest the weight again. You’re too tired to open your eyes to look at him. “Do you need anything?“

You start to shake your head, feel nausea building, and make a vaguely negative sound instead. You feel like you’re in water, your body sluggish and heavy, trapped in the soft sheets. Distantly, you realize one of the pills he gave you must’ve been a sedative.

He reaches out to pull the covers over you and tuck you in, hands lingering just a little bit too long. You find that you don’t mind. “We’ll talk later.“

You fall asleep to a soothing voice and warm hands over your own.

#fallen hero: retribution #fallen hero: rebirth #fh:r #writing #mine #steelstep #keith #my disaster children #proofreading what proofreading #once again #this fic is the bane of my existence #go fic i release you

66 notes · View notes