#its actually being thrown into the depths of hell screaming out for someone to help you to love you to save you

[separatismor]

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[ko-fanatic]

Are You Going To Destroy It? (Part one)

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Danganronpa

Pairings: IshiMondo

Summary: Ishimaru is supposed to be perfect. He gets perfect grades, enforces the rules as hall monitor, and then goes home to care for his ailing grandfather while his father works long hours to support the three of them. But the simple fact is he's not perfect, and everything is unravelling his mental state more and more. Being forced to care for the man who ruined his life isn't helping.

TW: Suicidal thoughts, extreme bullying, self-harm, homicidal thoughts, family issues, mental health issues

Author’s note: Heavily inspired by Zankyou no Terror. Taka's storyline can be seen as an AU, but Daiya and Mondo aren't terrorists. Also, as a disclaimer: If you are aware someone is suicidal, DO NOT leave them alone. Mondo is just a kid, and doesn't know better, but now you do. If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out.

For all Kiyotaka loved school, it could be hell. 

He was drawn to learning, to pleasing his teachers, following the rules… But the same could not be said for those times of day where he was offered no protection. Before school, breaktime, lunchtime, and after school. Those were torture.

“C’mon, Taka,” One of the boys by his side grinned wolfishly, arm slung around his shoulders in some faux-friendly action, when in reality it was simply to keep him from leaving. 

Had he expected any different when he was accosted and all but dragged to the pool behind the school building? Honestly, no. However, despite the probability that he could fight the boys off and run home, he… was tired. Too tired to push out of their grips and run yet again. 

Too tired to go home. 

Hence, here he stood, shoved to stand on one of the diving blocks - still in his full uniform - his classmates looming over him like vultures.

“Why don’t you go for a little dip?” The boy laughed as Kiyotaka resolutely stared out at the glistening water, so crisp and clear in the afternoon sun, “And then, well, not come up again.”

Ah, telling him to kill himself, yet again. They’d done this dance before (or was that another classmate? Their faces blur). He’d be lying, to say he hadn’t thought of it. Despite the utter terror that last instance had incited, razor blades thrown at him with jeering taunts to go cut up his arms some more, this is another level of intimidation. 

So painfully close to casual. 

“It’s what a filthy Ishimaru like you deserves.”

He was right about that, he supposed. Some time ago, he would’ve held his head up high and asserted that, yes, he is an Ishimaru, but he was going to fix his family’s reputation. He would drag his name out of the mud, and make it all better. 

Now, he just wants the exhaustion to end. 

“It’ll be just like falling asleep.”

The sentence rang over and over in his head, so similar to ones he’d thought on countless occasions; clutching bottles upon bottles of his grandfather’s pills, staring at the open blades of a pair of scissors, at the length of rope in the rotting garden shed that could easily be tied into a noose. 

And God, did he just want to sleep.

His body leant forward, without explicit permission but he had no will to stop himself, eyes closing as he awaited the burning sensation that comes with breathing chlorinated water -

“CANONBALL!!”

The yell was loud, startling all of them at the poolside, and accompanied with a large splash. Kiyotaka and his classmates got soaked with the tidal wave of water that had been dispersed, and Kiyotaka’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the cause of the disturbance. 

A handsome boy was in the pool, grinning ear to ear after his impressive dive from the roof above. His bleach blonde hair hung down in sopping ringlets, dishevelled out of whatever style it’d had before. His pretty, almost lilac eyes were heavily ringed in smudged, dripping eyeliner, but he didn’t seem to have a care in the world. 

“‘S too warm to stay poolside, guys!” The boy smirked, swimming up to them as Kiyotaka could only watch in confusion. Assumedly, his classmates were also dumbfounded, considering the utter silence that seemed to envelop them all like a thick fog.

That was when the boy grabbed him by the leg, pulling him into the water but never letting his head dip below. He wasn’t dragging him under to drown, wrapped in a cool embrace like his mind and peers had whispered to him over and over again. No, this seemed… friendly. Like the adolescents in the media, who play and rough-house, yet never want any harm to come to each other. 

He was still in the boy’s arms, head static and floating above his shoulders, reality a haze. He swore he could hear his classmates say something, though he doesn’t know what, and when he looked back they were gone. 

“Hey,” The boy smiled, much more subtle and subdued than the grin he’d previously flashed. Kiyotaka was lifted a little higher, placed gently on the side of the pool, his head lowered and rivulets of water running down from his short hair. 

“Are you okay?” The boy asked, “The things some assholes do… But you’re safe right now, yeah?”

He didn’t speak. He never spoke. 

“Sorry I pulled ya into the water,” The other spoke once more, leaning on one toned arm as the other scratched at the back of his mop of hair, “Thought I should put some distance between ya ‘nd those guys, and that was the first thing I thought of. Didn’t really wanna cause a fight with you in the middle, looking so out of it -”

“I’m -” Kiyotaka began, voice hoarse and so soft, quiet, and he paused to clear his throat, “I’m fine… Used to it, I suppose…”

“Well, then that’s not really fine, right?” The other posed, like it was the simplest thing in the world, “Name’s Mondo. What’s yours?”

He looked down at his uniform, thumbing the seam of his blazer sleeve, a million thoughts running across his mind but without any substance to actually grab hold of one. As noncoporial as a spirit.

“I… Kiyotaka Ishimaru…” He hesitantly put forward, his name feeling like molasses in his mouth, gluing to his teeth and oozing between his lips, “Thank you for helping me, Mondo-kun.”

It feels right, to thank him. Or, not right, but proper. A thing one should do. He cares a whole lot for propriety, has to, and the instinct kicks in fast. Mondo simply looks amused. 

“Ya don’t need to bother with honorifics, it’s cool,” He waves off, and a small pang in Kiyotaka’s chest murmurs ‘ah, to be so casual’. 

He’ll never be able to do something like that, because he’ll never have a friend to be casual with. He’s not being morose when he thinks that, either; at this point in his life, despite being just a few months shy of his fifteenth birthday, he knows that as empirical fact. He’s unlikeable, plain and simple, exemplified by his classmates attempting to gode him into suicide. 

That must mean he’s a special kind of hateful. 

Mondo looks up, then, at the roof. A man with dark hair stands at the railing, arm casually slung over the side, watching the pair of them from his vantage point. Something in Kiyotaka’s chest shrinks, but Mondo is quick to assure him. 

“My brother,” Is his simple explanation, “Are you… gonna be alright to get home? By yourself, I mean?”

The thought of going home makes him flinch. The soulless eyes, staring at the wall as he gives his near-catatonic grandfather his bath, feeds him his dinner spoonful by spoonful, gives him his meds and forces him to swallow. So helpless, dependent, pathetic…

An evil part of him screams to just hold him under the water, wrap his hands around the old man’s throat, give him too many pills at once. Because, for God’s sake, this man ruined his life before it began, and it’d be so easy to take him out. Like an old dog that has outlived its use, out behind the garden shed -

He cuts off those thoughts there. He’s truly a vile person. 

“It’s fine,” He lies, because it isn’t. He doesn’t know who he’ll snap and kill first, himself or his grandfather, and he still wants nothing more than to lay down in the water and breathe until his lungs give in.

“If you’re certain,” Mondo hesitates, looking like he wants to say more, but instead he just pulled himself out of the pool, “I should probably get back to my brother. Still, though, if those idiots come after you again… I ain’t usually one to agree with being a narc, but some things are just way too much.”

He nods, though his heart isn’t in it. 

“See ya around, Taka!” Mondo grins, giving a mock salute as he walks off. 

Nothing’s stopping him from shuffling off the tile, going down into the depths of the water and laying at the very bottom until the staff come by tomorrow morning. But he doesn’t. He’s not sure why he doesn’t, but he stands and walks out the pool gate, dripping water onto the concrete of the pavement and drawing odd stares as he treks home. 

Taka, he thinks, I like that. 

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 67: The Dark Mark

Regulus was used to landing in the absolute silence by now, only the sounds of his companions groaning and shuffling back to their feet. Wherever they were was dimly lit, with a soft green hue barely enough to discern the closely packed trees surrounding their little clearing. Otherwise, there were no birds chirping, hardly a breeze blowing about, no hint of a presence beyond.

Yet when he heard Smith scream, his first instinct was still to look around for the danger, until he actually spotted her looking up.

He'd swear his heart stopped in his chest, he felt like he may as well be looking into another mirror that could show his future. The Dark Mark hung above them in all its glory.

"What, what is it?" Evans hissed, backing to the far edge of the clearing, looking from the symbol to Alice like she expected all of us to start sprouting extra heads.

No one seemed to want to be the one to tell her, all eyes still fixated on the skulls bottomless depth, the snake entwined through every thought he'd ever had. He knew he couldn't form the words as his throat kept convulsing.

"It's the Dark Mark," Potter finally got out, breaking his gaze away but talking more to her shoes. "It's, You-Know-Who's symbol, it means someone's died."

Regulus felt more than saw as everyone then began inspecting the ground instead, as if waiting for the dead body to appear. They'd once landed in the same spot as a deceased unicorn, would they for a person as well?

"Harry?" She asked of no one.

Potter could only swallow in answer, and now everyone was scanning the ground for the book to give an answer. He did seem the most likely, and some very small horrible part of each of them almost hoped it to be true. Maybe, if this was how Harry died, they would finally be free of this madness casting them about and get back to their time, their life.

No one got a chance to do anything else though as Sirius launched himself at his once friend and socked him clean in the nose.

Peter hit the ground, blood pouring down his face once more, except now from broken cartilage in the center of his face rather than his ear.

"Sirius!"

"Padfoot, mate what the hell-"

"If you killed him too, I swear I'll-" The elder Black fought like crazy to get Lupin off of him again, Potter scrambling in between them desperately. It was so like the last time, right before Lupin had transformed, Frank couldn't help to back even farther away in fright, glancing up at the sky once more, trying to see past the deadly skull and snake to wherever the moon might be.

Alice dithered on the spot, as if she wanted to help but didn't know who. Evans drew her wand but seemed unclear who to point it at. Regulus didn't even hesitate and darted to Peter's side, offering him a hand up, and letting out a sigh of relief when Peter took it.

He may have staggered to his feet, but did nothing more. He didn't draw his wand to defend himself, or fix his now clearly broken and swelling nose, he just clasped his arms in front of him and cringed in place, as if prepared to take whatever blow came next.

"Sirius! Sirius stop!"

He didn't seem capable of even listening to Prongs anymore, he fought out of the arms pinning him like a madman, unable to see or hear anything but James screaming and the green light dousing everything around them. Then his own face exploded with pain.

"Oi!"

"I am not holding him back so you can-"

Regulus drew his wand and pressed it against the pulse in his older brothers neck. He didn't care Potter shoved him back away or that Lupin now looked likely to let Sirius go and throw a punch himself, all he saw was that he finally had Sirius Black's irrevocable attention.

He spat a bit of blood onto the ground, and against all odds an almost cocky grin slipped into place. "Well look at you, throwing a Muggle blow. Didn't think you had it in you."

Regulus had known exactly what he was doing, and didn't let himself be distracted as he flicked his wand to where he wanted him to see. "Look at him Sirius, really look at him."

He instead busied himself by wincing and pulling at his nose as if to fix it back into place, Lupin and Potter stood at his shoulders ready for whatever came next. Regulus was not backing down, he was tired of second guessing himself.

"Regulus, please don't-"

but Regulus spoke louder, stamping his foot and demanding attention. "How can you lecture me on the decisions of my life, dare call them your friends, when you're just as much of a two-faced, back-stabbing, arse!"

His chest was heaving by the end, but it felt like he'd finally thrown a brick from his chest getting all of that out. He stood waiting for Sirius to hit him, yell at him, something. Instead Sirius' sharp gray eyes wavered from him, he finally dared to look where he'd refused before. He tried to turn away just as quickly again, but everything was still swathed in a green light he'd always hated so much.

The air caught in his throat, his eyes stung. If he looked at him for too long all he'd see was his own mistakes seeping into others all over again. It's not like it was hard to imagine what he could have done to Peter in the future to cause him to get James killed...which meant he was the one to-

Turning sharply away, he went as far as he could from the others, mentally begging anyone from following him, not trusting his voice to say it regardless. His foot crunched over something along the way and he didn't even pause to see what.

Potter and Lupin exchanged a wordless look before Lupin took after him once more. The two were just visible in the verdant gloom. Potter just looked desperately between the two and Peter, who was looking after Sirius as well longingly. He'd seen something on his face, there for just a second, but wasn't even sure what to make of it. It certainly wasn't the all-consuming hatred he'd been expecting. Not able to look at anyone else now, he finally quietly summoned the book to him. It came shooting to his hand from a nearby tree, and he read the almost predictable chapter title now.

Regulus for his part was left fuming in place, even if he still did feel just slightly better for finally getting to fully say his piece. He didn't know what was going to happen next, but he liked to think this was a step in the right direction.

Frank, Lily, and Alice all felt like spectators at the most awkward show imaginable. They had no stakes in this recurring bomb of a life. Well, Lily supposed she should, as she watched Potter bend down and pick up whatever Black had stepped on.

Pettigrew was reading quietly but swiftly, before they knew it the peace of the game in the book was as much a thing of the past as it had been the moment they'd landed here. The kids were running for their lives, a Muggle family was being put on a grotesque display. The closer she looked, she saw the way Pettigrew's skin turned sallow as he described it all happening, how sick he looked at the thought that really could be him one day. She watched Potter's hand close convulsively over what appeared to be a toy, a little Quidditch player with its arm popped out of socket.

Now Harry's wand was missing, and he was possibly running for his life. She couldn't get it out of her head, that the Death Eater's were going to catch up to him and end his life. She chanced a glance towards Black and Lupin, standing as close to each other as they could, gazes unwillingly fixed back on the book just like everyone else's. It had amazed her, among other things, how all four of them had almost instantly accepted this future and begun talking about Potter's kid as some inevitable thing to be.

She was only just catching up, she was sixteen for crying out loud! If she ever fantasized about having kids, it certainly wasn't with Potter! She couldn't even pretend to deny it anymore, her heart clenched with painful worry as a boy who was to be her son was separated even farther, now it was only him and his two friends alone with a threat out here.

A nightmare she never even knew she could have seemed about to come to life before her ears, she staggered back in fear even as she drew her wand for a protection that wasn't her own, despite no threat appearing. Harry was surrounded, and she wanted to help him.

Peter Pettigrew's voice shook, he stammered for a few more painful moments before looking to James Potter for what to do, still a source of comfort. Only the steady look of worry for his boy remained as he finally read it out, and there was a tiny break of relief it was only stunners sent his way. Then, a more stable breath of fresh air, as it turned out to be the Ministry coming to call for whichever Death Eater had sent up the signal instead of the opposite.

What happened next was a madhouse, and yet somehow still easier to take in stride as a house-elf was accused of these crimes and a high-end official of the Ministry Winky belonged to seemed to take control of the mess. Harry's wand having done it all was the only piece she latched onto. When had this shift occurred? At what point had she finally allowed herself to admit she was worried about this kid- her kid?

As Arthur Weasley explained in more detail what exactly had happened, and Hermione mentioned she'd know because of a book, it occurred to Lily to think of this backwards. What Harry would think of her if he'd seen how she'd been acting towards him all this time. She glanced helplessly at Alice and Frank, who were standing in each other's arms for comfort.

If Severus had been here, would she be doing the same? Seeking comfort in familiarity? Through every step of this she'd clung to her current life without admitting it may well be her past.

[eat0crow]

Jasonette Prompt! Mari and Jason first meeting but it’s after a bunch of thugs tried to jump her (she beat them uppp). anyways they’re both in civilian form and she’s validly untrusting and he calms her down.

Bullies count as thugs, right?

116%

Partly by accident, mostly by self-preservation, Jason figures out that, in order to get everyone to stop looking at him like the poor-orphan-charity-case Bruce Wayne had taken in, he needs to instead get them to write him off entirely.

It’s a genius plan. Gotham Academy is nothing if not judgemental. All he has to do is wear his uniform loose, his tie undone, tell everyone exactly how little he thinks of their petty power plays, and get into a screaming match with his xenophobic history teacher about how people working minimum wage, “Absolutely should be making a living wage. Screw you, you bootlicking capitalist fuck!” within the first month of school. Honestly, he’s surprised he lasted that long.

So maybe he’s a little out of line, it’s not like he’s wrong. And it’s all worth it just to see the look on Bruce’s face when he walks into the principal's office. The man’s eyebrows are practically up to his hairline by the time he hears that Jason, in the face of his teacher's warning, had the audacity to ask, “What are you going to do? Expel me? unfucking likely.”

“It’s not like I’m actually going to be expelled,” Jason says. “Half the school’s annual budget comes from the money you donate. If I’m expelled I’ll have to go somewhere else. You’re not going to invest in a school I’m not attending and they’re not going to those funds.”

With unmasked glee, Jason watches the growing horror spread over his principles face-he’s a smart brown-nosing man after all. He knows exactly what kind of trap he’s walking into. It doesn’t matter that Jason’s history teacher is glaring the man down, looking like he's’ just bitten a lemon. Nope, Jason is not going to be expelled.

“Jason,” Bruce, simply sighs, looking far more put out than he has any right to be.

They settle for him being suspended for the rest of the week with detentions taking place after school on Mondays and Wednesdays for the next two months.

As all interesting gossip tends to, the rumor makes its way through the school before the day is even over-rich kids have way too much time on their hands-by the time Jason comes back the following Monday everyone seems to have decided that he’s a troublemaker unhinged just enough to be dangerous.

It marks the end of people trying to suck up to him, they all seem to have collectively decided that if they mind their own business and leave him out of it, he’ll do the same.

The thing about Jason Todd- fourteen-year-old high school freshman- is that he’s really bad at minding his own business. Like Dick’s Discowling suit levels of bad at it. He's a Robin, after all, you couldn’t be a Robin if you were actually able to keep your nose out of where it shouldn't be. It's practically a rule.

Never once has Jason ever had any fondness for bullies, it doesn’t matter if they were school kids or criminals or one percenters-looking at you Jeff Bezos, looking at you. He’s seen enough of them growing up in the Narrows, and maybe, it’s because his dad, the utter asshole, had been a bully. Maybe he just spends too much time fighting against people who think they can get away with pushing their weight around. It doesn’t matter.

Jason Todd could not bring himself to turn a blind eye, which is why by the beginning of his second semester he’s gained the title of actual-punk-you-know-the-kind-who-fight-the-man with his biweekly detentions being upgraded to triweekly and extended indefinitely. The number of fights he’s gotten into in the last couple of months has easily erased whatever Golden Boy standing Dick had established. Jason is confident that the only reason he’s yet to be kicked out is the fact that Bruce had almost doubled his donations.

So really, when he hears raised voices and the distinct sound of someone being thrown against a wall just as he’s leaving detention for the third time this week, he has to investigate.

Disgust is the first thing Jason can register when he turns the corner because there’s a ring of five students- two girls, three guys- all crowded around the new girl from France. Jason’s pretty sure he shares a class or two with her, maybe. She's easy to miss, small as all hell and stick thin.

This, this isn’t a fair fight. Or a fight she even has a chance of winning. Jason has a bad feeling about this.

But-

But Jason takes a closer look. Her back is pressed against the side of the building, yes. Her bag has been thrown to the ground and she’s shaking but that stance, it definitely doesn’t belong to someone who doesn’t know how to defend themselves. Sure these idiots have her backed into a corner, one point them, but her feet are firmly planted on the ground, her back is straight. She’s not going to run, at least, not before she throws a punch and, judging from the way she’s holding herself, a good one too.

Jason doesn’t really know how to approach this. This girl looks like a deer caught in headlights who will spook the second she hears a loud sound. Getting a teacher would be the most sensible thing to do. It would also require leaving, Jason isn’t confident enough in the situation to do that.

He’s almost talked himself into it, sure it might be a little off-brand for him but this seems slightly out of his depth, when Idiot Number Three, the smirking brunette addition, makes a move toward Marinette-Jason only just remembers her name-and Marinette lashes out.

Dead silence overtakes the yard as the girl goes down, her body crumpling to the ground like a wet paper towel. Marinette’s fist is still curled, her arm still outstretched. She looks like she can’t believe what she just did. Everyone stands frozen for one disbelieving moment before one of the guy's snarls, lunging to grab Marinette’s jacket.

If she was a deer in headlights before, Jason isn’t quite sure what to call her now. She looks like she’s on the cusp of a panic attack, frantically babbling a mishmash of jumbled up words. Jason sees what she’s going to do a second before the bully does, but by then it’s too late.

Marinette, with way more force than someone her size should have, brings her knee up and kicks her would-be attacker in the balls. Jason does not want to feel sympathy pains. He doesn’t, but still, if the way Idiot Number Five falls to his knees is any indication...well.

Idiots Numbered One, Two and Four run off without much fanfare taking their downed Idiot Number Three with them. Jason has a distinct impression they’re going to snitch and Marinette, who was only defending herself and is in no way capable of explaining her side of the story right now, is going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Nope, not on Jason’s watch. He makes his way over. Closing the distance in three precise non-threatening strides. “So I’m thinking, this isn’t exactly what you had planned,” he says lightly.

“Fuck you, Todd.” Eloquent as ever Idiot Number Five.

“No thanks. You seem like you’re having enough fun clutching your balls for the both of us,” he says cooly, crouching down just enough to make eye contact. “Between you and me, I would run if I were you. Before she decides to come and knock your teeth in.”

“Like she would,” the bully scoffs.

“We both know she could and you know I would let her. Hell, I would help her if it kept your mouth fucking shut.” Jason cracks his knuckles, casually pressing his elbow further into the prick's collar bone. “Fuck, I kinda want to do it too. You really piss me off.”

At least he has the good sense to take Jason seriously. Jason can’t help the satisfaction that comes from watching him get to his feet and limp off. Some things really are poetic. Serves the bastard right, even if he promises that, “I’ll get you back for this, Todd.”

Jason snorts, as if he’d worry about what some schoolyard bully was going to do. Have you seen half the lunatics he fights on a monthly basis? “You good?”

“I-no!” Marinette cries, sinking to her knees in shock. “I am so going to be expelled. God, I’m going to be deported. I’ve only been in Gotham for a month! One whole month and already I’ve

messed this up. Momma is never going to let me out of the house. That’s if they don’t send me to jail. Oh, they’re going to send me to jail, aren't they? I can’t go to jail, orange is a terrible color!”

That's ... a lot to unpack. Jason feels something flutter in his chest. He has the strongest desire to comfort her. So, he does the only thing he can think of, he reaches out, wraps his arms around her waist, and promptly gets punched in the face. Hard.

He staggers back, clutching his eye, Jason barely registers Marinette’s steady stream of. “I’m sorry, so sorry I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Self-consciously Jason shrugs, he’s had far worse. The only thing in danger is his ego. “It was my fault. You were literally being threatened a minute ago, I shouldn’t have touched you. Sorry about that.”

“I’m panicking a bit,” Marinette says, pulling at the end of one of her pigtails. “I’m not usually...I just-I don’t want to be expelled.”

“You're not going to be expelled, Hermione,” Jason says dryly. “Yeah, those bastards are going to snitch but you were just defending yourself. They got what they deserved.”

“Do you think anyone’s going to believe that?”

Jason takes a moment to look Marinette over. There is so much earnest hope on her face that Jason...he feels really bad but... “Of course not. You kicked Pattrick Thomson in the balls, his dad’s on the school board. There is no fucking way any one of these teachers is going to believe that he actually got what was coming to him. No matter how much of a prick he is.”

“I’m doomed,” Marinette cries.

“You’re not doomed.” Jason catches Marinette’s look of pure utter disbelief and continues, “You’re not going to be expelled because you’re not the one who is going to be taking the fall for this.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” Jason says scooting down to sit next to Marinette. He makes sure to leave a good foot between them. One black eye is enough, thank you. “Unlike you, I won’t get expelled, trust me this isn’t anywhere close to my first fight. If they could have axed me, they would have like a month in. The good news is that this is the one corner of the school security cameras can’t see. So as long as we make our story sound believable, no one is going to question it.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re all going to find it sketchy when no one can agree on who threw the punch.”

“See you would think that but, no offense, you’re a literal wafer cookie. A strong breeze could blow you over. No one is going to believe you took down those idiots. Not when it’s so much easier to blame the one who’s admitting it.”

“I did take them down,” Marinette says, narrowing her eyes.

“And it was badass, but for this to work, we need to milk as many of their sexist assumptions as possible. So,” Jason starts, pressing his hand a little further against his eye, there’s a bit of blood slipping onto his fingers. Marinette got him good. “This is what we’re going to say. We’re going to keep it simple. Tell them that those guys were picking on you and I came over to see what was happening. Things got heated, Thomson punched me in the eye and I bumped into what’s-her-face. You were panicking and didn’t really pay attention until you saw me knee him in the balls. Short, sweet, and believable.”

“What are we going to say when they ask about why everyone is blaming me and not you?”

“Well, why were they bothering you in the first place.” Jason shrugs reaching out to grab some of the stray papers that had fallen from Marinette’s bag. “Just use that. Trust me, Thomson’s going to jump at the chance to save face. Once he changes his story the rest will follow.”

Marinette grimaces. “It feels wrong.”

“Please,” Jason snorts. “They’re rich, they’re cheating at life. They’d get away with murder if they dropped their wallets. You could tell them all exactly what happened word for word and the teachers would still only hear their side of the story.”

“That’s awful.”

“That’s Gotham.”

Marinette falters, as if she wants to dispute the inherent corruption of this city. She stares at Jason, who would probably be blushing if it wasn’t for the excruciating pain coming from his right eye.

“You’re sure.” Marinette bites her lip, nervously picking at her nails. “You’re absolute, one hundred and twelve percent sure you won’t be expelled.”

“I’m one hundred and sixteen percent sure,” Jason says and then Marinette smiles.

It’s a nice smile, Jason doesn’t think he’s ever experienced the full force of someone's relief before.

“Thank you.” Sincerity is dripping off every word, so much so it almost aches. “I-you’re really nice Jason.”

Marinette knows his name. That’s-not necessarily surprising given the act that yeah they do share classes, probably. It’s just this is the first time they’ve talked.

“It’s cool,” Jason says leaning further back into the wall. He can hear people coming, it won’t be long before they have teachers to deal with. Jason might as well get comfortable. “You’re Marinette, right? I think we have English….Math..something together.”

Marinette nods, scooting closer to him. “Yeah, I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I sit three rows over in Math and two seats up in English.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marinette. Officially.” Jason takes the hand off of his eye and holds it out to her. “Jason Todd.”

Slowly, Marinette’s smile slowly morphs into a look of pure horror. “You’re eye!”

[evangelene]

Despite What You Are (5)

Summary: Vampires don’t feed on blood, they feed on fear. So, why is yours so potent? Why were you saved by the most dangerous of all vampires–Kim Namjoon?

Based on this request:

“Can i ask for a ff where namjoon is a vampire mafia boss and has a spft spot for you. And you get into trouble woth a rival gang and he goes crazy? Fluffy and angsty 🌹”

Thoughts from the bedside

 Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

It was bright. Sunny, borderline too sunny—the first time you were seeing the outside world since your departure from the world due to a smoky shitpile of a vampire injury. There probably should’ve been more fear associated with the act, but it was real hard to be fearful when Namjoon stood by your side.

Perhaps that moment should have been your first clue to your inevitable fate. But you were dumb, always and forever.

Without thinking, you sunk down to the grass, feeling the heat of the earth seep into your bones. Even when you were at the hunter’s association, the only version of the outside you ever got to see was one covered in barbed, electric wire and asphalt that desperately needed to be replaced.

Nothing really ever lived there; even the weeds were nonexistent--as if even the Earth knew that place smothered everything that tried to survive.

You could feel Namjoon’s eyes on the side of your face as you closed your eyes to the healing power of nature Yeah sure, it was just some fucking grass—but for someone who hadn’t seen nor felt grass in several years, it was heaven. There was even a pathetic little tree within eyesight that looked like the tree of life to an environmentally starved human such as yourself.

“What was it like in the human compound—not the Hunters’, but the one you came from?”

“Mmm.” You didn’t open your eyes because, well, you didn’t want to yet. “It was home. I grew up there; I had parents, friends and a life that actually felt like a life. I went to school and graduated; I had plans to get married and have a steady job. I remember that it was a place that felt safe and felt like it would bring me happiness... It was a place where I could dream. I haven’t dreamt in so long—it was better not to then to be crushed by what couldn’t be.”

Namjoon was silent for a moment, contemplative. “I wonder what my dream was before you. I can’t seem to remember if I even had one.”

“Namjoon!” It was perhaps the most horrifying noise to have ever graced your throat—somewhere between a growl and a shriek that ripped your vocal chords and left dryness at the back of your tongue. However, with the wire wrapping around your waist--threatening to cut off circulation to your desperate, dragging feet--you couldn’t find it in you to care about the pain of your scream. Rather, you let out another.

“Namjoon!”

There were tears coming to your eyes before you could stop them, adrenaline injecting itself into your veins out of frustration. Garlic. It smelled like too much garlic and the metallic tang of blood. If you were in a better state of mind, you would have chuckled about the fact that you finally, finally got rid of the smell of garlic burned into your nostrils from years of soaking weaponry. Before you could scream again, a gloved hand enclosed around your mouth—that motherfucking radio buzzing with static before a voice you desperately didn’t want to hear reverberated through the streets.

Don’t let her escape.

Despite the fact that the blood running through your system turned to ice, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight of Namjoon, sandwiched between Taehyung and Yoongi as they looped their arms through his. His screams somehow made it past the rushing in your ears and the silence of your body loosing the majority of its senses.

You hated that you could still hear the sizzle of garlic hitting his skin, the god awful smell permeating your nostrils.

I’ve got a read on your location—I’ll send backup. Make sure she’s alive.

Suddenly, as if you hadn’t been thinking about it every waking second—as if you haven’t been planning on putting your life in the hands of some shoddy medicine to remove it—you remembered the implant the Hunter’s Association had placed within you.

Hey, at least now you knew it was a GPS, right?

Yeah that did absolutely shit nothing to comfort you and before you knew it there was a god awful noise that sounded more feline than humanoid ripping through your chest.

Like a tiny, miniscule insect caught in a widow’s web, you shook and struggled. Every limb flailed fingers and joints digging into every available surface area of the woman holding you hostage. Your hands came up to rip the stupid lens off her face—the fucking bullshit piece of technology that Hunters wore regardless of the time of day. You nearly managed to reach her eye before she jerked her head away, your legs trying to kick out the back of her knee in her distraction. In a final act of desperation, your teeth sunk into the leather of her glove, trying to break flesh.

The wire around your waist cinched tighter around you, digging into your skin as you let out a god-awful shriek. “Fuck off!” But it was muffled through leather and hunter’s fingers.

She’s being unreasonable. Sedate her.

Another hunter approached you, ready to help assist the woman holding you like a wild animal needing to be removed from someone’s home.

“Oh fuck no!” You spat, hoisting your legs up to press square against his chest, shoving with all of your weight to keep him at bay. You couldn’t go down yet. Not yet. Namjoon was hurt. Namjoon needed you and these people would have to do everything in their power to stop you from going to him if they had any hope of keeping you.

Not that you were strong. God you wished you were strong now more than ever.

One of the woman’s hands freed themselves to search through the pack buckled around her hips.

Your mind raced, trying to travel back to hunter’s training, trying to remember what sedatives they had—how quickly they took effect. Would you have time to escape before you went down? Would you make it back to them?

Would you make it back to Namjoon before it was too late?

Too late. Too late for who?

Your eyes scanned the battle wildly, hunters invading the corners of your visions like the black spots you see when you’re about to pass out. Through their backs, you could see Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin fighting them off in an attempt to get to you. Occasionally, one of them would look up at you and you could see their desperation increase in the power of a hit thrown to a human.

Y/N. I’m well aware that you can hear me.

Your laser focus slid back to the walkie at the female’s hip.

Your whole body froze at the sound of your name, one of your feet propped on the face of the hunter in front of you while your arms shook from the effort of holding back the huntress’ hand armed with a needle--far too close to your skin for comfort.  

I want to personally congratulate you. When you come home, you can expect to see a medal waiting for you in your honor. You brought us directly to Kim Namjoon. You brought down the largest and most powerful clan on the entire continent—you should be proud. Despite your previous disobedience, I will have you know that your slate will be cleaned with this gift to us.

A year ago, the news would have been good to hear for yourself. One less clan? One less powerful ass vampire to threaten your life? Great. Excellent.

But, since the only remaining strand of fear currently inhabiting your body was for Namjoon and his safety, you realized that you were no longer that girl from a year ago. You were no longer afraid of the world outside your walls, you were no longer afraid of all vampires and you sure as hell had no fear for the people that you once were forced to consider comrades.

God, if you could spit in the General’s Assistant’s face, you would have hocked the biggest motherfucking loogie your body could offer.

“And what makes you think I want your useless medal?” You hissed, returning from the depths of your repressed memories to the present moment. With renewed vigor, you clamped your legs around the male hunter’s head. Every ounce of strength you owned went to your core and abs, lip curling as you began the process of crushing the motherfucker’s head. His hands reached up to claw at your thighs, his mouth gasping for breath as the woman’s efforts to save her fellow hunter distracted her from the bigger picture: you. Still using your strength to kill, you discovered the ability to multi-task long enough to snap the needle out of her weakened hand.

One threat down. For now.

Not to say she couldn’t grab another. Not to say you weren’t one more hunter away from being dragged back to the base camp.

Are you choosing their side?

You looked up to meet Hoseok’s gaze, as he was the closest and the most active in trying to get to you. He was the one within earshot; he was the one that was most likely going to bring you back to Namjoon or get hurt trying.  And god did you love him for it.

(Vampires don’t make any sense)

“Yeah, well, humans don’t make much of it either.”

“You’re smart enough to answer that on your own.” You chuckled darkly, adjusting your grip on the man enough to be able to get a better grasp on his skull—the prior position obviously wasn’t working because…well… he was still breathing. The huntress behind you jerked you to the side in an attempt to remove you from the man you were smothering between your legs. However, it was the worst life-saving attempt you’d seen yet, considering you hadn’t let up on your vice grip and you had no intentions to do so.

All it did was snap his neck.

“But yes.” You murmured to his body as his hands slumped off your thighs and the huntress screamed out in rage directly in your ear. “I choose his side.” You slammed your skull back into her face, wincing at the throbbing of your eardrum.

The statement was all it took for Hoseok to take that final burst towards you, any concern for the bullets fired from the guns all around you lost in that moment. Your concern for his safety, however, only increased until you finally saw why he was no longer worried about the garlic soaked threats: Jimin was using the remainder of his strength to aid Hoseok (Small, almost invisible shields no bigger than a dinner plate—ten at max, so, considering Jimin’s weakened state, it was probably like five. The younger had told you about his ability one night when you were far too curious and far too drunk off some wine Jungkook raided for you).

If you had been in a less concerned state of mind, you probably would have noticed that his lips were moving in an attempt to convey a very important message to you. One that you blatantly ignored because one: it was loud as hell currently, and two: you were dumb.

Hoseok growled in frustration at you as you furrowed your brow on him, thrashing in the huntress’ grip whilst you tried (and failed) to read his lips. You would have absolutely bombed any whisper challenge.

It wasn’t until he was practically in front of you that you could finally make out what he was trying to say, and surprise! It wasn’t “Do apes eat chocolate?”

“Y/N! Cover your ears!”

“I think that Hoseok has the worst ability.” Jiwoo said during one of her bouts of oversharing. You two were similar in that aspect. Suddenly, when presented with a genuine friend willing to listen to your endless rambling, you both found silence impossible and filled it to the brim with ADD thoughts. “I mean, not the worst as in, like, useless—but worst as in fatal.” She made a face at the ceiling. “I said that wrong, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Jiwoo.” You, too, chuckled to the ever listening ceiling. “You did, but continue anyways. I really want to know now.”

“Well…like…how do I put this…” She paused. “Okay, well he can alter his vocal chords in a way that can bust the brains of whoever he chooses. It’s like a sonic scream—however it’s all dependent on the tone. He’s perfected the right note to kill humans within his radius. Vampires are another story; he’s been working on that one. Apparently vampiric brains vary too much to make it easy for him.”

In a heated scramble as the woman screamed “STAND DOWN” in your already aching ear, you wrestled your hands free—nearly slapping yourself in the process of trying to keep your brain in your head. You thought that having the precious organ leaking out your ears would not be an attractive or life-sustaining look.

The sound burst through your fingers anyways, shimmying through your ear drums until your head was shaking with the force of Hoseok’s screams. The people around you froze and twisted like they’d been shot, bodies contorting at impossible angles as if they were exploding from the inside out.

In the chaos, Hoseok was able to get close enough to you to slap his hands over yours as added cushion to the hell of his voice. Despite both layers of skin and bone, you still felt blood dribble down from your nose and onto your upper lip. You screwed your eyes shut and clenched your jaw against the dampened noise; god, you did not want to imagine what it would sound like with bare ears.

The huntress behind you finally slumped, the wire around your waist loosening to a puddle at your feet, now that the person holding it was no longer living.

When Hoseok’s hands finally lifted off of yours—it couldn’t have been longer than five seconds, even if it felt like an eternity to your dum hooman brain—your ears were still ringing.

But you were alive.

Which, honestly, was more than you could say for the fallen hunters strewn around you like dead flies.

You didn’t want to look behind you, but curiosity got the better of you and you wound up making eye contact with the woman who had been holding you hostage. Granted, her eyes were darkened and seeing nothing—but that didn’t stop the frozen look of pain on her face as blood leaked from every possible orifice. If you weren’t so preoccupied in your thoughts, you probably would have thrown up. Instead, you just spit the gathered blood in your mouth at the ground, frowning at the radio on her hip.

“If you can hear me, fuck you.” You mumbled, if only because your tongue felt heavy and the world was swaying around you.  You doubted that he could; the words were for your own sanity, for your own control of your life. For Namjoon.

Namjoon.

Namjoon needed you.

You took one swirling look at Hoseok, nodding your thanks because you couldn’t remember how to use your vocal chords. Your first attempt at bolting back towards the compound was thwarted by the fact that your legs were now noodles and the ground was pitched at a drunken angle. Gracefully, you wound up slamming into the busted concrete in a pile of limbs. But, like the stubborn mule you were, determination had you back on your feet and plowing forward before you could even process the fact that you had actually fallen on top of a dead body.

There was a fierce ringing in your ears and every breath you took sounded too loud for the sudden silence of the universe but that one singular thought outweighed every earthly issue.

He chuckled softly. “You are a very interesting human, Y/N.”

Somewhere in the distance, in a faraway parallel universe where your body was but your mind wasn’t, you could feel the pain, exhaustion and agony of moving as fast as you were forcing yourself to. However, it was easily washed out by the pounding of your heart in your chest and the buzz of worry in your brain.

He still had the same smile though.

Bursting through the gates of the compound like a garlic soaked madwoman, you scanned the crowd of equally panicked vampires, failing to note the ones trying to direct you in favor of focusing on the most devastating sound you’d ever heard:

Namjoon’s agonized screams of pain.

Rushing out onto the warehouse floor, you noted that they had haphazardly tossed him onto a table, several vampires holding down his limbs in an attempt to stop him from writhing to the floor. A very unsure and emotionally unstable Taehyung was wiping at his neck in a vain attempt to stop the flow of blood despite his thrashing.

Everything that had been burning hot in your body instantly hit its freezing point, suddenly making you unable to feel your extremities.

Mechanically, as if you knew you couldn’t touch him with your own bloodied, garlic-tainted hands, you ripped off large chunks of your shirt to wrap around them. You stepped towards him slowly, giving yourself enough time to prepare yourself for what you had to do.

However, you, yourself were at a lack of what that might be.

You couldn’t tear your eyes from him—everyone else disappeared around you as if he was the only remaining being on this planet besides yourself. He was sweating with a fever, his skin paling before your eyes.

Vampires don’t get sick.

“Namjoon.” You whispered, completely ignoring the concern of Taehyung by your shoulder. Gingerly, you placed your clothed palms against his chest to get better leverage for you to take a closer look at his wound. Luckily, it appeared that the bullet had just grazed his neck--which would have been fine for him were it a normal bullet. However, since it was garlic laced, the location was perhaps the worst spot in his body to receive such a wound.

Since it was in a place that was directly flowing garlic laden blood to a system that couldn’t handle the substance.

“Namjoon.” You whispered again.

He only let out a huff of breath and a pained grown, his eyes unable to focus on anything in front of him.

Get rid of it, you have to get rid of it. You have to take out the garlic. You have to---

Your hand reached up to cup his face, forcing his gaze to flicker to you.

“Namjoon, look at me please. If you can hear me, please look at me.” Your brow furrowed in determination. “Don’t close your eyes. I need you to stay awake. I need you to look at me. If you—if you close your eyes and I lose you then what was the fucking point of all of this?” You hissed because you wanted to shout but you couldn’t make yourself any louder than you already were.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you watched cool droplets pepper his skin.

Shakily, he freed one hand from the vampires holding him, slowly reaching up to brush away your tears intermingled with blood; his blood or yours, you didn’t know.

You could feel it then, whatever “it” was. You could feel him. You could feel his pain, his fear, his worry. You could feel what he was thinking without being able to process it into words. And, in that moment, you knew you would risk it all for him.

Because….because….

Because I love you.

“Trust me.” You murmured, leaning into his touch before shifting to get a better grasp on him.

Water wouldn’t work, and with a lack of medical knowledge or equipment, there wasn’t a better way to get rid of the poison in his system.

So you did what only a human could do. You leaned down, feeling the heat of his fever radiate a scorching energy across your skin as you got closer to the wound. Swallowing one last free breath, you steeled your nerves and latched your lips around the wound.

You took an experimental bite, gathering as much blood as you could in your mouth before leaning up to spit the garlic laden liquid into the hem of your destroyed shirt. The second time you went in, he jolted against you—his body letting out an awful groan that quickly became a borderline scream. It took every bit of muscle you didn’t have to hold him down and repeat the process.

In that moment, you felt like an honest to god vampire—the ones from the history books; the ones that turned out to be incomparable to the real ones. The ones prior to the War of 2048. The ones that drank blood and lived in the darkness and didn’t understand humans as a source for anything but food.

The ones that wouldn’t be able to grasp your free hand as tightly as the one beneath you.

You continued until you couldn’t taste garlic anymore, until his skin slowly returned to its normal, honeyed color. You continued until the vampires around him could release him because he was no longer shaking uncontrollably. You continued until his sweat broke and the heat of his skin no longer scalded yours, until you couldn’t take the continued taste of his blood—until it became more metallic than sweet.

In a final gasp of breath, you spit the remainder into your soaked shirt, lifting your head to wipe at the smear of blood on your chin.

His eyes bore into your face with a clarity that relieved the majority of your worries.

He still couldn’t move properly, and he still wasn’t fully himself because, naturally, it would take a while for him to gather back his full strength. But what mattered was that he was here now. He was alive and there wasn’t enough garlic remaining in his system to threaten his life.

Taehyung handed you a fresh rag, allowing you to press it against Namjoon’s wound as he coughed. His words were weak, but you were hyper focused on him and could have heard them even if he didn’t make a sound. “This…” He coughed again. “This wasn’t what you wanted.”

Your eyes felt like they were being held open with toothpicks, your body succumbing to exhaustion now that the adrenaline was quickly leaving you behind. Despite it all, you couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at his worry. “No. This wasn’t what I wanted.”

“I…” He licked his lips. “I’m not what you wanted.”

You brushed his damp hair off of his forehead, continuing to hold pressure to his neck. You couldn’t help the gentle smile you gave him. He was cute.

This vulnerable version of him was cute.

“No.” You murmured. “No you weren’t.”

You could see the smile in his eyes, if only because his face had trouble making any expression other than tired pain. “But you stayed.”

You could have left. You could have let them take you back to the humans.

But you didn’t.

He didn’t have to say it for you to hear it, for you to read it in the features of his face.

You nodded, feeling your heart go rogue against your sternum. “I did.” You chuckled. “I did.”

~.~

You rested your head against the wall of the bathroom, brow furrowed on the ceiling. Every ounce of your energy was zapped into oblivion, leaving you a heaping mess on the floor of the restroom you’d been banished to.

In the wake of their clan leader being injured, you’d been removed from his side to go clean up—however, with the six currently occupied, the other vampires deemed you dangerous (what with your garlic hands) and, unbeknownst to the people who gave a shit about you, you were forced to take care of yourself. That, however, was hard to do when you were a walking injury who found out she could no longer move.

Not like you could blame the vampires though, as far as they were concerned, you were a walking weapon. And, well, they didn’t really understand the human body’s limits—the only people who did were otherwise occupied.

Of course, that didn’t change the slight sting of loneliness in your bones. Honestly, you were spoiled being around people who cared about you for more than the title of your chess piece.

It made you want to continue to be cared about.

Well, it was your fault that you made yourself a garlic bomb during a vampiric battle.

Battle? Were you really part of a battle? Did you seriously live through a battle?

Who the fuck were you now? Some freaking heroine in a dystopian novel?

With a scoff that determined you were no longer going to mope and feel sorry for yourself, you weaseled your way up into a sitting position—albeit with too much effort and a heaving amount of pain that had you wincing and biting your cheek to stop from crying out.

“Okay, Y/N. Next step.” You murmured to yourself, grabbing the edge of your destroyed shirt. “You can do this.” You managed to get the fabric to your shoulders before you forehead broke out into a sheen of sweat and you gasped out a pathetic noise of pain at your aching and bruised muscles. “Okay, girl, maybe you can’t do this.”

It was at that moment, with you pathetically bearing your ruined bra to the universe inside the bathroom walls that the door burst open with absolutely no hint of delicacy.

You honestly couldn’t find it in you to give a shit as you tilted your head up to meet the intruder’s gaze.

Jiwoo’s angered stare met yours, the rage transforming into worry within one millisecond as she caught sight of you pathetically slouched on the tile. You didn’t get a chance to speak or unpack any of her emotions before she was letting out a snarl.

“I’m going to kill them.”

“Who?”  You would have been scared if she didn’t look like she was going to cry. If your arms weren’t dead weight in your lap and if you legs could work you would have hugged her.

“Everyone. The people that did this to you, the vampires that thought you could fix yourself on your own, you for getting into this mess--everyone.” You hadn’t realized she had been holding the door open until she fully stepped inside and let it slam behind her with an earthquake thud.

You only nodded stupidly, your gaze cast down to your hands and the bloody, smelly mess that they had become. “I have garlic on me.”

She crouched down, grabbing the non garlic soaked bit of your shirt to remove it entirely before tossing it into a corner.  You didn’t miss the way her lip curled at it in disgust. “So?” Her voice was soft in comparison to the steel of her features as she crouched down in front of you. “I can’t believe they left you all alone in here. How are you supposed to care for yourself in this state?”

The longer she squatted before you, the longer she assessed the damage done to your body, the deeper the crease between her brows got. It would have been a shame if she gave herself wrinkles, she was pretty.

“What about Yoongi? The others? They need more attention than me—“

“Y/N.” She cut you off grabbing both of your hands despite the grit of her teeth as the garlic sizzled into her skin. If only because you were afraid she would hurt herself further, you let her lift you to your feet so she could help you wash the blood and pasta sauce from your hands.  It was definitely her doing the lifting too; you were more ragdoll than human at the moment. “I won’t let you be alone. Not right now.”

You stared at your feet, letting her take care of you—refusing to meet your own stare in the cracked and dirty mirror above the sink. Who wanted to look at themselves when they knew they were the reason for everything that just happened?  She reached over to the first aid kit that had been tossed in the room with you earlier, frowning at the pathetic array of medical equipment garnered for you. “There’s not even anything to scrub you with.” It seemed her disdain for the vampires that left you in here by yourself was only growing by the second, her anger a ticking time bomb. You felt she didn’t know what else to be—you felt like she felt as helpless as you did.

“Ji, its fine, really—“ But, when you lifted your head you could see her taking her shirt off behind you, dunking the fabric into the sink before you could even form any words. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m taking care of you.” She said simply, grabbing your arm to begin cleaning the stale blood from your skin. “Because you can’t and he can’t and no one else will.”

“I can do it.” You murmured weakly, but if it weren’t for her grasp on you, you would probably have collapsed to the floor; even she could see that. Your eyes followed the path she cleaned, wincing at the pain that came with the archeology of healing. Underneath layers of dirt and blood you both discovered the cuts and bruises—the threatening fractures that had you making pathetic noises in the back of your throat. You discovered the pain that settled into your bones and made you immobile; even you didn’t know just how bad your injuries were. You hadn’t really had the chance to figure it out in the wake of Namjoon.

But the masochistic part of you said that it wasn’t enough pain—you should have more. You should be dead—you should—

“Why?” Jiwoo whispered, her voice hoarse. “Why would you put yourself in danger like this? Namjoon—he could have handled it himself.”

You knew that. A deep-set part of you knew that. As her shirt turned washcloth soothed the heated ache in your back with cold water, you knew that everything you did was in vain. Even sitting there, safe and sound in an abandoned bathroom, you could still hear Namjoon’s screams. You could still hear the buzz of the walkie talkie’s feedback.

You could still smell garlic.

“He could have.” You murmured.

All your fault, Y/N. This is all your fault. If you weren’t so stupid he would have been alive and well and completely fine.

So would that Hunter you were partnered with.              

Jiwoo’s gaze softened on you, her forehead resting against your temple. “If it was Yoongi, I know I would have done that same. But you and I—we are different species, you have to know that. You matter too much, Y/N. What would we do without you?”

You felt tears building in your eyes, that pathetic, fragile spine of yours folding easily to your fear, your blame and your guilt. You were nothing if you weren’t weak-willed, a human afraid of everything.

Especially herself.

“I wanted to keep him safe.” You whispered. “I’m nothing special, just a dumb human. But he’s done all of this for me and I—I-I—“

Jiwoo’s arms were around you before you could think properly, the pain in your bones a punishment you bared with all the grace of gritted teeth and a yelp of pain that you swallowed in your chest. Her hugs were a force to be reckoned with, because they were usually the contact you got when you needed it most.

“You are incredibly special.” Her anger tried to punch through your thick skull like a lobotomy needle, quick, sharp and to the point. “You aren’t special just because Namjoon is your mate, not just because you’re a small, fractional possibility in a sea of normality. You aren’t special because your fear tastes like what I imagine your human sugar tastes like to you. You are special because you are Y/N. There is only one you; no one can replace you.”

“Everyone is replaceable.”

She shook her head. “No. Not everyone is. Not everyone can make Hoseok laugh so loud that he breaks the glass to the oven. Not everyone can make Taehyung distract enough to get lost during missions because he was looking for a game—if only because he now has someone who wants to play with him. Not everyone can make Seokjin smile like we’ve never seen in years. Not everyone can make Jungkook control himself around a human as much as you can; if only because he wants to be your friend so bad that he forces himself to do the impossible. There hasn’t been a single person—vampire or human—to understand me the way you have. Not everyone can stand up to a room full of vampires when it is obvious that they shake at the mere sight of them. Not everyone can dare to shoot a gun at death and still be standing of their own accord. Not everyone can stand in the middle of two species and find peace with what they had always considered their enemy. And for sure, there isn’t another person on this planet that could make Namjoon fight as hard as he is for you. Y/N, there is absolutely no one else like you. If you were not here, we would all suffer.”

At some point, during her speech that could have moved mountains, her thumbs had come up to brush away tears you hadn’t realized had been falling. It was a lot to say you were worth it when this mess was caused by you.

It’s all your fault he’s hurt.

“But I couldn’t save him.” You whispered.

Her hug was unrelenting, her care momentarily forgotten in the wake of your emotional trauma. “You did.”

“But it was my fault that it happened in the first place.”

“It was the Hunter’s Association’s gun, not yours.”

“But—but I am a Hunter.”

She pulled back to asses you, her eyes flitting across your face as if she was trying to figure out if this was truly a person she knew. “Are you?” Her brow furrowed on you. “Have you ever killed a vampire, Y/N? Hell—“ She scoffed. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“My--my actions caused people to die.”

The trees became made of blood, the petals falling bits of bone that dislodged from the branches. In the shadows you could see clawed hands reaching for you, pitch black eyes boring into yours as it grabbed your wrists and—

Jiwoo lifted your hands to your line of sight. Her hands weren’t clawed; her nails were blunt and normal around your wrists—gentle, even. Her eyes were clear and kind and didn’t whisper death threats in your ear. “These, Y/N. Have these hands ever taken life?”

You stared at her; the force of your nightmare dissipating around you launched you into a state of shock. It was a ghost that had haunted you, a shadow that never removed itself from you—something you could never get rid of.

But in the bathroom, there were no trees and there was no blood but your own.

You still had your guts in your stomach and you heart in your chest.

You shook your head.

She smiled, blinding in the close proximity. “Then you are not a Hunter, you are Y/N, a very special human. My most special human friend, someone I could not live without.”

The tears that fell could have been from the pain and exhaustion, from the relief of thinking you lost Namjoon, from the realization that your life was inextricably changed forever. But, for the first time in forever, you wanted to believe that they came from happiness.

It was funny how a vampire could be more human than humanity itself.

~.~

It was strange, to say the least. An odd feeling to have the roles reversed; like you were in a parallel universe where you were stronger than Kim Namjoon, the clan leader of the century. It didn’t feel right for you to be sitting curled up in the chair while he lay injured and breathing heavily on the bed.  How long ago was it that you woke up to those golden eyes? How long ago was it that you were in that bed while he was in that chair?

How long was it that you realized you didn’t want to be anywhere he wasn’t?

It had taken Jiwoo a tremendous amount of effort to get you upstairs and to the room—despite protests from both her and Taehyung who insisted that you get your own rest in a more comfortable place such as their own plush beds. However, you told them you wanted the chair; you told them that you wanted to see him—that you needed to be there. With pity in their eyes, they obliged if only because, by now, they knew you could be unreasonably stubborn when you wanted to.

It was a painful fold, no matter how you situated yourself in the furniture, you couldn’t get comfortable. Everything felt swollen and injured, threatening to tear your skin at the seams and spill all your metaphorical stuffing to the floor. But you wanted to be there.

It should have been boring, honestly. Sitting there aching and in pain and just staring at him as he slept should have been the epitome of torture. But it wasn’t.  There was something that stilled the panic inside of you just by watching him rest. Despite the way your fingers fiddled at your chest, you felt comfort in watching the rise and fall of his breaths. It didn’t help your nails from scratching at your skin as if you could reach through your own skin and rip out the device to blame for all of this. If you could have, you would have gone back in time and forced him back sooner. You wouldn’t have laid there on the asphalt like a tired heap of a human, you would have remembered about Jisung’s teleporter.

Maybe then this wouldn’t have been your fault.

But no what ifs and no time controlling could transfer this blame. Even the soft words from Jiwoo couldn’t erase the guilt settling in your gut. Nothing could stop the cacophony of sound from reverberating in your skull, bouncing through your brain until all you could hear was the endless repetition of “My fault. It’s my fault.”

Even when you screwed your eyes shut in the hopes that the loss of one sense would erase them all, it couldn’t stop the unbidden image of Namjoon falling as he screamed in pain. Nothing could uninstall that frame of mind you had when you thought that you were going to lose him forever. You were afraid like you hadn’t ever been.

You’d never had a need to be afraid for another person, because you’d never had any people you loved more than yourself.

You didn’t want to be in this world if Namjoon wasn’t; you didn’t want to imagine a life without him in it.

In that moment, your body went lax, a chuckle escaping you as the tears burst past the gaps in your eyelashes. You had to give up to move on. You had to give up because there wasn’t any way you could lie to yourself any longer.

You loved Kim Namjoon. More than you’ve ever loved anyone, more than you think you’d ever love anyone else.

He wouldn’t understand the sentiment, he wouldn’t reciprocate in the way you wanted him to, but it was better to have what you could than nothing at all, right? He cared for you, and that was enough—that had to be enough.

With a heavy sigh, you peeled open your eyes, tilting your head back to the spot where you knew Namjoon would be.

However, you didn’t expect to meet the intensity of his golden gaze in that exact moment. You didn’t expect him to be awake, one eyebrow raised at you as you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sight of an injured man coherent.

“What is so funny?” He murmured, his tone shifting the moment he caught the quick sight flash of a tear kamikaze-ing down your cheek. “Why are your eyes wet?”

You let out a bark of laughter, unable to help the sudden onslaught of fresh tears running wild. “It’s called crying, stupid.”

“But why?”

You loved him. You loved him so much.

Your eyes met his once more and you shook your head, your lips twisting into a sad version of a smile. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Letting your extremely unhelpful answer slide for the moment, his eyes flit across your features to linger heavily on the bruising evident from the blown out collar of your shirt—his piercing stare especially zeroed in on the blood seeping through the fresh bandages on your hands.

You could sense his hatred and anger without him ever uttering the words; you could taste it in the air as it soured on the back of your tongue.  All he had to do was look at you for you to know what he was thinking.

Was it the same for him?

You rested your chin in the palm of your hand in an attempt to hide some of the damage from his probing stare. “I’m fine, honestly. You…” you took in a sharp breath. “You almost weren’t.”

He sunk his head back into the pillow underneath him, however his gaze never wavered from you. “Humans are more fragile than I will ever be—you were also almost not fine.”

“Perhaps. But at least I didn’t have artery exposure to a substance I’m deathly allergic to.” You murmured, raising one eyebrow back at him.

He pursed his lips at you, an ever present crease gathering between his brows. “Touché.”

There was a brief moment where it was just the two of you, meeting each other’s stare. Naturally, you had to be the one to look away first, finding solace in the way your hand curled around the fabric of your jeans. It was easier than trying to decipher what that glimmer in his gaze meant.  

However, this time he was the one to break the silence first. “I’m sorry that I did not tell you what we were going out to do.”

You shrugged. “I want to say its fine, that I am overly emotional about a lot of things for no reason. But it’s not.”

He nodded. “It is not my intention to exclude you from these happenstances; however I value your life over your temporary satisfaction.”

“Will this be a long-term issue?”

“I hope to clear this mess as quickly as possible, as Jisung has decided to make himself far more annoying than initially planned.”

You bit your lip, your fingers kneading into the sore flesh of your thigh through the fabric. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? All of this. You wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me.”

“Y/N, while it is true I may not have been a clan leader if it weren’t for your existence, I would still find myself in a similar predicament. We want to protect our mates.”

“You were born to be a clan leader.”

His eyes sparked with something you couldn’t yet name and you didn’t dwell on it for fear of your thoughts leaking into his. “I appreciate the compliment. I would appreciate it even more if you quit blaming yourself for the results of Jisung’s confrontation. This is not your fault—my injury is not your fault.”

“The tracking device is in me, it is my fault.”

He let out a long-winded sigh. “Is that what this is about? Something that the humans did to you? Do you now blame yourself for their faults as well? What they do to me, what they have done to you, is also not your fault.”

“But—“

“Y/N.” He slowly extended one hand out towards your chair, his fingers long and inviting—they looked like they might be real nice to lace through yours. “Come here.”

You didn’t move despite the fact that there was a tantalizing offer on the table, instead, you swallowed and forced yourself to face him with all of your mouse bravery. “I thought I was going to lose you from this. I thought that this was it, that I wasn’t going to see you alive anymore because of this stupid device. I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if…if…if…”

“If I died?” That damn eyebrow of his was at it again, incredulously raised just to mock you.

You gulped despite the fact that your mouth was dry. “Yes.”

His eyes were warm, warm in the same way that protected you years ago, warm in the way that engulfed you while attacking Jisung, warm in the way that only Kim Namjoon could be. “I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon; death is improbable because I have you.”

You felt your face heat up like a kettle on the stove, slowly seeping up your neck until the tips of your ears were burning. You really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you embarrassed, but his words hit too suddenly for you to recover quickly.

“Besides, we now have matching scars.” He gestured to his bandaged and immobile shoulder before going back to offering you that extended hand.

Like the shittiest matching couple’s outfits.

“I would equate it more to couple’s tattoos—I saw those in one of those mating movies.”

You shook your head, too tired to correct his entire being in the moment. “That’s a curse, not a sign of affection—don’t you know those always end horribly?”

He rolled his eyes. “Y/N, will you just take my hand?”

“You need to sleep.” You whispered, despite the fact that your fingers were already reaching out to brush across his.

It took little to no effort for him to snap his hand around yours, ripping you from the sheltered safety of the chair and into his side as if that was the place you belonged. However, you could see a sheen of sweat break out across his skin from the effort exerted to move you like a ragdoll.

“You’re going to hurt yourself further! You’re still healing!” You snapped, though it had no bite with the heat emanating from your tomato cheeks at the close proximity to his face. You were absolutely, 100% sure that he could feel the way your heart jack-hammered against your sternum.

“Well you weren’t making it easy, so I had to do something.” He mumbled like a kicked puppy, wrapping his good arm around your shoulders to keep you pinned to him. “Besides, you’re warm in the way I like. You are a natural healing agent.”

“Stop saying embarrassing stuff!”

“But I like the way it makes your face turn different shades of burnt.”

“You’re lucky I don’t want to hit you because you’re injured!”

But he only laughed, the sound vibrating through your bones. “I am, aren’t I?”

You buried your face into his good shoulder so he could no longer get the satisfaction of flustering you with his being. “Stop watching romance movies—you’re getting cheesy.”

“What’s cheese?”

You groaned, reaching up to cover his eyes with your hand. “Just go to sleep already, would you?”

~.~

“You’re going to have to feed if you’re going to have any hope of getting off of that bed.” Yoongi’s glare was unrelenting; his arms crossed and frown permanently creased into his features. However, it appeared that Namjoon was otherwise distracted, his attention solely focused on you and Seokjin as he assessed your injuries. “Yah! Are you even listening?”

“No.” Both you and Namjoon spoke at the same time, much to your scowl and his shit-eating grin.

“He’s too busy focused on the person who’s been able to walk around and move just fucking fine this past week while he’s still bed-ridden and glued to a mattress.” You grumbled under your breath, wincing as Seokjin slipped a needle under your skin.

“What are you doing?” Namjoon asked instead of answering either you or Yoongi’s retorts.

“I’m giving her something to help with the swelling.” Seokjin murmured. “However, perhaps you should take the advice of your colleague and your mate and focus on yourself in the meantime.” He hit a particularly sore spot, whispering apologies as you pressed your lips into a line to unsuccessfully disguise the grunt of pain.

“I want to know what it is. I want to know how to help her—I don’t want to rely on you for everything.”

Dead puppies dead puppies. Daisies. Dogs. You missed dogs. It’d been a long time since you’d seen a dog.

You focused your ADHD thoughts on literally anything but the fact that you were relying on Seokjin for far more than making you better—you were relying on him for a secret that, if Namjoon were to catch, the two of you would be screwed. Well, maybe not you, but boy would you be pissed if you couldn’t get this fucking thing out of you. And you kinda sorta liked Seokjin enough that you really didn’t want to see him without a head.

“That is a concern for later, Joon. You can’t learn when you’re getting a fever from lack of food.”

It was almost cute how Namjoon pouted at the rejection. It was kind of cute how he wanted to be the one to be by your side always if it wasn’t for the fact that you were a strong independent woman who---

Who were you kidding, it was hella cute. You felt like a romance novel heroine living up the dream with her hot vampiric mate.

Well, if it weren’t for the fact that you weren’t the least bit the heroine that anyone would write about.

“Besides, she’ll be fine. She’s surprisingly durable for a human.”

Namjoon scoffed. “You hadn’t seen her the first time.”

“I can imagine based on the state of the second time.”

“Hey.” You waved your hands in the air like an idiot, smacking Seokjin extra if only because you couldn’t do the same to Namjoon. “I’m still here guys.”

Seokjin only chuckled. “For now. Make another mistake and you might not be. You have to be more careful.”

“Yeah yeah.” You groaned, even though everyone in the room could fully tell that you had absolutely no intention of doing just that as long as Namjoon’s life was on the line. Well, Seokjin especially—what with the time for your plan coming quicker than either of you were properly prepared for.

“So are you going to feed or what?” Yoongi snapped, causing you to hide a burst of laughter behind your hand.

Namjoon glared at the elder. “If you carry me. I am not about to expose her to that.”

So you become a toddler when you are bed-ridden and can’t move.

“I heard that.” He snapped.

“You were meant to.” You chuckled, sticking out your tongue until Seokjin tested your reflexes by slapping his hand against your knee, causing you to let out a quick yelp that had everyone in the room laughing.

~.~

He was basking in the afterglow of his meal, and despite the fact that he probably just killed a human, you couldn’t help the smile on your face. He looked the healthiest he’d been in days; it was amazing what the required nutrients could do to a being.

“Shouldn’t you be scared?” He murmured as you wiped a rag down his face to clean up the blood splattered there. It wasn’t his, that much you knew.

“Probably.” You murmured, tilting his head to the side to gain access to his neck. Somehow he even managed to get it along his collar bones. There was a big part of you that knew you should have thought about the person behind the blood, the person whose fear made this vampire so healthy—the person who’s life had to end for his to continue. But, with no body and your worry otherwise focused on Namjoon’s healing, you felt more like a mother cleaning up a toddler who just shoved their face in chocolate cake. “But there are sacrifices for everything, aren’t there?”

“There are. But am I worth those human lives?”

You wanted to tell him yes, to say that he was far more important than any of those lives—but that was selfish of you and that was your heart talking over your mind. So instead, you remained silent and let the quiet in the air force you to choose your words carefully.

“Did you…did you kill them?”

“I did today.” He murmured, refusing to meet your gaze. “Does that upset you?”

You dried his face with the clean cloth, shrugging. “Not as much as it should. From what I understand, you’re a picky eater.” And it was the honest truth; you were surprisingly okay for it for someone who literally puked the last time she even thought about a dead body.

He snorted, his eyes glued somewhere towards the wall. “I don’t usually.” He whispered, almost as if he was afraid of your answer. “I don’t usually kill them—humans at least. Hunters are different, but the ones that are brought in from the enclaves I don’t like to destroy.”

“You have to keep them around as a food source. Right?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not that. I just feel…they were left behind by their own people. They were sacrificed for their own kind—it’s not right to me to take what little they have left from them.”

“You pity them?”

“I suppose I do.”

You sat back on your heels, staring at the side of his face if only because he wouldn’t meet you head on. It was one of the rare occasions where it appeared that the most fearsome clan leader in all of the continent seemed afraid himself.

It was quiet, if only because you knew he had more to say—more to get off his chest. So you waited until he turned to face you, to ask you the question burning at the back of his throat.

“Do you hate me for it?”

“For killing?”

He nodded and you couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. “I have never seen you like this before. What made you show this side of yourself to me?”

“You make me question my entire existence Y/N. I don’t know humans; I don’t understand how they think. I prefer your smile to your face when it lets loose water—“

“When I cry.” You murmured stupidly.

“When you cry, yes. I dread your fear more for your sake than my own.  When I picked you up off the street so long ago and brought you back here, I thought I could handle it if you despised me. But now, I don’t think that I could.”

It took your breath away, how honest he was. He was always honest, albeit grumpy and sometimes irritating. But he could say these things to your face; he never hid his feelings from you—his thoughts and his worries. That was more than you could have said for yourself. How did you come to deserve someone like him when you were so….flawed?

“I don’t hate you for being what you are. I’m not afraid of you for killing.” You rolled your tongue along your teeth, trying to find the right words in the hodgepodge whirlwind running through your mind. “I mean, I don’t want to see you feed. I don’t want to watch you kill because I have the spine of a coward and I would probably be afraid in that moment. But of you? Never. Not anymore. Despite what you are, Kim Namjoon you are my…. My….”

“Mate?” He whispered, his eyes searching your face as if it had the answers to questions he had yet to ask.

You shook your head. “Despite what you are, Kim Namjoon, I am yours.”

You couldn’t say he was yours, you didn’t own him. He was the leader of a clan; he was the property of many peoples. He couldn’t give you all of himself like you could give to him. He couldn’t give you the love you wanted, but you could give him yours. It was the truth, a double edged sword that both healed and hurt you at the same time. But that was what it was like to love someone like Kim Namjoon.

And if that was the most you could have then you would run with it until the end of the world.

He cocked his head at you, still trying to decipher the meaning behind your stance. “You told me you were not property.”

You let your shoulders slump, a horrible groan ripping from your throat as you fought back the redness of your ears with every fiber of your being. “For the love of God, you are the densest fucking vampire ever.”

“I don’t understand.”

You snorted. “I know, but that’s okay for now. For now, you have to get better so you can get that pea brain of yours working properly.”

“Hey!”

You laughed, enjoying the way that your laughter enticed his own.

~.~

“Namjoon?” You murmured to the quiet of the room, carefully watching the even rise and falls of his chest. “You awake?”

It was a whisper, but you knew, if he were conscious, he would hear it. Recovery had been hard on him; it was a slow process that took time and effort. But, you felt that he was just now beginning to get to a place where you could be positive that he would be fine. You needed him to be fine before you did this. You needed him to be fine but immobile—because then he couldn’t stop you. This was prime timing for what you were about to do, for the crazy decision your idiot ass was about to make. You knew if you didn’t gun for it now, you would never get a chance like this again.

When he didn’t respond, you slowly, ever so slowly, shifted towards the edge of bed.

Carefully, watching his every waking breath and move, you peeled yourself from the bed without so much as a squeak from the loudest mattress springs on planet earth.

Padding to the door like a kid trying not to wake their mom after curfew, you gave him one last parting glance over your shoulder. “I’ll be back.” You nodded to him as if he could actually hear you--as if that could still the rapid thumping of your heart in your chest. You swore you could feel the beat in your throat.

It was a lie that you wanted to believe. You didn’t know if you’d be back, you didn’t know what was going to happen in the span of a few hours. Maybe you wouldn’t be, but you had to have hope if you wanted your feet to move out into that hallway.

With the door closed gingerly behind you, you took a moment to stare at the wood. It was imperative that you gained your resolve once more before continuing onward.

This was for him; this was to prevent incidents like this. You didn’t want to be to blame if they humans came again, you didn’t want to be the cause of his death. You were absolutely positive that you wouldn’t be able to handle it all a second time.

Seokjin was already standing outside the door, quietly waiting for you to meet his gaze. You could feel the heat of him by your side. Patient but ready.

You were thankful for him now more than ever.

Without a word, you nodded to him and the two of you set off outside.

~.~

You busied yourself by playing with the scalpel on the table next to you instead of focusing on the bright ring lights, on the metal table under your ass and the button up shirt you wore for easier access to your chest. You tried to not think about the fact that soon your organs would be exposed to the air in the shed--hat soon you would be either dead or better for it. But, well, that pretending was becoming increasingly harder to do.

“You did a real good job cleaning this place up, Jin.”

“I can taste your fear, Y/N. There’s no point in hiding it now.” He murmured, his back turned to you as he thoroughly scrubbed at his hands. “But thank you. I had to make sure it would be a proper place to do this.”

“You even fixed the floorboards—I didn’t figure you one for carpentry.”

He chuckled. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I suppose.” You could see yourself in the polished metal, how haggard your face was, how your expressions belittled your resolve. “If I really start to get afraid, you won’t kill me, right?” It was a horrible squeak that made you hate your rabbit tendencies all the more.

“I won’t. I have far more restraint at a mere human’s fear.” He chuckled. “Yours included.”

“That’s the first time that ‘mere human’ feels like a comforting phrase coming from a vampire.”

He shot you a glance over his shoulder, his eyebrows knitting together. “We don’t have to do this now, Y/N. We don’t have to do this at all. There are other options—other—“

“No.” You shook your head, setting the scalpel down as Seokjin grabbed a pair of latex gloves he had set by the sink. “We’ve come too far and done too much. We’re doing this.”

“Are you sure?”

“100%” You smiled, though it felt more grimace than smile. It seemed to work for Seokjin, if only because you bet he knew by know that you were stubborn and scared and jumped into things head-on without thinking. If you decided that this was what you were going to do, then he had no power to stop you.

He started towards you, towards the little table he’d procured for his medical supplies. His fingers ghosted over the anesthetic he chose—an oral one, since the last thing he needed was further fear attracting others to you. Needles were a hard pass in a compound full of vampires who could taste fear in the air.

He lifted the prepared cup, handing it over to you.

You, for your part, were surprisingly calm as you started down at the liquid—translucent red, like a punch or a fruity drink. It most definitely was not, but one could pretend.

“Don’t make this be the last time I see your face, okay?” Your voice was weak despite the smile in your statement. “And Namjoon…if he—“

“You’re coming back, Y/N.” Seokjin murmured. “I won’t let you die on this table.”

“I know.” You smiled, heaving out the deepest of sighs from your chest. “I think I just wanted to hear you say it.” You swallowed your own spit, raising your little plastic cup to the air. “Cheers.”

And then it was sliding down your throat, calm and cool and oh-so-fucking terrible tasting. It was like they tried to flavor it with cherry to make it easier but artificial cherry tasted like shit. You remembered when you were seven and your mom bought a bag of cherries from the grocery store to try. You remembered her laugh at your face as you realized the medicine you grew up on was a huge lie to the reality of the sweet fruit.

You didn’t know why you were remembering her now.

You wondered if she still thought of you. If you died, would she ever know?

“It’ll take a few minutes to sink in.” Seokjin murmured, his hands gently pushing you back onto the table. “So relax.”

“Okay.” You whispered more to yourself than to him, shaking off the bitter taste in the back of your throat. “Okay.”

It was silent for a moment. That one quick moment of peace. It was refreshing; it was the calm before a shitstorm large enough to tear you in two.

In the span of a few seconds, the table you were on was suddenly knocked over, sending you careening to the floor in a pile of limbs and confusion. In your out-of-body experience, you could hear Seokjin shouting something that you couldn’t make out. You had to squint to even see him past the sudden, blaring reality that you were on the ground.

Apparently, his shouting was directing you to “for the love of god move!” considering he was landing a punch on a freshly teleported Freckles.

It was horrible and gut-wrenching to know that the reason your head was fuzzy was the due to the anesthetic you could still feel coating your throat and that you had about five minutes before you would be gone to the world.

In the chaos and the crushing realization that you would be of zero help, you found that you couldn’t even make a noise.

“J-Jin!” Your voice was soft to your own disoriented ears as you struggled to your feet. “Jin!” It, unfortunately, wasn’t getting any louder with your increased effort.

“Get out of here, Y/N!”

You frowned, brow furrowed as you took one step, then two lurching ones towards the door—you had to get help. You had to do something for Seokjin, somehow—you had to get someone better than the ticking time bomb that was you.

However, your efforts were thwarted almost instantly by the arm that looped around your waist, yanking you back into the enemy vampire’s chest.

“Oh no you don’t.” Theulgiestvampireever hissed.

You thrashed as much as you could, but your body felt five times heavier than it should have and your attempts amounted to absolutely nothing.

With a forceful kick, Freckles knocked Seokjin backwards and to the ground, blood dripping down both of their foreheads. Seokjin looked up at you through the leaking injury running past his eye, his hand enclosing around your ankle in one last, desperate effort to save you.

“Y/N!”

You couldn’t see Freckles’ evil grin, or the look on his face or the way his leg lifted to deliver a final crushing blow. But you did hear his chuckle next to your ear; you did hear the snap of bone as his heel crashed down onto Seokjin’s hand. You didn’t miss the way Seokjin’s head snapped back dangerously when met by the force of Freckle’s knee.

You screamed even though no sound came out.

I’m sorry Namjoon. You thought before reality shifted around you, breaking you into that nauseating place between worlds. The moment, thankfully, only lasted a few long seconds before you were launched into a heap outside of the fencing of Namjoon’s compound.

You gasped for breath, trying to help yourself to your feet to no avail. Your body was now too heavy for you to move it of your own accord and, when you tilted your head to the night sky, you realized that you couldn’t even feel the asphalt digging into the skin of your palms.

The world blurred around you, despite every effort to keep it in focus.

“Now who’s pathetic?” You hated the sound of his voice, hated that it haunted your nightmares and made you fear for Namjoon’s life. He bent down to your form to pick you up as if you were empty, as if you were nothing more than a slightly weighted bag to sling over his shoulder.

“You ready to meet a god, Y/N?” Jisung chuckled.

You grasped for anything to keep you tethered to your surroundings, fists weakly hitting his back. But, it was useless. It was all so useless. Before you could stop it, you were tumbling into unconsciousness.

~.~

When you finally came to, you had a pounding headache and found that were suddenly unable to move at all.

Well, for one, it was hard to move when your body was still stiff from however long you were out cold. Secondly, it really didn’t help that your arms were twisted behind you and bound by zip ties so tight you felt them cutting off circulation. Your legs didn’t fare any better, considering they were each bound to the front legs of the hard, metal chair you found yourself on.

With a groan to the ceiling, you tilted your head to scan your surroundings and get a better grasp of the reality of the situation you were in. If it weren’t for the fact that your brain wasn’t fully awake, you probably would have split in half from the force of your fear.

The room you were in was dilapidated and fading, however, you came to the conclusion that it was once used for education. Desks were piled in a corner, a broken chalkboard littering the floor to your left with bits of crushed chalk and dust. However, the second you fully awoke, you found that you couldn’t get a good look at much else because your attention was immediately drawn to the table set up next to you. Sitting atop of it was a laptop screen, plugged in via extension cord and a surprisingly quiet generator. Jisung sat smugly next to the laptop, lips twisted in a grin that would put nightmare shadows to shame.

But you were too glued to the sight of Namjoon’s face in the video feed provided by the laptop to care about much else.

He was sitting upright in his bedroom. He must be at the vanity. You thought, stupidly.

He, for obvious reasons, was not as happy to see your face as you were to see his.

“Ah! See that Joonie? Looks like she’s coming to.” Jisung chuckled, hopping off of the desk to take slow, predatory strides towards you. You briefly wondered just how long he had been sitting there, watching you and babbling nonsense to Namjoon.

You were still too groggy to feel too much fear at the action. Rather, you met Namjoon’s gaze through the screen and grimaced.

“Shit.” Was the first, creative, intelligent, and breathtaking thing to come out of your mouth.

“Shit indeed.” Jisung laughed, like a fucking clown from a horror movie you once watched with your best friend back behind the walls of the human world. Before you could react, Jisung’s hand was in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat to the coolness of the room.

“Let go of her.” Namjoon growled; the sound was low and scary even to your half-conscious brain. You could see the muscles in his arm flex, his lip curled in a snarl. It would have been attractive were you not in a predicament that had you wanting to shit your pants.

Jisung inhaled, and, even from your awkward angle, you could see the way his eyes glinted with a fresh feed. “Her fear is so fucking good.”

You quickly gathered that this was all just a pissing contest, a power move to bring Namjoon down.  All you would ever be was a pawn, a toy to lure him out. Granted, you, on your own weren’t worth much, but it still sickened you to know that it was about all you would be good for. Vampire or human, it didn’t matter. They just wanted you to kill him—and by gods if you were just going to let it happen.

“Let’s play that game we talked about while she was sleeping, okay Joonie?” The nickname sounded absolutely disgusting coming from Jisung’s mouth. If you could, you would have slapped him yourself (and probably instantly regretted it, but you were always more of a do now think later kind of girl).

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“What game?” You whispered, your breath hitching as Jisung let go of you far too violently for your own taste, travelling somewhere just behind you. You hated how his eyes glowed from your fear once more, your body shivering at the sudden awareness of the temperature of the room around you.  “Namjoon—what game?” You looked to him for guidance, but his eyes were cold and rimmed with dark circles. How long was he sitting there, watching you sleep through a screen? “Why are you making him watch this?” You whispered.

Jisung, however, did not have the care for his volume as you did for yours. “Because, dear Y/N, there is no point in torture if it doesn’t rile him up. Pictures would have sufficed but, I am a reaction man. I gotta see his face as it happens, live.” By the time he was finished, the last word were hissed into the shell of your ear. Brought with the enemy vampire, was a blade so big it could have covered your whole face. Jisung twisted it, his gaze never leaving Namjoon’s.

[angelic-kisses13]

(Pirate Henry x Voodoo Witch Reader) Antillia- Chapter 2

Authors Note: Chapter 2 for Antillia my Pirate Henry and Voodoo Witch Reader story! Special kudos to @eastwesthomeisbest​ for making the amazing and breathtaking cover!! Love it so much Darling! 

Warnings: Blood, swearing, angst, witch spells

Antiilia 

She was outside, the lake rippling in the breeze, the sound of animals and birds chirping throughout the sky calming her senses. It was another fine day, dawn just settling in and she was making her way towards the lake, her washing in her hands. She had just settled down along the bank and was placing the clothes into the water, when the world around her went silent. 

Her hands stilled and her body stiffened, glancing around her it seemed as if the darkness had engulfed her, snuffing out all life. She had just a moment's notice before the lake in front of her began to swirl. She leaned forward, her hair falling around her face as she peered down, images manifesting through the black ink of the water. 

She watched as the events unfolded, a flesh of skin carved from a man's knee, the black swirls creating a map, the lost language jumping out at her. Her breath caught in her throat. The visage of a man with penetrating blue eyes and a whiskery chin came into view, a triumphant spark in his eyes. He had found the map, and her skin prickled at the sight. He was one step closer to finding Antillia and getting the treasure. 

She was thrown out of the vision, her body slamming back into the soil as she caught her breath, her skin and dress clinging to her body from sweat. She hadn’t had a vision that intense in years. Mistress Nairobi needed her to see this and feel it. She quickly gathered her linens and made for her little hut, she had to pack and hurry to Mother Nairobi’s side. This wasn’t just a vision, it was a summons. 

It took her three days to get to Mistress Nairobi’s and by that time, she had several more visions each showing more detail into the map and its origins. Her body was drained and her mind was exhausted from hosting Nairobi’s presence. People often forget the possession aspect of the Voudon religion. 

Up in the distance she could make out the Coven’s sanctuary, an old cave hidden in the depths of a cliff. There was only one way into the cavern and the person had to climb three hundred feet using vines and footholes, one misstep and the person would plummet to their deaths. Her body ached at the thought, but she was more than ready to figure out why she had been summoned over the matter.

By the time the sun was in the middle of the sky, she had finally arrived at the cliff, the thick vines tangling together over the jagged rocks, giving the cliff face more of a reassuring air than it actually was. She could feel the magic thrumming through her, the ground practically vibrating at having her magic sync up with it. 

A laugh bubbled up, the magic making her delirious. She forgot how revitalizing the sanctuary was, she couldn’t remember why she left in the first place. 

She glanced down at her dress, the skirt a hindrance to her upcoming climb. She swiftly pulled a dagger from her thigh and began cutting away at the material, before long she had an effective skirt, ending above her knees and just brushing her upper thighs. Nodding her head at her new wardrobe, she sheathed her dagger back into the thigh holster. She reached up and pulled on a few vines, testing the strength to make sure it would hold her weight. 

Once she was satisfied she tied one of the vines around her in a makeshift harness, and wrapped a few more around her wrists, ensuring that if she were to slip she would still be able to stay attached to the wall to some degree.  She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, hyping herself up for what was to come. 

She reached her hand up and chanted,

“Secundum aspectum. Secundum aspectum. Venite ad me iam per hanc lucis. Psychica tamquam corde meo fac hoc et aperta leporem iam non est.” 

She observed the hidden hexes engraved in the stone, highlighting her path through the vines. She only had five minutes before the spell ended and it would take her nearly twenty to climb all the way to the lip of the cave. Hopefully, she would make it before the hexes became invisible again. She grabbed a hold of the rock and began her ascent. 

Her hands made quick work, her lips moving as you chanted the pattern through her mind, left, up, left, left, right, down, up, right, left. Over and over she climbed higher and higher, she was about three minutes into the spell when a loose rock came tumbling from beneath her foot. Her eyes widened as her body slipped and her knee came into contact with one of the hexes. A hiss left her mouth, ice rain through her veins, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Her fingers clawed at the limestone, her fingernails cracking beneath the pressure, blood trickling from the wounds. 

Gasps escaped her mouth, pain racing throughout her body, these hexes weren’t the worst ones, but by the gods were they a bitch to handle. She could feel the magic draining from her. She chanced a glance down and her breath shuddered. Black ink was crawling through her veins from the hex on her knee. It wouldn’t be long before she lost her limb. 

She peered up at the mouth of the cave, a whimper falling from her lips. Just a few more feet, she can do this. She looked around her, seeing a few vines off to her right; she stretched her hand out and yanked them, realizing that they were still attached to the rock she pulled her dagger out and bagan cutting away. Her movements were weak and sloppy but it got the work done. Her hands were shaking as she pulled the vines towards her, she pushed her body back from the rock, the vines around her waist acting as a sling to keep her upright. She wound the vine around her upper thigh and below her knee, cutting the ink off so that it couldn’t go any further. She breathed a sigh of relief as some of the pain diminished. 

Her fingers grabbed hold of the rock again and she continued on her way. She was more cautious with her hand and feet placements. The spell was gone and she was left to maneuver on her own now. Fifteen minutes later and her hands finally came to the lip of the cave and her heart soared with joy. She would be safe now, someone would help her. 

She pulled herself up and over the lip, her body collapsing onto the ground. Dirt crunched beneath footsteps, shadows danced along the walls in the dim candlelight. She could feel hands smoothing down her hair and running along her injured leg, whispers surrounded her and she finally relaxed as the flow of magic engulfed her. 

“Relax, Daughter, you’ll be okay soon.” Her vision was fading, white fog showing up behind her closed eyes. 

“Easy, just another vision, its the last one, Daughter.” 

Terror rolled through her veins, screams of pain and horror echoed around her, making her lose her balance. Destruction and anger was everywhere, vengeance and greed making up the world, destroying it. Leaving it to wither away beneath her. 

She could see the men fighting, defending themselves from the black masses that were pillaging the village. Children and wives ran for their lives, blood and fear filled the air, making her choke, smothering her in its bleakness. She fell to her knees as smoke billowed around her, hiding her form from sight, protecting her from the ransackers. She had just enough time to lock eyes with wide and petrified blue ones before she was shot forward in time. 

An island in the middle of the ocean, hidden from sailors and wondering souls alike. The ocean was different, the water a murky unwelcoming blue, almost black in nature. The smell of salt and sulfur hung in the air, thick, weighing everything down around it. Rocks and boulders stacked on top of one another, creating arches and hidden coves. Waves slammed against the shore and rock, crevices filling with foam and salt. Seagulls squawked overhead, the sun beating down. Four men were hiking the island, a box dragging behind them, bumping against the rocky terrain. 

The scene jumped forward, the four men were in a cave, water dripping from the spikes in the ceiling. Mumbled words were shared between the men but she wasn’t able to make them out. She was able to make out the box being filled with rocks and the four men wrapping chains around it, locking whatever the contents were inside. Sealing it from prying eyes. 

She watched as the four men tossed the chest into the water, watched as it sunk to the bottom, the black sea water hiding it in its depths. The men fell to their knees, despair and pain etched into their features. Twisting their expressions into grotesque versions of themselves. 

Her stomach rolled at the image, the men didn’t even appear human anymore. They were almost zombie-like in their movements and mannerisms. She watched as they grabbed at various body parts. She walked closer, black swirls and words marking their skin. She peered closer to a man clutching his knee and she paled when she realized that it had the same markings from her previous visions. 

It was the map, but she couldn’t figure out why the men and the chest were so important. Her attention was pulled away when one of the men spoke, 

“We have to ensure no-one finds the chest or the island. We need to protect this map. If anyone finds it, hell will be released.” Her chest throbbed at the words, her skin clamming up and her hands shaking. 

The vision jumped once more, she was in front of the man who had skinned part of the map. He was hunched over a desk, his head in his hands, mumbling to himself, trying to decipher the words. 

She peered over his shoulder at the map, the words weren’t decipherable but that just meant she wasn’t ready to learn the map's secrets. She was supposed to focus on something else. She looked around her, trying to decipher what it was. The man's form in front of her shifted and she could see pain and guilt clouding his eyes. 

Her heart clenched and she reached a hand out to touch his cheek, to soothe away his pain. He wasn’t meant to look like that, even though she had never seen or met him she knew he was meant to smile and glow and lead. He was not meant to wallow and despair. 

She heard a noise behind her and she jumped when a man came waltzing into the room, a bottle of rum in his hands and two glasses perched precariously between his fingers. 

“Cavill, let's take a break and drink. Celebrate our latest catch, we managed to gain five new members and two new bounties.” The man - Cavill - had sat up his lips pulling into a tired smirk. 

“How far are we from Dahomey?” Her breath caught at the question. They were heading here? Why? When? Were they already on their way, or has this vision yet to come? Her questions went unanswered and before she could think to listen more to the conversation she was sucked back into the present. 

A bright light burned her eyes, she winced and covered them with a hand, she could feel her magic reaching out, trying to caress someone that wasn’t there. She had never had this feeling before, the feeling of being empty...missing something she never knew she was missing. 

“Mistress…” There was a hushing from above her, gentle hands rubbing her temples. 

“You have seen the past, it is now in your hands to help Captain Cavill in retrieving the map and the chest. Your destiny is written for you, Daughter, you must make your choice.”

Taglist: @agniavateira​ @cavillanche​ @cavillunraveled​ @dancingwendigo​ @dreamwritesimagines​ @ficsandcatsandficsandcats​ @hlkwrites​ @hnryycvll​ @honeychicanawrites​ @iloveyouyen​ @johnmotherfuckingshelby​ @ladyreapermc​ @laketaj24​ @littlefreya​ @ly--canthrope​ @mary-ann84​ @mrsaugustwalker​ @ohvalleyofplentyyy​ @omgkatinka​ @sciapod​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @supersweetstache​ @thethirstyarchive​ @the-winter-witcher​ @thegreattodd​ @titty-teetee​ @tumblnewby @viking-raider​ @wednesdaybraids​ @white-wolf-of-rivia​ @witcherwrites​

[imagitory]

Review: The Lion King (2019) [spoilers]

NAAAAAANTS IGONYAMA BAGITI BABA -- !

Ahem. So...I just got back from seeing the new Lion King remake, and I guess it’s time to talk about it. For those of you who wish to avoid spoilers... *exhales heavily* how do I say this kindly, um -- you don’t need to go see this. Like, really, you don’t. Not to rain on anyone’s parade, but you would miss absolutely nothing watching the original instead of this one, and honestly, I think it’s fair to say you’ll have much more fun watching the original too. As much as I haven’t loved Disney’s line of recent remakes, I at least found something in most of the films I saw that I could praise, but with this one? I don’t recall ever being so utterly bored sitting in a movie theater in my life.

If you would like a more detailed opinion, here’s a cut!

The Good!

+For once, Disney decided to hire a cast full of singers that don’t require autotune, including Donald Glover, Billy Eichner, and of course Beyonce, as well as quite a few lovely people in the chorus like Brown Lidiwe Mkhize (who sang The Circle of Life). Even some of the performers with weaker singing voices like John Oliver were able to hold their own well enough.

+The voice acting overall wasn’t bad. I’ll have to leave it at that, though, since this is supposed to be the positive section.

+The Circle of Life and Can You Feel the Love Tonight? were well-performed, though I will be getting to other issues I had with them later.

+Zazu was actually given a bit more pathos rather than just exclusively being comic relief. He not only tries to protect Nala and Simba from the hyenas, but he also rushes to go get the lionesses when Simba’s in trouble, makes a distraction for Nala so she doesn’t get caught by Scar, and even helps a little more in the final battle. I won’t act like he was an improvement on the orginal exactly, as the best compromise would’ve been to have him be both funny and supportive, but at least there was an attempt to give him some depth.

+As much as I’ll critique the animation further down, I will give the animators credit for its realism. A lot of hard work was obviously put in, and it shows.

The Not-So-Good...

+The number one problem with this movie is, as I feared, the animation. I can respect that this is my opinion and many others might find some charm in how “real” everything looks, but I’m sorry -- musicals =/= realistic . Musicals are supposed to be over-the-top. They are supposed to be theatrical. Hell, even the Broadway production of The Lion King understood that to tell this story without animated lions, you had to treat it like a folktale. The story was never about lions -- it was a human story told with lions. The ideas of family -- responsibility -- duty -- leadership -- grief -- hope -- these are human values. The Lion King was inspired by Shakespeare’s Hamlet. It also has ripples of the Moses story, given that it revolves around someone running away from their home and responsibility, only to realize their true calling and go back to save their people. And you know something? I am positive that the filmmakers knew full well how ridiculous these National-Geographic-esque animated creatures would look suddenly bursting into song -- that’s why they tried at every single opportunity to depict the musical sequences in wide, impersonal shots that barely correspond to the rhythm or mood of the song at all. Unless it’s The Circle of Life, which is literally a shot-for-shot recreation of the original sequence accompanied by a song sung by none of the characters on screen, the only way that these supposedly “realistic” creatures could communicate energy or emotion during the song sequences was by running and climbing things. And in the end, it just looks lazy and dull. There’s no energy in either the shots or the editing. Hakuna Matata and I Just Can’t Wait to Be King suffer the most because of this, as those songs were so dependent on bright colors, spontaneity, and enthusiasm, but none of the songs are done justice with this animation.

+Another issue with the animation is in the characters themselves. As realistic as it looks in the textures of the fur and the way the animals move, it is utterly lifeless in practice. I swear to God, there are points where these animals looked stuffed, they’re so blank and hollow. You know those live action movies, like Cats and Dogs, where they would have real dogs and cats play the characters and then just “fix” their mouths with post-production CGI to make it look like they’re talking, even if their eyes and faces still end up looking so blank that it never looks like they’re saying what’s coming out of their mouths? THAT’S THE ENTIRE MOVIE. It didn’t matter how good the voice acting was, because it was invalidated by the lack of expression of the characters who were supposedly saying the lines. The only character in this movie who seemed to have any emotion in his eyes was Scar, and that was because his animated model was apparently given permission to narrow his eyes more, presumably to look more “eeeeeviiiiiiil~.” Even the hyenas were just given hollow black eyes that only ever looked alien and inhuman most of the time (clearly to remind you that they’re the bad guys) -- there were no emotions other than “mwehehehe we’re gonna eat you” on their faces the entire movie. But yeah, think of all the really emotional scenes in this movie. Think of Mufasa seeing Simba hanging on that tree -- the fear in his face as Simba almost loses his grip on the branch -- the pain and fear in Simba’s expression when Mufasa puts him up on a small ledge, only to get yanked backward by the wildebeest and disappear from view -- the struggle in Mufasa’s body language as he tries to climb up the edge of the gorge -- the betrayal and horror in Mufasa’s expression when Scar reveals his true colors -- the desperation, disbelief, horror, and grief in Simba’s face when he finds his father and screams at the open air for help. ...Yeah. Now imagine all of those scenes being acted out by EMOTIONLESS PUPPETS. That’s even what Mufasa looks like when he’s thrown backwards off the cliff -- a puppet. A scene that has left people in tears almost made me snort with laughter because of how bad it looked!

+The animation’s realism also, as others pointed out when the trailers first came out, made it very difficult to pick out individual characters. When Nala grew up, there wasn’t even a way to tell that she was the youngest of the lionesses -- they all looked like clones of each other. There’s a bit where one of the hyenas (I guess he’s supposed to be Banzai, but I guess he’s been renamed something else?) confuses Scar for Mufasa at a distance and I almost burst out laughing because it was like the movie characters themselves even realized how identical all of the lions look. Simba’s face “turning into Mufasa’s” in the water had no emotional impact at all because you could barely tell that anything had just happened.

+Geezus, and I thought that Beauty and the Beast took too many ideas from the original? Oh boy. This movie took so much from the original, it was like the filmmakers copied something they found on the Internet for a school assignment and then added and switched around a couple of lines just so they wouldn’t be accused of plagiarism. There were quite a few points while watching this where I was going, “Oooookay, and this is where Simba sees a lizard. ...Yup, there it is. He’s gonna try to roar twice. ...Yup, and...yup. And on the third try, he’s going to roar loud enough for it to echo, and we’ll cut to the top of the gorge. ...Called it. And wildebeest in three, two, one...” Now, of course, knowing what’s going to happen shouldn’t reduce suspense -- if anything, when something suspenseful is done well, it doesn’t matter if you know what happens, because now you’re excited to see those things happen. But in this? How could I be excited when they recycled almost every joke, almost every shot, almost every scene, only with half the energy and sincerity? Even Beauty and the Beast tried to throw in some twists now and again, even if I didn’t end up liking most of them...the only things I can think of in regards to “changes” were some extra scenes that didn’t add much of anything, such as Scar leaning even more into his “Claudius” role and trying to court Simba’s mother Sarabi. Oh, and on that note...

+...The original movie was about an hour and a half long. This one was two hours. You want to know how they stretched that run-time out? Largely by adding in extended nature sequences. Perhaps if you really like the “realistic” animation, you might enjoy the gratuity of it, but some of them just got ridiculous. Remember how in the original, Scar caught a mouse and kind of taunted it? Now we get almost a whole minute just watching the mouse running around and doing nothing before Scar even shows up. Remember how we got a short, smooth transition from Pride Rock to Rafiki’s tree with a rainfall and soothing music? Have one that’s twice as long and is devoid of any of the epic, solemn atmosphere. Remember how we got a cute little giggle when Timon and Pumbaa sang The Lion Sleeps Tonight, only for it to get interrupted by Nala’s arrival? Now that song is treated like a full musical number with lots of danc -- sorry, walking around aimlessly, because it’d be stupid if animals actually danced or something. Remember how Simba collapses into some leaves, which sets loose some dust which in a ten-second-long cut scene is blown through the wind into Rafiki’s hand? Now it lasts almost two whole minutes and involves a tuft of Simba’s fur landing in a river, being picked up by a bird, becoming stuffing in a nest, being tossed out of the nest, being accidentally eaten by a giraffe, being shat out by that giraffe, being picked up by a dung beetle -- OH, COME ON. NOW YOU’RE JUST SEARCHING FOR EXCUSES TO DRAG THIS MOVIE OUT.

+I love James Earl Jones, but he should not have reprised his role as Mufasa. I’m sorry, but the man is 88 years old now, and he just sounded so tired. He didn’t show even half of the energy and enthusiasm he had playing the part the first time. If he was Simba’s grandfather, that’d be one thing, but he’s not. Half of what makes Mufasa’s death so tragic is how alive and young he seemed and how close his bond was with his friends Rafiki and Zazu and his family Simba and Sarabi, but thanks to Jones’s low-key performance and the lack of emotion in Mufasa’s animation, all of that is lost.

+Just like with Jafar in the recent Aladdin remake, this movie tries to give Scar some depth, but the halfhearted attempt only serves to take away what made Scar a great villain in the first place -- namely, his dry wit, ruthlessness, talent for manipulation, dynamic attitude, arrogance, immaturity, and most of all passion. Combine this not-deliciously-evil-but-definitely-not-sympathetic characterization with such bland animation that neither conveys energy or intrigue, and we’re once again left with a very forgettable, uninteresting villain. Come on, Disney, you used to be so good at writing villains -- just because you’re trying to make a more “realistic” story doesn’t mean your villain can’t crack a smile every-so-often, geezus!

+If Sarabi was chasing off hyenas with the lionesses, how in the world did she and the lionesses get back to Pride Rock fast enough for them to be lounging around when Simba came to get Nala? Scar and Simba’s interaction isn’t nearly long enough to encompass Sarabi finishing up with the hyenas and returning home. This is a problem that comes from how much this remake copies from the original -- because it wants so many scenes to play out identically to the original, it gives any subtle line changes the writers do make the potential to create plot holes.

+Oh yeah, and the joke of Simba pouncing on Zazu really doesn’t work if we see Simba getting ready the entire time and Zazu makes it easy for Simba by spinning around in circles looking at nothing. One would think Zazu was trying to let Simba pounce on him.

+There’s no kind way to put this -- Timon and Pumbaa were just flat-out INSUFFERABLE in this. Not only were their deliveries of lines from the original movie pretty awful, but they also added in a bunch of new, often fourth-wall-breaking jokes that just made me hide my face in my hands and groan. In Hakuna Matata in particular, they act offended by Simba not being more excited when they first say the phrase, ruin the joke of Pumbaa farting by having him say it and Pumbaa then being upset that Timon didn’t interrupt him, AND give Simba a hard time for continuing the song until it fades out by saying that Simba’s “gained 400 pounds” since they started it! This isn’t even touching on how TERRIBLE Seth Rogen was as Pumbaa while singing -- like, I know that’s supposed to be part of the joke, but Ernie Sabella was “a bad singer” by being over-the-top, not by being off-pitch and painful to listen to! Not to mention that Sabella packed so much more characterization into his line deliveries -- the chasm of quality between Sabella and Rogen’s performances all the more highlighted to me the difference between an actor and a voice actor. You can’t just get away with speaking your lines in an ordinary voice when you’re voice acting -- you need to emote solely with your voice, as your face is not doing any of the work, and with animation this emotionless and bland, one really needed to have given 120% in their voice work for it to be even passable. (And honestly, none of the actors stood out well performance-wise...not that they should have to singlehandedly bear the burden of depicting their characters’ emotions just with their voices: this is an animated movie, not a radio drama!) As if breaking the fourth wall for no reason, telling bad jokes, and singing poorly wasn’t enough, Timon and Pumbaa also come across as infinitely more selfish and mean-spirited. They say they’re outcasts, and yet there’s a whole friggin’ community of animals in their jungle home. Simba actually hears Timon and Pumbaa selfishly decide to “keep him” because having a creature bigger than them around might help them out. Timon flat-out tells Simba to only look after himself and no one else. Whereas in the original film, Timon and Pumbaa almost raise Simba like adopted parents, having fun with him and genuinely showing concern for him -- here, Timon and Pumbaa act more like a pair of frat boys who adopted the “new kid” in college and induct him into their friend circle, even though, yeah, Simba first meets them as a cub and they’re already adults. Rather than just laugh at the thought of “royal dead guys watching them” for a quick moment, they openly roar with laughter at Simba, dragging it out even when it’s very clear Simba is hurt by their amusement and not even bothering to apologize. At least in the original, Simba acted like it was funny and then left abruptly, but here? Simba never laughed or showed any amusement, so it came across as Timon and Pumbaa bullying him. Oh yeah, and speaking of bullying, remember how there was that one-off pop culture reference where Pumbaa gets mad at being called a pig? Now that’s been replaced with Pumbaa saying he doesn’t like bullies -- seems like that would’ve been a lovely thing to set up earlier, maybe to give that line some emotional pay-off, but nope! There’s no joke AND there’s no point. But you want to know what made me hate these two beyond reason in this movie? You want to know what finally pushed me over the edge? They broke the fourth wall beyond repair by -- rather than randomly putting on a hula skirt and dancing goofily, because of course we’re a SERIOUS animated movie, one that’s so REAL -- singing Be Our Guest from Beauty and the Beast, French accent and all. ...Excuse me for a minute. *buries her face into a pillow and screams in rage*

+By the way, those other animals who live in the jungle Timon and Pumbaa are from and therefore invalidate their assertion of being “outcasts”? Completely pointless. They don’t even come with Timon and Pumbaa and fight for the Pridelands! You could have cut them completely and lost nothing.

+As much as Hakuna Matata was the most irritating of the numbers, I Just Can’t Wait to Be King and especially Be Prepared were just pathetic. I Just Can’t Wait to Be King largely suffered, again, due to the “realism” of the animation, but the slow editing and even the vocals slowed the whole sequence down and sucked out any energy or excitement from the piece. I’ll give credit to Nala and Simba’s voice actors for their vocal quality, but there was still none of the spontaneity and recklessness in their voices that the song requires, so it just came across as Disney karaoke, rather than anything professional. But Be Prepared was easily the worst of the lot. It would be a challenge to try to evoke the level of dread and demented thrill you get from the original song sequence, but here, the filmmakers didn’t even try. Not only do we only get part of the song, but Scar’s voice actor Chitwetel Ejiofor barely sings a word of it and brings none of the dynamic, power-hungry, conniving, almost hypnotic mania that’s supposed to define Scar in that moment. He’s mostly just shouting like an old man yelling at a kid to get off his lawn -- there’s no attempt at persuasion or temptation in his voice at all. And just like in most of the other musical numbers, the only way Scar’s character model can emote during his song is to climb on things. Even in songs that were performed well, there were notable problems. The Circle of Life was basically animated on autopilot, replicating every single shot without taking any time to show any genuine emotion anywhere, whether when Zazu and Rafiki greeted Mufasa or when Simba sneezed away the dust in his face...and Can You Feel the Love Tonight? Haha, yeah, right -- more like “Can You Feel the Love in the Mid-Afternoon”! It was absolutely comical, hearing them sing “tonight” when the entire sequence was done in daylight!

+I’ve always liked The Lion King, but...wow, after seeing this remake and how much they tried to lean into the “hyenas as outsiders” idea in this, I have to acknowledge that there are some uncomfortable elements to this story. In the original, we solely focus on Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed with other hyenas in the background, so them being outside the Pridelands could just be seen as the case of a few bad apples, rather than it being an indictment on an entire group. But here, in this version, Shenzi is depicted more seriously as the leader of all the hyenas and it’s established that the war between lions and hyenas has gone on for a long time. Basically this movie turns Shenzi into Zira from The Lion King 2...and yeah, that makes it so that the hyenas -- as the outsiders -- should theoretically be slightly sympathetic, right? You know, to show that it’s wrong to cast others out because they look or act different from you? Nope! Nope, they’re all just evil! They’re manifestations of greed and hunger with no potential for redemption whatsoever. They’re not like our good, pale-colored lionesses who all look the same -- they’re dirty, and conniving, and they seek to creep out of the shadows and leech on everything the lions hold dear. I could very, very easily see how some vile, disgusting people could embrace such a narrative in this current climate, seeing themselves in the lions trying to “take their land back” from the shadowy, evil hoard of creatures who have come from outside to tear down their way of life. I can’t act like this adaptation added something that wasn’t at all in the original movie, as, let’s be honest, it plagiarized most of it...but perhaps because of how they reused this story and in some cases leaned into some elements of that story, this remake has very, very bad timing in when it was released. Those elements of the story probably wouldn’t have been read into it back in the 90′s, given the relative stability of the political landscape, but now? Now I could see how people could read it that way. It’d be like trying to make a movie like Independence Day, where national monuments get blown up, right after 9/11.

Looking back on what I just saw, I’m still absolutely stunned. Never before have I felt like my time has been more wasted than when I decided to sit down and watch this movie. I’ve tried to find shreds of praise, but whenever I try, it feels like I’m grasping at straws, only to fall back into a big pool of “blah.” I have never been so bored by a movie in my life -- and if there’s anything Disney, and especially Disney musicals, should never be, it’s boring. I would still say Maleficent makes me the most angry of Disney’s recent remakes, considering that that one openly insulted the original it was based off and this one is just clearly so up the original’s ass that it’s obnoxious...but this one was easily the biggest disappointment. I went in with almost no expectations, and yet still came out disappointed in the result. That, I think, says a lot. I could see someone who simply wants to see some cute animals and ride a bit on the nostalgia train enjoying this...but forgive me, but that bar is way too low. Disney is capable of doing so much better -- the true Lion King, the 1994 classic that broke records and surpassed all audience expectation, is more than enough evidence of that.

Overall Grade: D-

[pretty-rad-arson-dad]

Controlling Shock

Okay, so a few warnings for this one: It’s kinda fucked up, so if your sensitive to the topic of torture, even if it’s not intense torture, I recommend you not read this, or take caution while reading this. If you are also disgusted by yanderes or obsessive behavior, I also suggest caution.

Another thing, this was written some time before the release of The Fourth Closet, so this is not only old (Hence the somewhat cringy writing) but also some things won’t exactly add up. (Wording it like this as to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn’t read it and desires to do so, cause it’s a pretty big fucking spoiler). This was also my first time writing something like... This, so it might not be the best.

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

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"William? Are you home?"

Henry stood outside his business partner's two-story house, sighing impatiently. William had told Henry to meet him here at 10:50 AM and he had been waiting out here for thirty minutes now.

Perhaps I could open the door?

Henry shrugged and figured he'd give it a try. The brunette placed his hand on the knob and turned it. Much to his surprise, the door actually opened.

Well, surely William wouldn't mind?

Taking a deep breath, Henry stepped inside the house and gently shut the door behind him.

"William? Are you home?"

Still no response.

Henry sighed and walked down the hall and peaked his head into the living room. Surprisingly empty. Usually Michael would be sitting there watching his weird vampire soap operas but now there was no sign of him.

Henry made his way into the kitchen, thinking that perhaps William had gotten so caught up in today's newspaper that he had completely drowned out the rest of the world.

But he wasn't in there either.

Henry checked everywhere. Everywhere except one room that he hadn't ever gone in.

William's study.

Henry opened the door to the study, only to be greeted with a large room that lacked of people. He nearly turned around and left, but there was an itching curiosity that took hold of him and it was telling him to look around. Henry tried reasoning with himself that it was just a study and that there wouldn't be anything interesting in there, but that small and curious part of him urged him to go on in.

So he did.

Henry entered the study and cautiously walked around. It was pretty decently sized and loaded with books of all kinds. Henry looked curiously at these. There were some on anatomy, robotics and others on history, even recognized some Shakespeare. Henry couldn't help but chuckle as he recognized some of the books he himself had gifted William back when they were younger. Amongst these was One Thousand and One Nights and The Phantom of the Opera.

Henry chuckled some more as he thought back to their high school years. While Henry had been more of the bookish and creative type, William had a thing for dramatics and entertaining people, hence why he was part of the theater group. William had played the role of the Phantom for his first school performance. He played the role quite well and later admitted to Henry that he had never read the book. So, as a graduation gift, Henry had bought it for him.

Henry smiled and shook his head at the thought. He remembered how ecstatic William had been about the gift.

Henry removed his hand from the book's spine and turned towards a desk that was located in the back center of room. He walked towards it and looked down at the contents that lay out upon it. Sketches and designs for possible animatronics. Henry picked them up to examine them a little closer.

They were oddly designed in both appearance and in features. Voice replication? Storage compartment? Scent lure?

Henry thought about it for a few moments, confused as to why William would find these to be useful features for robots, but ultimately decided that they actually were practical. They could use the scent and audio to help sooth an upset child who was feeling scared or had been separated from their parents. And the storage compartment could be useful for storing the spare parts for that particular animatronic.

What a brilliant mind Afton has, Henry thought to himself. He set down the sketches and looked at a few of the other things on William's desk. He also had a few pieces of merchandise from their first location, a bobble head of Albert Einstein and a journal.

Henry's eyes settled on the journal.

He cocked his head to the side as he looked at it. There was an lock on it, suggesting that this was a private journal at that it was for William's eyes only, but the lock was undone and hanging openly off its clasp. Henry thought for a moment about perhaps looking at the journal, but part of him was saying that this was a bad idea and could ruin the friendship that he and his business partner had. The other part of him was giddy with excitement at finding something in this seemingly boring room that was perhaps interesting after all. As the man thought, he didn't realize that he had already picked up the journal and opened it. Or maybe he did and his itching of curiosity had increased enough that he no longer cared.  

Henry started to read the pages.

At first, they were actually rather boring and slightly silly, full of mundane things and dumb discussions the two of them have had. Henry wasn't sure why but it surprised him to see his own name in there. They were best friends, after all. But there was also something else in there that shocked him and made him smile a little. The amount of innocent admiration for him that William had poured into those pages. William would go on for pages about how great he believed Henry was and how happy he was that the two of them were friends.

'For the first time I believe I've finally found someone who I can be myself around. Someone who understands me and someone I can look up to!'

Henry continued reading, realizing some things he had never known about them or their lives. He couldn't help but smile.

Until he reached a certain date. The date of the car crash that had nearly taken his best friend's life.

August 1, 1982.

It was from this point on in the journal that Henry noticed a change in William's entries. They seemed less cheerful and seemed to focus more on his failed marriage, Michael's rebellious behavior and just bad things in general. Up until January 1st of 1983.

The entries shifted from William's own family to Henry's. This would've been fine if it was expressing concern or showing innocent adorance. But this was different.

William was speaking about his family in disturbing detail. Cursing the name of Henry's now ex-wife, a strange envy of his late daughter Charlotte and a weirdly loving admiration towards his also dead son, Sammy. There was some stuff about Henry himself as well. But, just when Henry didn't think he could be more confused, he found Afton's disgusting confession.

He had been the one who had abducted Sammy.

Henry nearly gagged as he read about how he had tortured his poor son to death. It was in great detail.

Now any normal person would've thrown the book down and got the hell out of there, but Henry wanted answers.

So he kept reading, completely unaware that it would get horrifyingly worse.

Henry felt himself get more and more nauseated as he read on about how he murdered Charlotte in the alleyway and left her there. And then eventually... The five children that had gone missing in 1985. But what terrified Henry the most was the things that would come after these morbid and in-depth accounts of murder.

Obsessive writings about Henry.

The man would ramble on about how much he cared about Henry and talk about how he had followed him and stolen a few personal things from him so he could keep them as reminders of "all their time spent together." There was also talk of the dead children being "their family."

But what finally made Henry decide he needed to leave was his own name scribbled all over a lot good portion of the sheets along with a few other unsettling things .

But most importantly, how William loved him.

Henry slammed the book closed and made a wreching sound. His heart was racing and his head was spinning. He felt like he was gonna puke.

I need to get the fuck out of here and call the fucking cops!

But one thing Henry wasn't expecting was someone showing up. And he certainly wasn't expecting the heavy object hitting him in the head.

The next thing Henry remembered was waking up. His head was pulsing with a dull ache and he couldn't move. With some coaxing, he managed to open his eyes and look around. He was in a dark room and his arms and legs were bound to a chair.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Henry shouted. His voice came out horse and raspy.

"Shhhhhhhh. You'll hurt your throat." a familiar voice said. Henry looked around in a panic and the person chuckled. "Oh Henry~. You seem scared~."  

"W-William, let me go!"

Chuckling, the English man came forward from the shadows. "You know, part of me prefers you unconscious." he said. "You look so peaceful like that. Not trying to fight or scream." William gripped Henry's chin harshly and leaned down to his eye level. "However, if you were unconscious, I wouldn't be able to look into those beautiful eyes of yours." he mumbled. His face was uncomfortably close. Henry could feel William's breath against his face.

William cracked a toothy smile and moved his lips up to Henry's ear.

"I can hear your heart beat, darling~" he breathed in the man's ear. Henry squirmed and tried to lean away, but William's firm and almost painful grip on his chin held him in place. "It's a shame that you decided to snoop about." William sighed. "But I'm not mad, Hen—"

"JUST LET ME GO!"

William pulled away, chuckling as he let go of Henry's chin. "Oh Henry~. You know I can't do that~." he purred. "You know too much~."

"William please! I promise I won't tell anyone!"

William shook his head as he walked away from Henry. "I know you're lying, darling. I know you better than anyone."

William grabbed some clamps off a nearby table.

"W-William, what are you—"

William grinned and sparked the clamps. Henry's eyes widened in terror.

"I'm going to have fun~."William slowly sauntered towards Henry, savoring the horrified expression in the brunette's eyes. He could feel his heart racing with excitement. A sadistic smile spread across William's face as he spoke in a low and playful tone.

"It's time for your controlled shock~."

Before Henry could let out a protest, William had attached the clamps to him. Henry threw back his head and screamed in agony as the electricity pulsed throughout his entire body. William pulled them away and looked at Henry, still smiling.

"Are those tears I see~?" William asked in a low purr. "Let me just—"

The scrawny man began to lick Henry's face. "Mmm so salty~." Henry let out a sob as William pulled away.

"W-WILLIAM PLEASE! YOU NEED HELP YOU NEED—" William cut him off.

"NO!" he shouted, clutching the clamps tightly in his hands. "I'm sick of having to hide these feelings, Henry! I love you! I love you more than anything and anyone!"

"THIS ISN'T LOVE!" Henry screamed. "THIS IS JUST SICK! YOU'RE SI—"

William gritted his teeth and shocked Henry again, causing him to let out another pained scream. This surge was even worse than the last.

"No... You're the one who's sick, Henry. But don't worry. I'm going to cure you~!" William said, tears running down his face, his twisted smile returning. "And once you're cured, we can be happy together~!"

The clamps were withdrawn a second time, allowing Henry some time to gasp and sob. He looked up at William, his expression pleading for mercy despite it being hopeless.

"You're eyes truly speak of life~." William purred. "They're the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen~."

Henry squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, causing William to let out a low growl. "Look at me, Henry." When Henry didn't comply, William shocked him again, causing Henry's eyes to fly open and roll back. He began to convulse and drool.  

This pain... This pain was the worst.

William removed the clamps and set them down before grabbing a fist full of Henry's hair and pulling his head up.

"Look at you... Even more defenseless and weak than usual~." he purred, licking the drool off of Henry's face. "I've been wanting to get you like this for quite some time now~."

William's licks quickly became soft kisses. Henry's head hung limply and his eyes were glazed and empty. He could barely process any of William's words. His body felt weak and he could hear his heart pulsing in his head.  

But he was wide awake.

"Hmm... It seems I may have turned the voltage up too high..." William hummed, studying Henry's expression. "However, that means I get to spend some more quality time with you without the struggling and screaming~."

William gently ran his hands across Henry's chest, feeling him. "Your so well defined~." he purred, worshipfully caressing the man's belly. He looked down at Henry's crotch before looking back up at his drained face. "But I wonder what it must be like down there~."

Henry let out a groan of disapproval at the idea William was possibly presenting. He'd be screaming if he could.

"No. I must restrain myself." William mumbled to himself, casting down his eyes. "Now isn't the time. That will be later." He looked back up at Henry before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Michael should be home any minute, love. I'll prepare something and bring it down for you." he whispered, pecking Henry's cheek before getting up and leaving.

William quickly made his way up the stairs and locked the basement door behind him.

"Dad, I'm home!" Michael called, walking up to him. William said a quick hello before making his way to the kitchen.

"How was the trip?" William asked, turning on the stove.

"It was okay." Michael replied.

William made a noise of acknowledge as he grabbed a pot and filled it with water before putting it on the stove.

"Don't you think it's a little too early for eating dinner?" Michael asked.

"I'm hungry and didn't eat lunch." William said, grabbing a box of spaghetti and opening it.

"You really need to eat." Michael mumbled.

William hummed as he watched the pot

"Seriously, dad, what will you do when I move out?" Michael asked.

"You make it sound as if I don't eat unless you remind me to." William said, pouring in the noodles once the water began to boil.

"Well sometimes that really is the case." Michael replied. "Anyways, I'm gonna go catch up on The Immortal and the Restless, so I'll be in the living room if you need me."

William smiled and nodded as Michael walked out. But he wasn't smiling for his son. He could care less about him.

All that mattered was the roboticist in his basement.

[tfcrp]

THIS IS YOUR GAME

Name: Lucky California Age: Twenty One Class Year: Senior Position: Backliner, #2 Hometown: New York, New York

THIS IS YOUR MOMENT

TW: abuse, physical assault

Lucky, they call him, a hilarious irony on a team like the Foxes. It’s not his birth name, and he’s not under the impression that anyone on the team—(or otherwise)—is stupid enough to believe that the ridiculous moniker is actually real, but he has yet to offer them anything else. After all, it isn’t as if he has anything else to offer them. His name is self-selected, pulled out of the bitterly empty depths of his mind as his body attempted to knit itself back together in a hospital room.

Once upon a time, though, he was called James.

As a child, he wanted for nothing. His parents delighted in being part of the idle rich, descended from old money with nothing better to do than throw extravagant parties and dabble in the power struggle between top companies. Whenever James was allowed to make an appearance alongside the children of his parents’ friends, he made a splash—it wasn’t hard to see that he would grow up to be as stunning as his parents, and something about him set him apart as the darling of it all. It was his blue eyes, wide and beautiful; his dimples, charmingly adorable; his delightful mannerisms, even at a young age; his parents’ friends would raise an eyebrow, tilt their heads in his direction, and say that boy is going to be someone someday.

No one commented on the brutally tight grip James’s father kept on his shoulder, his smile more of a warning than anything actually friendly. If anyone noticed how his mother’s fingernails lined up perfectly with the fading half-moons on the back of James’s neck, they said nothing, assuming her gaze toward him was loving and not threatening. They were overprotective, just like any parents.

Throughout his childhood and adolescence, James was adored by nearly everyone he met, from classmates and teachers to his parents’ friends and business associates. Somewhere along the way, he took up Exy. At first, it was merely to pass the time, but it wasn’t long before his natural skills caught attention. Of course, he had the advantage of his parents’ wealth bolstering his swift progress: the best gear, the most exquisitely crafted racquets, and private coaching were all at his disposal. Even so, there was something distinctly special about the way he played, something money could never truly buy: pure, unadulterated talent. He shouldered his way through strikers like he had a personal vendetta against each and every one of them; with the level of ferocity and skill that he displayed as a backliner, goalies on his team were nearly rendered unnecessary. On the court and off, things came easily to him: James would decimate an opponent in a game, then stroll into his parents’ events in an impeccably tailored tux, charming everyone he met.

The bruises littering James’s torso were simply a product of his Exy games, of course. If anyone saw him struggle to hide a limp in the offseason, they must have been imagining things. James was a perfect athlete, and more importantly, he was a perfect son.

The beginning went something like this: I need you to talk to someone for me, his father had told him one night. James responded eagerly, still in the phase in his life where he wanted to please his parents despite their misdeeds. His father had gently steered him toward a man in his late fifties, his smile razor sharp and his fingers curled around a glass of bourbon. I want to buy this man’s company, but he doesn’t know it yet. Can you keep him occupied so he doesn’t see me speaking to the chairman of the board? James nodded slowly, eyes wide, and was sent off in the man’s direction with little fanfare. Armed with a false interest in a summer internship, questions about his future career path, and fabricated bashfulness about his own achievements, James ensured that the man never caught wind of his father’s dealings. His company was bought out from underneath him, with the full support of the board, only two weeks later.

They controlled him. They controlled his life. When he asked to play goalie, they responded with backliner, pushing him around and throwing expensive vases across the room at him until he was cowed into submission. When he gently requested permission to pursue playing Exy in college, they dismissed his dreams with derisive scoffs, scattering business school brochures across his desk and leaving marks behind as a physical reminder that this was the only acceptable option. Every step he took was wrong, wrong, wrong, and they made sure he never forgot it.

Ducking his head and covering the evidence of their displeasure, James pushed thoughts of his future to the side as he dove back into the other game he’d started playing on their behalf. With age, he’d only grown better: he would playfully flirt with wives to pull their husbands’ attention from business deals; he would craft heartbreaking stories to tug on the heartstrings of weak-willed heirs; he would play the old boys’ club off of one another until they didn’t trust each other with so much as their dinner order for the fear that they’d be poisoned. There was something almost breathtaking about the ease with which he slipped easily in and out of the crowd, blending in perfectly and adjusting himself to every situation. He knew people, and he never forgot a face or a name. This, however, was a skill he painstakingly kept hidden. After all, what kind of strength would it be if everyone knew how easy it was for him to keep track? That way, they were all the more flattered when he greeted them like an old friend. That way, they were all the more destroyed when he tilted his head quizzically, smiled condescendingly, and said I’m sorry, have we met? There was nothing quite so artfully brutal.

No one is perfect, though, and James was hardly the exception. Even he could make mistakes, and even he could be deceived. The blinding possibility of being free from his parents was more than enough to distract him from the holes in the lies he was fed.

It was an age-old story, sparing the details: the player became the played, the bitter taste of betrayal filling his senses as his own skills were turned against him. His father lost millions on a deal he’d relied on James to complete. Millions, of course, was pocket change to his parents. But the damage had been done, and James was unceremoniously disowned and thrown out into the street for the part he’d willingly played in the disaster. His undoing, not long after, was nothing more than a random mugging. One look at James practically screamed money, and he hardly lasted a few hours on the street before someone went after him. A blow to the head like that, and he should’ve been dead—or, at the very least, in a coma for the rest of his life. Instead, as he put it, he was left with fuck-all memories and a hell of a headache. Retrograde amnesia, the doctor had corrected him every time he said so, sounding more tired each time she repeated herself.

Suddenly, James Bonheur no longer existed. His mind, utterly wiped clean, patiently awaited its new resident. Though he was left with no faces or names to supplement the nothingness clouding his head, even the amnesia couldn’t take everything. He coveted the broken remnants, gathering them close to his chest: the sting of a nameless betrayal, the jagged edges of a faceless heartbreak, and the utter certainty that he belonged on an Exy court. 

Though he’d been in the hospital for more than long enough, no one had come to collect him. No one was looking—and it wasn’t as if he remembered if anyone should be looking for him. You’re lucky to be alive, son, a detective had told him, clearly disinterested in handling the mugging case of an amnesiac who would certainly be no help at all as a witness. Won’t you help us find who hurt you? What’s your name? His words were full of false sympathy, and he could already feel the man closing his case shut just as he’d opened it moments before. Lucky? Sure, call me Lucky, then, he shot back with a brittle laugh, raising his gaze to a nearby billboard just outside of his hospital window. Cheerfully, it proclaimed Visit California! And so, with a snort, he finished his new name: Lucky California.

He couldn’t stay in the hospital forever, and though he had nowhere else to go, as best they could tell he was eighteen and able to be discharged without another thought. With nothing more to his name than the clothes he’d arrived in, an iPhone mangled beyond all hope, and an expensive wallet suspiciously devoid of any identifying information, the newly-dubbed Lucky made his way to South Carolina. What better way to find out who he was than plastering his face all over national television? Without knowing his own name, Lucky had no proof that he’d ever played on an Exy team before, much less that he was any good, but after persuading Wymack to watch him on the court, any doubts he might’ve had disappeared. Between Lucky’s swift and firm denial of his strikers’ best tactics and the stark reality that he had no money, no identity, and nowhere else to go, his hopeless case and suspicious-looking scars were more than convincing enough to earn him a place on the Foxes that fall.

SEIZE IT WITH EVERYTHING YOU’VE GOT   

Wish me luck, someone on the team might say; I wouldn’t wish him on anybody, Wymack has taken to responding, not bothering to look up from the Exy plays of the week on his computer. Lucky has more than earned his reputation as a brawler, in odd contrast to his haughty manner off the court. He dives in to defend his teammates whether they’re right or wrong—he doesn’t care either way. Some small part of him even thinks that maybe if he gets knocked around enough, his memories will come flooding back. Despite his brawling tendencies, there is an old-money polish to him that does not often appear in someone labeled a Fox; even so, he possesses a hard glint to his prettiness, something that’s more akin to a diamond-edged blade than a decorative jewel. With his blue doe-eyes and pink bow-shaped lips, he seems more doll than Exy player, but the distinction becomes clear when his smile turns sharper than a knife as he steps on the court. Despite his often blasé attitude, he clings to his talent like a lifeline; after all, he’s a Class I player, Fox or not. He’s got his eyes set on the pros, on Court, on a lifetime of fame and glory: Lucky California is all he has. It’s all he knows, and if he can’t keep playing Exy after he graduates, he has nothing to fall back on. He’ll be awash in the sea of his fragmented mind, memories just as frustratingly out of reach as they always have been.

When he’s not practicing, he goes to see Betsy weekly, half hoping that he can prod memories into reappearing and half hoping that she’ll tell him they’ll never come back. Do you want to know who your family is? she asks him sometimes, always infuriatingly calm. My face has been plastered all over ESPN for years, he shoots back. If they wanted to see me, they would’ve said something by now. He pretends that it’s some kind of cosmic joke that he’s privy to, but the fact of the matter is that he doesn’t remember anything, and it bothers him. That hit to the head left him with precious few things to his name: his uppity mannerisms, the ability to talk circles around everyone he meets, the steady weight of a racquet in his hands, and a face that he doesn’t know whether to thank his mother or his father for. He has no idea, to this day, and that terrifies him more than he’d like to admit—so instead of facing the silence in his head, he triumphantly raises his racquet to spur on the fans in the stands, drowning it out with the roar of the crowd.

LUCKY CALIFORNIA is portrayed by DACRE MONTGOMERY and is CLOSED

[alifeiwishwasreal]

Dawn - G.W Oneshot

Character: George Weasley

Fandom: Harry Potter

Era: Golden Trio Era

Gender: Female

Info: Reader is of no particular house and a muggle-born. One year younger than the boys as requested.

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, injury.

Summary: You and George have the worst fight in the history of your friendship, leaving Fred to create a dodgy plan in order to get you back together again.

Requested by: Anon

You can remember the day your friendship with the twins was forever solidified in the history of Hogwarts. You were walking through the halls in second year, minding your own business as your friends had gone to lunch. You say friends lightly, more acquittances as you were a muggle-born, and in a particularly prejudice year, you found it hard to slot yourself into the wizarding community.

Then due to the stupidity of two third years, you found yourself covered in whipped cream from the kitchen. Peeves being the messenger that you'd be the culprit of the prank they'd left for Flitch.

Both came running up to you in the halls as an apology which you brushed off – but George convinced his brother that it was obvious she was upset about it. There began their personal mission to cheer you up – sitting with you at lunch, learning about your life, making sure you were out of the way of future pranks – which lead to the friendship you had today. They joke they're only with you out of obligation, but you three were the Musketeers.

Fred knew George was in love with you since you were in fourth year and he was in fifth. A year and a half later he was slowly losing his mind at the cycle his brother went through of wanting to be with you and then wanting to keep it a secret.

But all hell broke loose when the holy trinity was announced to be apart for a day.

"Jake asked me to go to Hogsmeade and I said yes."

"Jake? Tall Jake? Good-looking Jake?" Fred asked as George glared at him.

"Yes, don't sound so surprised." You joked going back to your book as George began to speak his mind.

"And why didn't you say no? Stop him flirting with you?" He asked as you looked up at him confused.

"Because he's nice and cute and I wanted to say yes."

"But we planned stuff this weekend." He insisted as you gave him an annoyed and pointed look.

"Then we'll do it next weekend."

"You don't need a boyfriend Y/N."

"You don't need to control my life, George."

"Can't help that you're a little girl with no one else to run to."

"Can't help that you're an immature twat!"

"Guys!" Fred shouted over both of you.

"What has gotten into you?"

"Me? I'm not the one running off to be with some other person."

"You act like I've told you I'm leaving Hogwarts, I'm going on a bloody date with someone."

"Well, you shouldn't be. He isn't right for you."

"Isn't right for me? Have you got a personal mission to piss me off tonight?!"

"Georgie, calm down."

"Maybe I'm tired of you two flirting."

"US?" Fred responded.

"Maybe I'm tired of you trying to change us, of convincing us to change the way we are and behave. JUST MAYBE I'm tired of babying you and being there to pick up the pieces when this inevitably ends horrifically. MAYBE you need to stop being such an uptight bitch and see I'm doing this for your own GOOD!" He shouted and you stood up raging, anger coursing through your veins as words you never thought you'd say began to come out of the depths of your throat.

"WELL MAYBE I wanna hang out with someone who is intelligent and gives a shit about academics and something OTHER THAN useless pranks as I'd actually like to have serious conversations with a boy who ISN'T possessive and criticising my every move, A HYPOCRITE, and Fred is dating Angelina, you DICKHEAD! MAYBE if you thought about anyone other than yourself, you'd see that you're WRONG and ACTING like a total and complete prideful PRICK!" You screamed as you got up and stormed off, leaving both Fred and George breathless; you never shouted.

One twin turned to the other, and they mirrored the same expression.

"Fucking hell Georgie – what have you done?"

-

Fred had never seen anything like it. It had been a month at this point and you'd done no more but mutter several insults at each other. You'd spoken to him, of course, shared cuddles, rants and homework answers but he'd soon learned there were 2 He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named when it came to you.

Just setting eyes on him could put you in a bad mood.

But Fred knew the façade his brother wore – back in his room he was miserable, and under the influence of firewhiskey he admitted how he wanted nothing more than to forget everything but like you said – he was too prideful.

Fred just thanked the Lord that his brother wasn't completely destroyed, but that was only by the fact that you did not go on that date at all – too enraged by the events and too afraid that a scene would be caused in public.

Fred decided to take matters into his own hands. He'd had enough of the days switching potions partners, running through the Great Hall mid-lunch to see you both, trying to stop the comments he knew neither of you meant.

He knew he had to do the unspeakable. He had to scare his brother.

-

Creating a plan with the beater of your team, he knew as he sat beside his brother that the narrow miss of that ball to your head would fill Fred's thoughts with what could've happen at the thought of that heavy object meeting an element of your person.

You flew towards the snitch, dipping and diving until the way James hit the back of your broom made you spiral around and almost lose your control. Fred felt George shift, and mumble about it being a close one under his breath. James shrugged at you and you looked around as you'd now lost sight of the snitch and began to search low down the ground where it had been beforehand, until you'd actually began to flow up and then it hit you. But James missed his target.

Everyone took a gasp as the ball hit you right in your side and caused you to fall with a thud from 20 feet upwards. All George could hear were screams and comments of shock around him before he shoved everyone to the side so he could scramble down as the game came to a halt.

-

The first thing you noticed when you regained consciousness was that it hurt to breathe. Before opening your eyes you skimmed your hand around, feeling the thin blanket and clothes that felt like your bed wear rather than your Quidditch uniform.

You heard the creaks from another bed that came from the endless patching of muscles and bones after practises and games.

You'd came to the conclusion you were in the infirmary.

You opened your eyes to a faint pink rising from the window across - sunrise. You turned your head and saw the ginger hair laying in a bed next to you. If you didn't know them so well, you might've swore it was Fred but you knew it was George and your heart ached. He'd looked like he'd been crying, and honestly, it was exhausting fighting with him. You were distraught your friendship was so easily thrown away and the amount of times you'd caught yourself going to apologise to him and then seeing him storm away from you.

You went to sit up but the unexpected pain caused you to shout in response, ringing throughout the quiet room as you laid yourself back down and took some deep breaths to try and stop the pain which caused tears to leak.

"Y/N?" George rose from his sleep and wiped his eyes as you looked over and smiled at him.

"Morning sunshine." You joked as he got out of bed and quickly waddle over to sit at your side.

"How you feeling?"

"Like shit." You whimpered through your breaths as your eyes closed again and you took more breaths to try and stop the pain.

"You tried to get up, didn't you?" You nodded quickly and he gave you his hand to squeeze as the pain subdued.

"Its the last of the fixing stage - Pompfrey says you'll be alright by morning."

"It's never been this bad before." You breathed, his hand still encased in yours.

"I'm not surprised - you broke three ribs."

"Three?"

"One from the bludger and two from your fall. Your shoulder got dislocated as well."

"No wonder I feel like shit." You said finally opening your eyes to find him smiling down at you.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

"Me too." You whispered as he lifted your hand up to kiss it.

"I shouldn't of came for you the way I did."

"I shouldn't of shouted."

"Did you know you're really fucking scary when you shout?" He said and you began to laugh but you managed to ignore the hurting it caused. Probably because you were so relieved you were friends again.

"If you're scared I'm gonna forget about you don't. The three of us. It will always be us three."

"It wasn't that." He responded quickly and smoother over your furrowed brows as he squeezed your hand.

"I got jealous because I've been in love with you for a while now-" he took a deep breath and your heart swelled.

"And I don't know but I just couldn't control it and I got angry because I'd had so many opportunities like this and I missed it, ya know?" He admitted, looking down at your hands and seeing how your dainty ones felt in his.

"I knew." You admitted and his eyes met yours with a large amount of panic, as he was urging you to explain.

"The lack of want for a boyfriend? Looking at me throughout lessons? Trying to make me laugh all the time? Fred? You think he can keep a secret?" You asked with a smile as George groaned and put his head on your stomach and you reached down to pet his hair.

"I had my suspicions but I got to the point that I thought you were never gonna do anything or maybe you'd just fallen out of love and so I said yes to Jake after saying no to people for years and then-"

"All hell broke loose." He responded as you nodded.

"You know this is Fred's fault?"

"What did he do?" You sighed.

"Meddled with James so we'd make up."

"And he'd realign the stars and we'd never realise it was him playing Cupid all along."

"Maybe he should've remembered Owen was a better aim than James."

"When this ribcage is better, he's gonna have to run." You threatened and George laughed as he finally rose to sit in front of you again.

"I'd pay to see that." He stated, licking his lips and looking back down to you again in your eyes.

"Are you gonna kiss me or do I have to wait even longer for that?" You asked with a smirk, and George smiled back down at you.

"When did you get so bold?"

"Apparently getting knocked off your broom will do that to you." You smiled as he put his hand to your cheek and leaned down, putting his hand on either cheek and finally putting his lips to yours. His body hovered over you, cradling you like you were breakable, as one of your hands moulded around his wrist, his lips moving slowly against yours as you felt your head sinking deeper against the pillow.

You didn't know how long you were there. Seconds, minutes, hours, but it felt like neither of you could bare to stop. Too long spent debating the cause and effect of what might happen to actually explore what could happen.

When George finally brought himself to pull away, you could see his swollen lips but smiling as if he'd just seen Umbridge catapulted by the Whomping Willow.

"Worth the wait?" You quipped with a whisper, your breathing being the only two things heard - only you, and him and the sunlight in that moment.

"Bloody hell - yes."

[sleepykalena]

“It’s not a problem if you don’t look up.”

I’m a POC and I love Jyn Erso.

And lately it seems like there are some folks (literally just a few folks, afaik) who seem keen on painting parts of the fandom with such a broad brush that their shouting has made their way into my corner. It’s such an angry brush, and I understand where the frustration comes from. But I’d like to remind anyone who’s bothered to actually look at this post:

Fandom is what you make of it.

I mean this in the intended sense as well as with regards to the things you create and put out there in the fandom itself. I don’t want to contribute to the anger or the fighting. I go out of my way to try and not pick fights with people. Yet somehow the fighting finds me. The real life has me tired. So tired. Between the Orange Skull, the racist white folk who decide to actively trash my POC friends and neighbors in one of the most liberal areas of the US, and politics within the industry I chose to have a career in, I just want to sit in my corner and do my thing on my own terms, with the people who’ve supported me, in my own little section of the Rebelcaptain fandom.

So here’s the thing about Jyn Erso, and why I love her so much: “it’s not a problem if you don’t look up.”

I have been raised as a second-generation Asian-American to keep my head down, stay quiet and don’t cause a stir, and just try and climb your way out of your social class and aim for a higher rung on the ladder. I was blessed to be raised with a level of privilege that the military comfortably provided me, with an income that brought food to the table and helped pay my tuition.

But that doesn’t change the atrocities committed against me as a female and a POC- the emotional manipulation, the sexual assault, the slurs thrown at me from people of all walks of life.

Regardless, I kept my head down and didn’t bother to “look up”. I literally do not like to look people in the eyes, because it implies I’m itching for a fight or a confrontation. I kept quiet where I could. I tried to make change where I was able to, knowing full well that it would make a difference. I would try my hardest to help others (and sometimes a little too hard if I think back on the last few months), only to find myself still beaten down by some other entity- be it the people I once trusted, by the powers that be in government, or even down to the people who try to fight for causes I also believe in. But if you piss me off enough, if you push my patience to the very edge and test me, then I will lose all sense of remorse for whatever I do unto you when I snap.

Jyn’s emotional development and attitudes aren’t too different from my own, and I love that this was written in to her character. Her character arc lines up so well with my own life and experiences that I will continue to write about her and draw her until my wrists break.

I also love Cassian Andor, but it has less to do with Diego Luna and more to do with my significant other (who, for the record, is also Latinx).

It seems expected that I would like him, given that I’m a rebelcaptain shipper, Lunatic, and likewise a fellow POC. But if it weren’t for my partner and all the qualities I see in him as I see them in Cassian, I don’t actually think I could be as fervent a rebelcaptain shipper as I am right now. Cassian’s brightest character points, as well as his darkest ones, are very easily found in my partner. In the same way that Cassian gave Jyn hope, my partner gives me hope in a world that deserves to be burning in the depths of whatever hell you happen to believe in. In the same way that Cassian internalizes all his character flaws, so too does my partner try his hardest not to dwell too much on the negative aspects about him. He’s quiet, a man of few words, and even fewer true ones. Cassian speaks just enough for people to be appeased, but the words carry little meaning, a ploy to comfort people to make sure he can live to fight another day. His words of honesty, of thoughts in his mind, are rare, and shared only to those he finds himself trusting. My partner is hardly any different.

But, if there’s anything he let himself admit to me, it’s that he loves that I’m there for him when he needs it, and that I’ve taught him to be less apathetic. Me, the cynic, the one bitter with the real world, had taught him to be less apathetic. Who’da thunk?

In every piece of fanfic I write, I almost inevitably fall back on this: Jyn teaches Cassian something that changes him for the better. It brings me immense joy to be told that I, a Jyn, had helped him, a Cassian, to be less apathetic, to care just a little bit more about his actions, how they affect others, and why he should take more effort to visibly care just a little bit more.

Is it a problematic trope? Sure, according to some of those folks in the fandom. But I write these stories because, for once, I made a difference to my partner’s life, to someone’s life. To me, Jyn teaching Cassian a thing is a result of her finally making a difference in a galaxy where she was inundated with the idea that her existence doesn’t matter, that what she does makes very little difference. My reasons for writing fic are intensely personal, and there are bits of me and my partner scattered in all of them, in various proportions.

What I don’t appreciate is being told that, as a POC and based on my personal experiences, my “silence” and refusal to be loud and join this tirade of sorts makes me complicit in what is allegedly rampant sexism and racism in the fandom.

Being a POC, particularly a WOC, puts a target on my back on the internet. I keep quiet, especially with regards to my racial identity, precisely because I know how dangerous it can be to open my mouth and scream too loudly into the void. Out of all the fights I want to pick, fandom “discourse” is far and away from my list of priorities. I’m busy trying to get my representatives in to make actual difference in my city, state, and country, informing myself for the broader problems that exist outside of this fandom, making money to put food on the table, etc. All I want to do is enjoy my corner of the fandom in peace, and not have an extra “duty” to fight this racial fight at the risk of looking like “a bad POC”. If anything, that puts an onus on POC to be “perfect” with all that preaching, and not only am I far from perfect, I also think that expectation is damaging to the movement as a whole.

Much like Jyn, you could ask me if I care not for the cause. Much like Jyn, I do. But, cynically, I have to say again: “It’s not a problem if you don’t look up”. Making that much noise to fight a cause is a huge waste of my time and effort because I’m surrounded by people who either 1) are so fully-formed in their development that they’re set in their ways and are otherwise unchangeable; 2) are already are aware of these issues and tropes, and thus I’d be preaching to the choir; or 3) don’t care for my existence because I’m not really a big name in the fandom.

But the biggest reason why I don’t make a huge noise about it is because fandom is what you make of it. These people literally have every right to write whatever trope they want, including exceedingly problematic ones, because- you guessed it- it’s their space too. I acknowledge that their presence exists and I refuse to share my space with them, but so long as you’ve written your line in the sand over your space, I won’t interfere with your space. Don’t interfere with mine. Any overlapping peers who happen to like us both are free to cross to and from the borders. My kink is not your kink, my headcanon is not your headcanon, but so what? I’ll still tell people to write that stuff anyway. Because that’s what they want to make of fandom, whether or not it’s canon/fanon, whether or not I like it.

I fight problematic tropes by setting an example. If kudos, views, notes, and comments are currency, then I, as one could phrase it, “talk with my money”. And believe me, some people have got me feeling pretty stingy. I think it’s far more effective to incite change in this small fandom by creating content that (hopefully) sets an example that inspires others to do things a little more like the way I do them, rather than trying to scream at people. I try my hardest not to adhere to these tropes or dynamics I find disagreeable. I boycott content from certain users if I find their presence and/or actions a threat to my enjoyment of the fandom. And I block people who regularly engage in fandom wank and abuse the tagging system. In a fandom that seems to be increasingly sensitive to note counts and feedback, my withholding of attention is a more than effective tool at showing people that I don’t like their stuff.

Does it create an echo chamber? You betcha! But this is my echo chamber; the real world is already looming over me with its own set of drama. Creating an echo chamber for my corner of the fandom and making a safe space out of it is something I deserve as a human being.

I’m relatively confident that others have taken the same policy and thus do not give me their attention to any of the things I’ve created. And that’s perfectly okay. It sucks, but it’s perfectly okay, because I don’t owe them my time just as much as they don’t owe me theirs.

I will fight by encouraging change to those in my purview in my own terms, in my own way. I refuse to be painted with this brush of being uncaring and complicit, especially when all I’ve seen from those people is hate against the enemies and very little uplifting, encouragement, and love to the ones they claim to fight for. I don’t even think they’ve read or liked a single thing I’ve ever made in the fandom; I am, in short, a POC not worth supporting. What’s more, their shouting had become so loud and so angry that I nearly cancelled a fic because it was a modern AU in which Cassian is Mexican-American and speaks Spanish off and on depending on the situation. I planned for him to speak Chicano English by default, but use Californian English whenever he’s outside his own home. I chose them because I think his identity and accent matter to the plot. These people, who were so fed up with the use of the Spanish language and Mexican identity for Cassian, had me scared to ever write this fic even though people I’ve discussed the story with insist that this upcoming fic is perfectly fine. It was hard to hear their support when the loudest voice in my head repeated all those gripes that other people had about the depiction of POC in the Rebelcaptain fandom, and it took several tries and a relentless barrage of support to give me back the courage to draft this fanfic, which has a huge socio-political slant specifically targeting the POC of the Rogue One squad.

The people who encouraged me to do it? Still predominantly white folk (and I deliberately choose not to use the word “women” here). I get support from people of different racial identities as well, no doubt (and one POC in particular comes to mind because she’s been my loudest supporter since I officially entered the fandom), but most of them have been white. 

My corner of the fandom has been peaceful and the least problematic, and the people are, at their very core, truly lovely people. I’m sorry that people mistake my alleged silence for compliance. I’m sorry that people find my work so uninteresting that it’s not worth their time to give me their support. I’m sorry that some people are finding their corner of the fandom violated and full of toxicity that no amount of blocking can help matters.

But please, for the love of every deity in human existence, keep your anger away from my corner of the fandom. I only get a few hours each week to myself, and I’ve chosen to spend it here. I want to make each minute count. And the next minute, and the next, on and on until I’m satisfied with my contributions here, or until the minutes are spent. Let me love Jyn and Cassian in my own way. Let me celebrate their relationship in my own way. Let me fight my fight in my own way. If you don’t like it, that’s fine! Use that currency I mentioned earlier and take your money elsewhere. But do not dictate how I should act within my space and place expectations on me because I’m a POC, and do not make assumptions about my character.

[sunflowerspectre]

Primal Fear

Commission For: @tthemanwithmanyauandheadcannons

Also on Archive of Our Own

Fandom: Teen Titans x Young Justice Requested: Scarecrow turning into Scarebeast Villain Red X!Jason Todd Younger!Villains Requested Word Count: 8,000 Final Word Count: 8,027 Note: Jason’s contacts in his phone are as follow: Hot Ass (Blackfire), Kitten (Cheetah), Big Sister (Giganta), Baby Sister (Nuclear Sis), Slytherin (Copperhead), Garfield (Firefly)

For A Limited Time My Commissions Are A Discounted Price!

Primal Fear

Mount Justice, once used as the location for the Justice League, now serves its purpose as a sanctuary for the young heroes, but how long will the false sense of security there last? How long will it be until they truly see fear for what it is and will fall like the mortals that they are?

Jonathan idly fiddles with one of his gas bombs in his palm, his other hand resting at the others at his hip. He can easily toss it into the air ducts, taken them by surprise, watch them scramble around like they mere rats they are. He can relish in the sounds of their screams, but it wouldn’t change the fact that one person he wants to scare, the one who holds no fear for him, will be there, standing among the chaos as if it’s something she lives through each day - as if he’s nothing more than a pest that she has to shoo away.

Well, he’ll show her. He will watch her squirm. He wonders what Raven looks like when she’s afraid. Will she scream? Or will she be so overtaken by fear that when her mouth opens, no sound comes out? She scared him before, revealing herself to him like the she-devil she is, and it will not happen again. She will kneel before him in fright if it’s the last thing she ever does. And the idea that it might makes him giddy.

He slips through the shadows and into a room that opens with too much ease. The cave is surprisingly empty, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. There’s no one to stop him, he suspects that it has something to do with the ongoing world-destroying crisis that that Light group Luther is apart of has conducted. But it’s not anything unusual, at this point he’s surprised that they’re even surprised at some cataclysmic event as if it doesn’t happen every week.

He still expected more security, even with Nuclear Sis’ hesitant help. Though he firmly believes she didn’t think he could actually pull this off. He expected a lot more, really, but he’s not Red X.He doesn’t thrive for the thrill of the fight and doesn’t crave this sort of challenge. No, his sort of challenge is just the one he’s about to solve.

#

Jonathan’s hands shake as he turns another page in the spellbook, the dark cover and odd languages making it clear that it can be none other than Raven’s. I did it. I actually did it. His body trembles. He can’t wait until the others hear about this - and a part of him also can’t wait to (slightly) rub it in Nuclear Sis’ face that he did manage to break in. Knowing her, however, she will take it in stride as if she played a much bigger part in the plan, instead of just disabling everything she could and telling him good luck before scrambling out of there before he could get busted.

This is the one, he knows it. This will be the time that it works. It has to. This spell has so much more promise than the others. He looks it over carefully, scanning each line slowly. He reads and re-reads every mantra, every word that he can. Every circle, line and symbol has been drawn with a steady hand and a beating heart. He stands in the center in his full ensemble, his Sunday best so to say. Fear gas, in its liquid form, sits in bottles. Each bottle is in its own small circle that crosses with his all around it until there’s not an inch of his circle that doesn’t connect with a bottle.

He can feel the itch beneath his skin, the craving to hear people scream with a primal fear as the light in their eyes fade to be replaced with a terrifying darkness. He won’t rest until he sees the heroes overtaken with their personal demons, falling to the ground before him.

He opens his mouth and the more words of the spell he speaks, the more it doesn’t even sound like his voice. It begins to grow more primal, deep, as it echoes through his lab, encasing him with its words. Despite not changing his tone, his voice seems to get louder as it’s growing closer and closer to him. He closes his eyes, the words reciting out of his mouth without him thinking about it.

He doesn’t regret it even as the mantra swirls in his mind, twisting it, changing it into something else. The bottles around him break, the liquid fear gas pools to the floor and move toward him, burning through his clothes as it seeps into his skin, absorbing into him, becoming a part of him. He can feel the way that fear just flows through his veins.

He feels the way his body changes, growing and morphing. He becomes something out of someone’s nightmare, yet it’s his dream. He feels it in his blood, in his heart, his soul. His mind. It is him and he is it.

He is Scarebeast.

#

The outskirts of Gotham are quiet as the moon rises high against the starry sky. The silent peacefulness, caused by a lack of human interactment, is cut short by trees being ripped straight from the ground and thrown off as if it’s nothing more than a small twig. Dark silhouettes of crows sweep across the night in warning, looking like a mere shadow, blocking light from stars, as they let out ominous caws as if they’re calling for their master.

A beast rises from the horizon, letting out a monstrous roar. Demonic, neverending hell fire peaks through the holes and tears of a scarecrow-like mask that’s dark and rotten, tearing at its seams. Any clothing on its chest has torn away to reveal flesh that stretches thinly against a bony skeleton. Orifices rise out of its body, releasing a paralyzing fear toxin into the air around it. It lets out a frustrated, deafening scream that sounds like a million damned souls crying out from the depths of hell.

His mind feels foggy, blocked out by darkness. He hears nothing but the calls of his scare beasts, sees nothing but the potential fear he can cause and feels nothing but the toxin running through his veins.

He raises his hand and the crows that soar against the sky grow large before all of Gotham and its outskirts are ripped from the light of the moon and stars, encasing the sky in a damning darkness. He takes a large, stomping step forward that leaves a small crater in the ground when his foot crashes upon it.

His eyes focus on Gotham and with each step he takes, he grows closer and closer to his destination. He will see the souls of the damned leave their bodies as fear encases them.

He will watch the world tear itself apart as his toxin overtakes them all.

#

Interesting. But interesting rarely means that it’s anything good.

In the case of the beast tearing through the woods as if it’s wading through shallow water, the same beast making a straight line toward Gotham City and seems to be the cause of the darkness that has ceased the sky, it is interesting. Interesting in the fact that it is most definitely Jonathan Crane - the Jonathan Crane that, while vastly intelligent, is a rather weak individual in the sense that he would rather use his fear toxin than get into an intimate fist fight.

But it’s also definitely not anything good. He seems now deformed, mutated into something not only more serious, but something bigger and stronger than his previous persona, Scarecrow. Becoming more of a beast, one that not only seems to have control of his fear toxin but also have some magical base to it, than a man. Something about his appearance as a whole leaves an unsettling feeling, as if he strikes some sort of strange primal fear in a being by merely just existing.

So no, Robin was not whelmed, not whelmed at all, when Batman brings up the video feed of the beast tearing through trees as if it were nothing. It’s not that he hasn’t taken down big bads before - in fact, he’s rather used to facing all sorts of villains that are are not only three to four times his size, but have powers to boot. It’s just… unnerving to see Scarecrow in this demonic form, it looks more like a nightmare-ish being that doesn’t belong in this world.

But then he remembers that his job to take down all things that don’t belong here.

“What caused him to change,” M’gann asks tentatively, looking at the screen with caution.

Batman doesn’t quite seem to acknowledge the question, not even looking in her direction as he continues with a sort of answer, “As you’re all aware, last week, there was a break-in here at the mountain. No security footage was able to be recovered, but I have reason to believe that Jonathan, with minor help, was the one behind it.”

“What’s the point of breaking in here if he didn’t try anything,” Superboy scoffs, “He didn’t even steal anything.”

“Wrong,” Raven takes a step forward, her voice cutting through the air like glass, shutting Superboy up quickly, though he grumbles a bit under his breath at the way she glares at him, “My spellbook was gone.”

Wally mouths the word spellbook to himself in a mocking manner, using air quotations as if the words don’t hold any real value - to him, they don’t. Cyborg nudges him hard enough to nearly knock him over, but he mutters an apology that Raven doesn’t even acknowledge.

The screen in front of them and just behind Batman changes, footage of the beast is brought up on pause and zoomed in incredibly close. Among the hell like fire that tore through his mask is a dark aura that is eerily similar to Raven’s own aura.

“We have reason to believe that Jonathan Crane stole the spellbook to turn himself into this monster,” Batman spoke.

“Why would anyone turn themselves into such a horrible beast,” Starfire questions, her eyes showing just how wary she is about the situation.

“To do what he’s always done,” Robin’s voice shows dawning as he puts it all together, “To spread fear.”

“My spell would have been too much for him to fully control,” Raven explains, “If he used it with his fear toxin, I wouldn’t be surprised if it backfired on him like this. But he probably can’t control his own actions beyond the objective of his spell - and in the case, if it was to spread fear, then he won’t have any other emotion or drive aside from making everyone scream.”

“Great, so if he can’t control it, then how are we supposed to stop him,” Cyborg crosses his arms against his chest tightly, “‘Specially if magic is involved.”

“I would have to know the exact spell he used and what symbols he chose for his incarnation circle,” Raven speaks flatly, “Considering he had a whole book of spells to choose from, not including the endless symbols he could have used, I don’t have much hope that I can undo it.”

The solemn tone of her voice carries heavy through the room. A beast that’s infused with magic and fear toxin doesn’t exactly spell good news. Kaldur looks between them with the type of peaceful seriousness that only a leader can possess in a calamity. Robin has a similar look, though his mind is going through the various ways they can possibly take him down since undoing the spell isn’t an option.

“What are our orders,” Kaldur finally asks.

“Raven, M’gann, Robin, Superboy, Cyborg, Kaldur, Starfire, neutralize the target before it reaches Gotham City.”

Those mentioned stand at attention, their backs stiff and their shoulders back, save for Raven who merely nods in understanding instead of standing like the soldier that they are expected to be. Robin stands the most tall, his head high as determination fills his eyes, causing her to sigh at his naivity that this will be an easy fix.

“Understood.”

#

The night is full of an odd peacefulness, a rare calm before a storm. Everything tonight has seemed to go exactly the way he wanted it to. Jason looks over the city’s skyline with a sigh, hanging his feet over the edge of a building roof. He’s already taken all he really wants tonight and he’s growing tired of just robbing some odd places here and there.

Without any of the other gang members with him, everything went by quickly, effectively, smoothly, and boring. He doesn’t hear any of Giganta’s latest gossip. Nothing is caught on fire per Firefly. Cheetah isn’t there to give some big speech about how he isn’t loyal enough to the team (and threaten to claw out his throat for it). Blackfire isn’t here to distract him with her beauty - though it is a welcome and appreciated distraction. Copperhead isn’t bitching about one thing or the other. Nuclear Sis isn’t trying out her latest gadget on him or one of the other members. Hell, Jonathan isn’t even here to make some poor night guard piss his pants. He’s beginning to genuinely miss those dumbasses… He really must be getting bored.

Something vibrates against his hip and he pulls out his phone.

From: Big Sister

Have you heard from Jon? I haven’t heard from him since last week. He said he and Nuclear Sis were going to break into Mount Justice. I’m scared he got caught.

Giganta. Jason raises an eyebrow, the idea of Jonathan sneaking into Mount Justice is laughable, the idea of him and Nuclear Sis doing it is only slightly probable. But both of them doing it without telling him, however, is downright insulting. He sends a text to Nuclear Sis before replying back to Giganta’s message.

To: Baby Sister

Wanna tell me what happened with you, Jonathan and Mount Justice?

From: Baby Sister

Not really. Dumbass wanted to steal some spell book from that freaky goth chick  and I helped, got out of there after I disabled everything for him. Did he get his ass caught?

He hopes not - that would be a pain in the ass and he’d likely be the one sent to bust him out. Considering he hasn’t heard anything from Luther and the lack of ‘Scarecrow Arrested’ on the news, he doubts it. But that would mean that son of a bitch actually got out without getting caught. He doesn’t know if he should congratulate Jonathan or hit him over the head a few dozen times for doing something so stupid. All for a stupid ass book, are you fucking kidding me Jonathan?

To: Big Sister

Nuclear Sis bailed quick, so she doesn’t know. Haven’t heard from Luther so I doubt he got caught.

It takes longer to get a reply this time, he almost worries.

From: Big Sister

He said he was going in there to steal something that would help enhance his fear toxin.

Shit. They all know how Jonathan gets about his fear toxin. If he actually got something that he thought could enhance it, he wouldn’t leave his lab until he did it. It’s not usually a problem until it gets in the way of their missions from Luther or he forgets to do simple things like eat. And if he really did manage to steal some spell book from Raven, who knows what it actually did?

Jason is just about to reply when a thundering roar shakes the building. He almost thinks it’s an Earthquake until he sees the dark crows cast out the light of the night sky. He zips across the city, from roof to roof, until he reaches the outer east side where he can see nothing but woods. He begins to think that there’s nothing out of the ordinary until the trees begin to rumble, shaking out of the ground. Trees off in the distance get sent flying through the air. He can see the silhouette of something large off in the distance.

Fuck. That could mean trouble - for him - and considering that he doesn’t exactly have a lot to do now and a strange feeling in his gut tells him that it’s connected to Jonathan, he may as well check it out. Besides, something this big heading toward Gotham is bound to get Bats’ attention which means whatever it is out there, Robin and the other young heroes are bound to be there too. Which can prove to be exciting.

Mass Text To: Kitten, Hot Ass, Slytherin, Baby Sister, Big Sister, Garfield

East outskirt of Gotham - we got trouble, the kids in tights will probably be there, let’s have some fun *devil emoji*

But first, he has one small stop to make.

#

Jonathan’s lab is a mess, even more so than usual. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, if Jonathan was experimenting again then Jason should have expected the worse - he’s pretty sure that this is the worse case scenario at any rate. Broken vails, liquid fear toxin soaking through the metal floor, and there’s not a single thing in its place. As if a tornado swept through it and destroyed all through its path. He looks toward a burned, charred floor that reeks of rust. Blood stains into the metal. A strange glyph forms a broken circle in the center.

Damn it, it just makes this harder. He has to hurry. If Jonathan stole Raven’s spell book, combining one of her spells with his fear toxin, then it’s likely that she’d be the only one to undo whatever damage Jonathan did. But with a spell book that likely has hundreds of spells and combinations, then it’d be useless unless she knew which one that was used.

He spots a piece of paper, burned at its edges, in the middle of the glyph. A drawing of the glyph on the floor is at the top of it followed by a mantra that he won’t even try to decipher.

He pockets it and hopes that it’s the right one.

#

The video footage doesn’t do it justice, but unfortunately, the young heroes don’t realize this until they’re already gaining up on the beast. They’re close enough to get an idea of what they’re against, but far enough that they still don’t quite realize the gravity of what it is that he’s capable of. They can still see his silhouette, showing just how large he is, and the idea that this is - was? - Scarecrow is hard to fathom. He casts a large dark shadow that threatens to swallow you whole if you stand within it, but it’s really the fire burning beneath the mask instead of his eyes that truly creates an unsettling, fearful sensation in their chest.

Robin pauses, his calculating eyes narrow as he looks over the situation carefully, his mind working like a supercomputer as he tries to pinpoint exactly what this - what would he be called? Scarebeast? - is capable of. The shadow creatures seem to be an unexpected byproduct of whatever magic Scarecrow infused with his toxin, he seems to have control of them. But his rampage is uncharacteristic of him, Robin wonders if Scarecrow - Scarebeast, now - is even capable of controlling himself as well as those creatures.

“What’s the saying,” Superboy looks to the others, a brow raised, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall?”

“It’s gonna take a lot more than just strength to make him fall,” Raven comments dryly, her aura already flaring up for protection.

“Wanna bet,” Superboy smirks.

Raven rolls her eyes, but doesn’t take the taunt. She doesn’t need to bet anything to know that she’s right - she knows magic and she knows Scarecrow’s fear toxin. The idea of combining the two is a frightful notion.

“No bets,” Kaldur mildly scolds, “Raven is right. We have to play it smart, we don’t know what he’s fully capable of now.”

“He looks like he’s emitting fear toxin,” Robin notes, “We have to wear the masks if we want to even get close to him.”

Kaldur nods solemnly, “M’gann, do you sense anything from him?”

M’gann narrows her eyes as she focuses intently on the beast. It takes merely a moment for her eyes to go wide. An intense wave of fear, and all the things that create it, all that it is, hits her hard. A large force knocks her back to the ground, her head throbbing as tears build in her eyes.

“M’GANN!”

She looks to Superboy, who stares at her with fear and concern. She sees fire. She sees him running through flames that she doesn’t remember being there, but feel too real. She can feel the heat of it brushing against her skin. Burning, burning, burning. Her skin feels hot as it begins to melt away. Hot, burning, everything is on fire. Her hold on her form slips as her true form manifests. White against red slips to the ground in a limp form. Superboy holds her, but she can’t feel him and she wonders if he’s really there.

Of course he’s not there, a deep voice rumbles in the back of her mind, why would he run to you little martian girl? Why would anyone?

You’re right, M’gann’s voice rings through the team’s mind.

“Who’s right,” Kaldur takes a step forward, his weapons at the ready, “M’Gann, who are you talking to?”

Robin scrambles to the small devices in his belt, air filters that may limit their communication, but there are other ways to communicate. And he can’t communicate at all with an incapacitated team.

“Take the masks,” Robin’s voice screeches into the night sky, “He’s onto us!”

The masks don’t reach them, falling just short as each of them let out pained screams, their minds feeling hot as if someone set a fire and is threatening to burn them alive from the inside out. They hear screaming, pained screams that sound oddly familiar. Superboy clutches M’gann closer, tighter.

“M’gann, you have to break the mind link,” Superboy’s plead falls to deaf ears as M’gann clutches in agony in his arms.

Raven falls to the floor with pained, furrowed brows as she takes deep breaths. Her focus becomes blurry and uneven. She can’t concentrate with that much pain and fire burning in her mind. Her aura flares dangerously around her, creating a dark shadow raven that bursts forth from her with- Azarath, metrion, zinthos.

The group breathes a sigh of relief as the mind connection from M’gann is severed, but Superboy glares toward Raven with accusation as M’gann still withers in his arms.

“Scarecrow - he’s in her mind. He’s too powerful for me to -”

“You my dear,” Scarebeast’s voice roars around them and as they scramble to find him, they see nothing but darkness, “You can call me Scarebeast.”

They don’t have a chance to react, fear toxin spreading out through the air suddenly and quickly. In a coughing fit, they fall to the ground as they struggle to hold their breath, not daring to breath in the poisonous air around them.

Raven quickly forms a dome around all of them, but she struggles to hold it together as Scarebeast taunts her mind, pulling her concentration and emotions. Thin white lines begin to spread through the dome of darkness. A sickening crack rings through the air, Robin struggling to get the masks back before -

The dome shatters, the toxin encasing them once again. Scarebeast enters their minds with ease, taunting them, fear overtaking them as they fall struggle to stay on their feet. #

#

Can’t breathe, too much smoke - it’s all too much. M’gann screeches. Her body is too hot to the touch and smoke begins to fill her lungs. She feels like she’s burning from the inside out as flames warp around her. It gets harder and harder for her lungs to expand, her chest feeling tight. Her eyes bristle with tears as she struggles to see the smoke and flames, her vision being to become spotty and blurry before all she sees is black.

#

Demons release from Raven’s mind, seeming to be all around her as darkness overtakes her. Her father’s laughter rings through her ears and she sees four red eyes staring at her through a void. It’s not real, it’s not real, she repeats it like it’s her lifeline.

She reaches out to the others, but can feel Scarebeast scrambling all of their minds, trying to make them forget who they were facing, trying to make them even more convinced that what they’re seeing is their reality. She pushes through, trying to send a single thought out to the others - It’s not real, remember that it’s not real - and she hopes that it’s enough to remind them of what’s the real threat here.

But even she struggles to see through the illusion of the toxin, but focuses all of her abilities toward pushing anyone that may be close to her - anyone who is really there - away from her, lest her powers lash out against them.

#

Raven is not the only one whose father haunts them.

Kaldur stares up at the face of a hellish manta, listening to how proud his father is of him, how much that they’re alike, that it’s time to accept his fate. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, yet this time it sounds more haunting, more serious. As if it’s more than just his father telling him and more of his own self conscious. As if some part of him is trying to convince the other that it’s all real, that he’s just as much of a villain as his father.

He feels sand beneath his feet that burn his soles as a hot sun beats down against him, making it harder to breath as he feels every water drop on him evaporate to the air. Yet his father remains unaffected from the blistering heat.

Unaffected - it clicks. He’s not affected because he’s not here. I’m not here… He struggles to put the pieces together, something scrambling his mind trying to make him forget, but he remembers enough. He remembers that this - none of this - is real.

“It’s not real,” a familiar voice rings, “remember that it’s not real.”

#

Starfire’s cheek puff with the breath she holds as she stands her ground, her fists light up in a bright green blaze as she lets out a series of shots toward the dark scare creatures that start to surround them as Scarebeast continues toward the city. Her eyes burn brightly, tears bristling in the corners of her eyes. Her lungs, while stronger than a human’s, still don’t last long enough as she crumbles to the ground gasping for air. She looks up and through a fog, she sees her sister stalking toward her, unaffected by their surroundings. Blackfire’s fists light up in a blaze, her eyes staring down at Starfire with a cold, hard look that makes Starfire freeze, unable to move as her eyes widen. She feels her pulse beat rapidly within her chest as she loses her breath. Sister...

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this sister,” her sister’s voice rings through the air in a distorted manner and her hand aims straight toward Starfire’s heart.

“It’s not real.” Starfire wonders where Raven is and why she can only hear her. “Remember that it’s not real.

#

Cyborg lasts the longest, his blast sending quite a few of the beasts away from them. Yet it seems that for each one he knocks out, two more take it’s place. They’re never ending. But his human side, the part that still needs to breath, gives in to quickly. He falls to the earth with a hard thud, creating a small crater around him. He blinks and opens his eyes to see the world in a tint of red - a tint he was used to, but only from one eye.

He wonders why his sensors seem different and his body feels heavier, sturdier. He moves his arm and it takes a moment for it to respond and messages dance in front of his eyes like a computer screen. No. He runs to the closest metallic surface he sees, its surface shining so brightly that he sees his reflection too clearly. He puts a hand to his face, but he can’t even feel anything. No cold metal surface, but not any warm skin either.

A robot stares back at him in horror. A pure, full robot that looks different, but familiar. He swears he feels his heart drop, but he doesn’t think he even has one anymore.

“It’s not real, remember that it’s not real.”

#

Superboy opens his eyes and sees a world of metal, screens and needles before glass. Tubes spread from him to out of a container that he was born in, spent the beginning of his life in. His mind is frantic to place memories and sees two. One of Superman, broken beneath him like a corpse. The other of a team that reaches their hand out to them when he’s down. He doesn’t know which one is real and he’s scared to know the answer.

“Congratulations, Project Kr. You’ve completed your mission. Superman is dead because of you, you should be proud.”

He struggles against the tubes, but finds them to be too heavy like thick restraints grounding him to this scene.

“It’s not real, remember that it’s not real.”

#

Robin sees Scarebeast’s creatures around them, circling them as they draw close to their prey. It’s only a matter of time - his hand trembles as he reaches toward one of the fallen masks. Almost there - I just have to - his lungs burn for oxygen and his chest gives out, letting go of the breath he was holding. As he coughs, the reality around him bleeds away to an empty circus tent. A tent he knows too well.

A bright spotlight shines brightly on two figures that dance through the air with a familiar grace. Mom. Dad. Robin stands hestiately, looking up at them with a deep pain his chest. He watches them for a moment, taking in the beauty of their movement before he moves, his feet running toward the large ladder that lead up to their podium stands where they land once they’re finished - where they should’ve landed.

“No,” Robin’s voice comes out as a course whisper, “No, stop! Get down from there - it’s not safe.”

He’s halfway up the ladder. He can see his mother’s eyes stare at him as she smiles as she soars. The smile drops as there’s a snap. His heart falls to the pit of his stomach. He stares in horror as he watches a scene that he already knew. He can’t look away as his mother looks to him as she falls.

“You should’ve warned us sooner, my little robin.”

It takes him too long to hear a second voice, one that sounds familiar but far away like a distant memory.

“It’s not real - remember that it’s not real.”

But it was.

#

Scarebeast revels in the way that the heroes crumble like dust, like the worthless little worms that they are. The martian girl’s screams are louder than the caws of his crows. The half-robot is shut down as he faces his hell. The small Superman knockoff is fighting against something that’s not really there as Robin seems to be fighting tears. The waterboy is struggling to breath even more than the Martian as the alien girl cries as if someone ripped her heart out.

He didn’t think it would be this easy, but with his new abilities, he is unstoppable. He is too power for anyone who may come in his way, but he’s most proud of the she-devil that’s on her knees before him as her aura flares around her to face her demons.

“SCARECROW!”

He lets out a roar as someone - multiple someones - sweep into the scene. Something in him tells him that he should know them, that they’re important, but a darker voice whispers through his mind that he has no friends, that it doesn’t matter who they are, that they - like the heroes, like everyone else, like the world - will tremble with fear.

#

Jason, lets out a low whistle as he takes in everything around him. It’s not exactly hard to miss the way the young heroes in tights are crumbled to the ground like nothing and a part of him is proud that his boy was able to do that. That part would probably be a lot stronger if said boy wasn’t rampaging through the woods like a maniac - well, a bigger maniac than usual. Thankful for the air filters in his mask, and the fact that he was smart enough to give out masks before showing up to this - unlike the apparent so smart ‘heroes.’

“Well, at least we know it’s Jonathan,” Copperhead hisses, though his eyes are focused on the ‘guys’ in tights.

Cheetah lets out a small purr of approval, her respect for the usually timid Jonathan rising as she sees the heroes in their current state.Though she tenses seeing the unfamiliar large form of Scarecrow and the dark beasts that are slowly gathering around them. She keeps a close eye on them, her body waiting to strike in case they make a move, but Scarecrow wouldn’t send his beasts after them… would he? And since when he could he do that in the first place? Is it effect of the spell?

Firefly’s ‘oh shit’ doesn’t go unnoticed, he hovers a good few feet above the ground, taking in each hero in their distressed state with a mix of anger and pride. His buddy did that, but he should’ve been the one to take down the heroes. He should be the one that made them burn.

“That stupid neurotic kid took out all the heroes,” Firefly growls.

“Not to mention whatever that is,” Copperhead jabs his thumb toward the white martian that shrieks in pain and horror.

Blackfire hesitates, her eyes on her sister as her brows furrow. Jason watches her carefully, wondering if she’s going to run to her sister’s help or let her suffer. He has to admit he’s a bit curious to see what choice she is going to make. Blackfire takes a step forward before her lips thin and she stands her ground. Jason hums a bit in thought, she never fails to surprise me.

Nuclear Sis takes in a sharp breath, “I… didn’t think a simple spell book would make him like…. This.”

Giganta, whose height towers over the toxin and reaches to the thinner oxygen levels, stomps her feet a bit in worry. The others yelp, cursing at her as the ground shake, causing her to let out a muffled apology.

“Don’t worry, it’s still Jonathan,” Copperhead states as if it’s a fact, but his voice wavers as he looks at the larger, more intimidating form of Scarecrow, “He can be reasoned with… Probably.”

Jason gives a shrill whistle to get Scarecrow’s attention as he slowly saunters over, a swagger in his step and caution in his mind. Something tells him that it won’t be as simple as just talking it over.

“SCARECROW!”

He lets out a yelp as Scarecrow turns to him and lets out a roar.

“MY NAME IS SCAREBEAST!”

Jason takes a step back at the fiery eyes that stare at him with no hint of recognition. A feeling of unease settles in his gut. For once, why can’t things just go easily? A hand rises, commanding the dark shadow beasts to swarm toward him and the others.

He dodges a few large crows that sweep at him from the sky and lands on top of one of the other, more land-based creatures that at first glance, may be mistaken for a deer. Yet deer don’t have an endless void of darkness for a body nor are they size of a moose, but their eyes are a hellish fire that stare like death itself. Somehow they, in themselves, are unsettling and sends goosebumps down his arms.

“What the fuck,” Jason shouts, “We just want to talk!”

‘I don’t want to hear you talk,’ a dark voice rings through their minds, causing them to tense, ‘I want to hear you scream.’

Cheetah lets out a snarl as she tears through the beasts that leap toward her. Her claws digging into flesh that doesn’t bleed as she tosses them away from her, her arms burning with restrain from the weight. Copperhead’s tail wraps around the ones that she misses and tosses them to toward a growing pile of limp corpses.

Firefly lets out shouts as fire blasts from him to the beasts, but Jason is mildly impressed that he’s at least keeping it somewhat controlled so the whole forest doesn’t burn up. The last thing they need is a forest fire to worry about on top of all of this.

Blackfire shoots rapidly at the beasts near her and shoots a few that leap toward Giganta, but as her eyes drift back to her sister, a beast tackles her from the side. She lets out a scream as she feels claws dig into her shoulders. She struggles to raise her arms enough to blast a hole straight through the beasts’ chest.

Nuclear Sis struggles, but is able to hold her own enough to survive - for now. But she’s not sure how long she can last with this many beasts. She can’t unleash any nuclear power, not with the others so close by. She tries to focus her blast waves only on the beasts, but it won’t take long before she loses her control.

Giganta shrieks as multiple beasts go for her legs and crows swoop at her head, she shakes the ones on her body off, but each bite leaves decent wounds on her legs. Shit, if I go back to regular size, I’ll bleed out.

“Jonathan,” she screeches, “Jonathan! It’s us! Please!”

“No use, Giganta,” Jason reasons, cursing a storm, “That spell fucked up his head, at this rate, he’s about more fucked than Joker.”

His eyes narrow as he dodges another beasts and sends red x’s to capture the ones he jumps off, trapping them to the ground. He looks toward the others and his lips thin at the way that they struggle against the beasts. Even with the toxin not affecting them, he can feel Scarebeast press in the back of his mind, forcing a fight or flight response in his system as if he’s scared for his life. The adrenaline makes his heart beat rapidly against his chest as he tries to focus on a way to get Jonathan back.

His eyes are drawn to the darkness that lashes out toward anything that gets close to her - Raven.  If it was her spell book that caused this mess, then she can get them out of it. She’ll know how to undo it. His eyes glance toward Robin and Starfire. If they get Starfire, then he knows that Blackfire will actually focus on the situation instead of own her sister - no matter how much she wants to deny it, he sees the way her eyes keep going to her sister in worry. If he gets Robin, well, he can hold the fact that he ‘saved’ his ass over that little bird’s head. And as heroes, their first objective would be stopping the beast before trying to catch any of them. If he gets them to help them just get Jonathan back to normal, it would be a piece of cake to escape before they take them all to Arkham. Or worse, Belle Reve.

He makes a run for Blackfire, she jumps and looks at him with confusion when he places a small air filter in her hand, “Get your sister.”

“Firefly, don’t burn the forest,” Jason shouts, “Keep your blasts aimed toward the beasts. Imagine that they’re me if you have to!”

Firefly smirks, but listens as his blasts become a bit more focused on their targets. Jason nods, satisfied, and runs through the tormented heroes with ease. He puts a mask on Robin as he runs by and heads straight toward Raven, dodging her magic that lashes out toward him.

“Tell me that you have a reason for going for the heroes,” Cheetah snarls.

“If her spell book caused this, she can fix it.”

“And Robin,” Cheetah presses, but Firefly lets out a snort.

“Oh come on, kitty, that one’s obvious. If he saves Robin, that bird will never live it down.”

#

Starfire takes in a deep breath, coughing to shake fluid from her lungs as reality slowly bends back into existence. Her vision is blurry, but she sees her sister staring down at her, but unlike the fear-toxin induced nightmare, there is no cold hearted murder in her sister’s eyes, just a resigned sense of caring. As her vision slowly focuses, she makes out her sister’s hand reaching toward her to help her up.

“Sister,” Starfire coughs, but Blackfire rolls her eyes.

“No shit, don’t let this get to your head, I still hate you.”

Robin is quicker to gain his senses, but still doesn’t understand just who - his eyes fall on Red X. Of course it is. He doesn’t miss the way Red X gives him a little two finger salute and he’s sure that the villain is grinning beneath his mask.

Raven, however, takes longer to come back, struggling to gain control of her emotions and her powers. Unlike the others, she doesn’t gasp desperately for air, but instead takes in slow, precise breaths that slows the adrenaline and fear that coursed through her. She stands and raises an eyebrow at the villains that have joined them.

“After we take Scarebeast down, you’re next,” Robin threatens, though they don’t seem particularly bothered by it.

“Sure you will,” Blackfire rolls her eyes, “But let’s focus on one thing at a time, shall we?”

“We kinda hoped you that you would know how to undo the spell,” Nuclear Sis looks toward Raven, “He stole your spell book, didn’t he?”

“I need to know the spell he used otherwise -”

Jason slips a paper in her hand and she stops. He winks, even though he knows that she can’t see it.

“Snagged this little baby before coming by, think it will do the job?”

Raven looks it over briefly before nodding, “Stall him, it will take time to gather the magic needed to undo this big of a spell. And I can’t promise that he will be one hundred percent back to normal either.”

“Eh, so he has a side effect or two,” Jason shrugs, “We all have our issues.”

Her lips thin, not wanting to say that it won’t be as simple as ‘having some issues.’ If she succeeds, there’s no telling how much power he will retain permanently - or if his sanity will return. She supposes as long it brings him down, it won’t matter much. He’ll be locked up by the time this is over.

Robin looks toward the others, but the masks that he once tried to hand out are destroyed - burned by Firefly’s attacks on the beasts, no doubt. He grits his teeth at the idea of leaving them in agony, but hopefully this will end soon enough.

“Fine, Firefly, Starfire, Blackfire, use your attacks on Scarebeast, but keep your distance. Nuclear Sis, aim for the beasts at Giganta’s legs while she goes for the ones in the air. Red X, Copperhead, Cheetah, you’re with me. We’ll keep the beasts away from Raven while she focuses.”

“It’s funny how you think we answer to you,” Copperhead hisses, but Jason raises a hand to stop him.

“We’re not answering to him, we’re saving Jonathan and bringing back.”

That gets the others to, mostly, keep quiet about their complaints as they do as instructed by the Boy Wonder. Cheetah and Copperhead join him on the ground with Robin as Raven floats a few feet in the air with her legs crossed, repeating her usual mantra in between verses of something he’s never heard before. He hopes that whatever she is doing, however, will work.

“Sister,” Starfire shoots a large blast toward Scarebeast that gets his attention, drawing him away from the city as he lets out a roar, “Isn’t it nice to be fighting side by side?”

“Yeah, it’s real swell,” Blackfire huffs and Firefly laughs as the sarcasm goes right over Starfire’s head, who takes her sister’s comment too literally and lets out a joyous laugh despite the situation around them.

“Does she ever stop,” Firefly asks as Starfire continues to let out joyous shouts of victory with every hit. Blackfire nods negatively, causing him to curse, “What a fucking pain.”

“You really think you can stop me,” Scarebeast screeches, “I am a god of all that is terror. I am your living nightmare.”

“Jonathan, you’re becoming a real living ass,” Giganta snaps, causing Nuclear Sis to snort.

Scarebeast turns to her, rising his hand about to attack, but hesitates. Magic presses against the back of his mind, pressing into his chest, and the red tinted vision from the flames of hell start to diminish as he stumbles on his feet.

“It’s working, Raven,” Robin shouts, “Keep going!”

The opposing magic grows stronger as he wobbles. His beasts start to dwindle in numbers, the ones who die not coming back and new ones refusing to form. He can feel the toxin releasing from him becoming thinner, weaker.

“No,” his voice lacks the darker, demonic echo, “No, I can’t be defeated, I can’t…”

Pain shoots through his body as his bones begin to break and reform, forcing him to become smaller and smaller, his muscles weakening as his body grows thin. His head throbs with pain, but his mind becomes clearer.

“What did I… What did I do…?”

“You caused way too much trouble, is what you did,” Blackfire snaps, “We barely saved your ass.”

Raven comes back to the ground, her work complete, but she eyes Scarecrow with caution, waiting to see what will become of him, if he retrains any of the abilities caused by the dark magic that he carelessly threw himself into. Starfire rushes to the others as they begin coughing and regaining consciousness, slowly coming to their senses. Firefly yelps when the white alien slowly begins to form a more recognizable Miss Martian, if that’s what she really looks like then I’m glad that she can shapeshift, fuck that. Superboy rushes to her, not phased by the transformation as he holds her close.

Jason watches the heroes slowly come to and takes a step forward, it’s best if they make their escape now before all of them are back at full power. Blackfire and Giganta are still injured, Nuclear Sis is on the brink of breaking, and even he can feel the fatigue from the battle reaching him.

“Well this was fun and all, but we have places to be and things to steal. Beat you later, heroes.”

He makes a signal to the others and they prepare for what’s to come, getting into position for their escape. A flash grenade hits the ground and blinds the heroes as they run off toward the city, Giganta taking large leaps that shake the ground.

Jason grabs Jonathan and puts him on his back as he runs, knowing that he’s in no state to run for himself. Jonathan weakly watches the heroes scramble behind Jason’s back before they disappear into the distance.

“So you broke into Mount Justice, huh,” Jason asks, causing Jonathan to nod, “And all you did was steal a stupid book. No wonder Firefly makes fun of you. You’re a fucking dumbass.”

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