#its such an obvious oversight that i have to wonder if maybe something Happened behind the scenes on this one
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Still silly that none of your dialogue options with James post-Tranquility Lane touch at all on the fact that the LW literally had to leave the Vault so that they were not murdered, much in the same way that dear beloved family friend Jonas Palmer was extremely fucking murdered.
#its such an obvious oversight that i have to wonder if maybe something Happened behind the scenes on this one#like maybe at one point the opening of the game was different. this part was written and voiced before it was decided#that it was going to be a ''you had no choice but to leave'' kind of scenario
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Fixing "Boy Erased" (2018)
I recently decided to watch Boy Erased (2018) again, now that we're a couple years out from its initial release (and hype). And I came away with some thoughts.
First, something I think worked. You know that scene near the end, when Jared (Lucas Hedges) is trying to leave the conversion camp and he's racing through corridors and whatnot. That whole sequence works, but there's one moment that really stands out.
Jared attempts to get his phone and Michael (one of the 'camp counselors') tries to physically wrestle it away from him. There's a bit of a fight but eventually Jared makes his way to the bathroom and he calls his mom to come take him away. He then emerges from the bathroom and says to Victor Sykes (who runs the camp), "If you, or anyone else puts their hands on me, I have witnesses." Victor puts up his hands and says, "Nobody's gonna put their hands on you. Why would anybody do that? Come and sit. We're gonna wait for your mom, okay?" Then there's a hard cut to this:
Victor Sykes and Brandon literally laying their hands on Jared and praying. And I love that juxtaposition because it brings to light the violence inherent in this situation. They're restraining him through enforced religious acts. There's violence in this prayer.
And on top of that, it serves as a pretty good metaphor for the whole film. Jared's parents (especially his mother) believe they're helping but really they're hurting. They can't see the violence of their actions in sending him to the camp.
If only the rest of the film was working on this level.
Problem the first: Audience as observer. The film is really about observing its subject, Jared, as he experiences these events. But it isn't about giving us any insight into his perspective or interiority as he does so. The camera is looking at Jared more often that it is revealing to us what he's seeing. Perhaps the most obvious example of this issue is with the perfume ad scene. Jared is on a run and he comes across a perfume ad on the side of a bus stop with a bare chested buff guy. The camera shows us the ad, and then the rest of the scene has the camera (and thus, the audience) placed some distance away as we see Jared first touch the ad, then throw a rock at the ad, and then scream "fuck you" at it repeatedly. The ad itself isn't salacious enough to illicit that kind of response in the average audience-goer, and the camera is so disconnected from Jared's experience that we aren't really gaining insight into why this ad is affecting him in such a strong way. It ends up making it so that scene really does not work.
This isn't to critique Lucas Hedges's performance in that scene. It's more to say that all the other elements of that scene make it feel ridiculous - because the audience has not been guided toward viewing that ad in the same way that Jared does in that moment.
The second problem: Casting. To be absolutely clear, this is not a knock against any of the actors performances. On the contrary, I think everyone was pretty dang exceptional. Rather, it's more a conversation about casting choices. Two of those choices really stand out as somewhat misguided: Xavier Dolan as Jon and Emily Hinkler as Lee.
Turns out Emily Hinkler is a nonbinary actress. Lee (the character) is a cis guy who is conspicuously unmasculine. (If you've seen the movie - he's the one who gets hit in the head with a baseball). Casting a nonbinary actress as a cis boy at a conversion camp feels a bit off on it's own in that a conversion camp would be forcing people to adhere to assigned genders at birth. But I could get behind it as a sort of statement, like, a casting decision as direct opposition to the enforced gender binary of a conversion camp. i.e. Why should the movie adhere to the oppressive gender binary that the camp would? However, by casting a nonbinary actress as the least conventionally masculine character - it actually feels like it ends up reinforcing the binary. Lee's defining trait is that he's small and unmanly and, afaik, he's the only one of the male characters who is not portrayed by a cis man.
My issue with Xavier Dolan's casting is much simpler: Jon feels like he was written as a teenager and Xavier Dolan was approaching 30 when this was filmed. Maybe it wouldn't have bugged me so much if I didn't already know who Xavier Dolan was when watching the movie? Like, maybe if you watch it without knowing the actor's age, it works better? But also, the character feels like a teen but isn't explicitly stated to be a teen. So whenever he was on screen I kept wondering if actually part of Jon's situation is meant to be that he is 30 but stuck in a sort-of adolescence due to his relationship with his abusive father. Or did they just cast Xavier Dolan to portray a teenager?
This brings me to the third problem: Not enough of the ensemble. Jared, and thus the audience, spends proportionally, little screen time with the other people at the camp. They are rarely shown talking to each other - especially outside the restrictive observation of the camp's 'counselors.' This could be part of the point - i.e. that the camp is so isolating - but that isolation wasn't really highlighted by the camera/scenes/dialogue...so it really feels more like it's just an oversight. The movie focuses on Jared and his individual story and so the rest just fell by the wayside.
This is really unfortunate because there are some (potentially) great characters in there, especially Jon and Gary. Jon went through the program once before and is now back for a second time. We don't know what happened to make him come back. He appears to be 30-ish but he's staying at a hotel with his abusive father. He is completely invested in the program and treats his sexuality like an addiction. He has even taken it upon himself to forego all physical contact with other men (not even a handshake). His self-loathing is at once horrifying and heartbreaking.
In contrast, Gary (Troye Sivan) knows the entire program is bullshit, but he's playing along for his own survival. He's over 18; he lived with his boyfriend for a year prior to coming to the camp. So that begs the question of how his family convinced him to enter to the program. Also, Gary's so invested in his own survival, that he stays silent and is complacent in the abuse and violence he witnesses against others in the camp. He is both a victim and a bystander (at times).
I think this film would've really benefited from spending more time with these characters (as well as Sarah, portrayed by Jesse LaTourette, and Cameron, portrayed by Britton Sear) in the camp and seeing how they all interacted with each other. Give us a sense of their different contexts and perspectives - and give us a better sense of the ways that conversion camps disempower the people sent there (even people like Gary, who knows it's bullshit). It's the thing that makes all the other movies about conversion camps work so well.
Which brings us to the fourth problem: the ending. If we spend more time with the ensemble, we'd either end up with a really long movie or we'd have to cut out something else. Well, folks, we can cut about 10 minutes off the end. Everything after the dinner Jared has with his mother post-escape can go. The climax of the film is when Jared finally decides to leave the camp. The resolution comes when his mother places herself in opposition to Jared's father (which she had never done before) and decides that she's going to take Jared home. And the emotional resolution comes when she admits to Jared that they made a mistake and that they harmed him by sending him to the camp.
Everything after that is extraneous. We don't really need to see Jared living in a city with a boyfriend, or see him begin to reconcile with his father. His relationship with his father was never the emotional core for the film. Boy Erased is, in some ways, a movie about self-actualization and that's the sort of movie that's best to end with something a bit open-ended. Y'know...a sort of end-that's-just-the-beginning kind of thing. Because the story of Jared falling in love and dating and moving out and gaining the self-confidence to confront his father - well that's a whole other movie. And here it gets shoved into the epilogue, which does the whole thing a real disservice.
Then there are the informational cards at the end. Two stick out as being particularly frustrating. One, "The real Victor Sykes left L.I.A. in 2008. He now lives in Texas, with his husband," feels irrelevant and unnecessary. The audience cares about what happened to Gerrard Conley (who wrote the story and whom Jared is based off of). But why do we care about what happened to the real guy who ran the camp? We don't...except for the jab about him now being married to a man - which feels like it's a more significant point for the cis straight people in the audience than for anyone queer. Turns-out-ex-gay-pastor-was-actually-just-gay-the-whole-time is not revelatory, I gotta say.
Then there's also this:
The emphasis about conversion therapy "practiced on minors," feels a bit disconnected from the film we just watched - which emphasized how abusive and traumatizing it is, even for adults. And in the U.S., all states currently legally allow conversion therapy for anyone 18+. Only Washington D.C. has banned it. And that, to me, is equally egregious, yet it isn't mentioned. The film itself challenges the notion that it's somehow okay for this to be practiced on adults because it's ostensibly their "choice," and then the info cards at the end shy away from that stance by focusing on kids.
I think the thing I find most frustrating about this movie, is the wasted potential. As I said at the beginning of this, there are some moments that really stand out in how they use the medium to convey meaning. There are some choices in how the film uses light and brightness (or lack thereof), that are pretty dang good, too. But ultimately, it's a film I feel so detached from and I think some of what I explained above is part of why.
#boy erased#lucas hedges#xavier dolan#emily hinkler#troye sivan#joel edgerton#nicole kidman#jesse latourette#britton sear
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Heart of Thunder - Chapter 07
This chapter is a bit shorter than I wanted it to be, but oh well...
Link to AO3
The door fell shut with a quiet click and for a second longer Cor refused to look around to his two best friends – his family, as Nyx had called them. He knew what he would see when he turned around.
“Cor,” said Regis, voice pleading.
“No,” Cor returned, more out of an old reflex than anything else.
He turned away from the door and came face to face with the saddest green eyes he had ever seen. Clarus just stood next to their King, arms behind his back and an eyebrow raised in expectation. A loud sigh climbed up his throat and Cor did not bother to keep it in.
“Ask,” he prompted and crossed his arms.
Clarus still didn't say anything. The Shield had always been of the opinion that the silent treatment worked best, Cor knew, and more often than not it had caused another sort of trouble.
Regis on the other hand gave him a gentle smile, barely visible beneath his beard, and part satisfaction part thankfulness. The kind of smile he always wore when he was able to harmlessly mess in the private lives of his friends. None of them, neither Clarus, nor Cor, nor Cid or Weskham had ever had the heart to deny him his bit of fun. No matter how aggravating it may be at first.
“Why did you not tell us that you were seeing someone? Is it because he is male or because he is Galahdian? You must know that as long as you are happy in any relationship you enter, neither Clarus nor I will truly have anything against it,” Regis told him while Clarus nodded to signal his agreement.
“I wasn't,” Cor said in way of an explanation.
“You weren't what?” Regis prompted.
Cor suppressed a sigh. Wasn't it obvious? He would never hide a relationship he was in because the other person was also male or “below his station”. Even in his thoughts Cor could see the massive air quotes at that statement.
Most people tended to conveniently forget that Cor himself had been born outside Insomnia and had only become a citizen within its walls when he had entered King Mors' services. Before that he had been a half starved kid swinging his father's sword around.
“I wasn't in a relationship until yesterday,” Cor elaborated very matter of fact.
Regis opened his mouth and closed it again when he heard that. Clarus heaved a heavy sigh. The Shield muttered something beneath his breath that sounded suspiciously like: “I should have known”, as his gaze travelled towards the ceiling, as if to plead with the Astrals for more patience.
“Please tell us what exactly happened, Cor”, Regis requested gently with just a hint of exasperation and desperation.
Cor was impressed.
“It started on my patrol outside the city four days ago. Nothing noteworthy happened until I was on my way back and came upon a group of people in need for help. Not long after I helped them deal with the wildlife trying to kill them, it turned out they were poachers, so I killed the ones trying to attack me and arrested the rest. They are awaiting their sentence now.”
He paused for a moment, trying to decide how to continue.
“So you're the one who has some of the Lords in such a tizzy,” Clarus said, amused.
Cor smirked.
“Is this about the complaint Lord Sagitta wants to bring forth about your so called inadequate behaviour?” Regis asked only a tad resigned.
A wave of sympathy welled up within Cor as he nodded. Some of the nobles of the court could rob you of your last nerve and more of your time than they deserved. Lord Sagitta was one of those Lords.
“It must be because of the meeting I had with him and Lords Caulis and Hypocris yesterday, about the poachers I took prisoner.”
Regis hummed thoughtfully. “I can see how Lords Caulis and Hypocris might get involved in this. But Lord Sagitta? The Minister of Outside Affairs shouldn't be concerned with a group of poachers the Marshall dragged back for sentencing.”
“I think it has something to do with the coeurl pelts I found,” Cor stated dryly.
“Ah,” made Regis. “Yes, I can see that.”
“You should really look into finding a new Minister, Regis. Lord Sagitta has clearly been accepting bribes, I told you that before,” Clarus spoke up.
“I know my friend. Sadly, finding substantial evidence to this accusation has been proven to be rather unfruitful,” Regis sighed.
“I'll get Monica on it”, Cor offered.
“Yes, please do. Ms. Elshett has proven very competent in helping to deal with the last mess”, Regis decided after a few seconds of consideration.
“Now, please enlighten us: how is all of this relevant to you getting engaged?” Clarus asked.
“I claimed the coeurl pelts as my battle-spoils”, Cor started up again.
“Of course you did. No wonder Lord Hypocris was practically frothing at the mouth when I saw him in the halls yesterday. Those pelts are worth a fortune”, Clarus interrupted. “What are you planning to do with them?”
“My original intention was to gift them to the Galahdian community,” Cor explained now slightly annoyed at the interruptions. “I do not know much about their culture, but I do know that coeurls are considered sacred animals.”
Both other men blinked in surprise. Cor frowned.
“Really, Regis? I understand Clarus not knowing, but you?”
Clarus shot him his best I-don't-like-what-you're-insinuating-here look while Regis frowned.
“I think”, he spoke at last, “the Council for Cultural Understanding has been rather remiss in their work.”
Cor took a deep breath. It wasn't Regis' fault. It truly wasn't. His best friend did what he could but some things simply flew under the radar when it was up against keeping Niflheim at bay and keeping the government functional with all the schemes that had slowly been piling up over the years. A man could only do so much.
No, he did not blame Regis for this oversight. But they had been on Galahd for however short a time. They had seen their art, listened to their language, heard their music and eaten their food. The coeurl motive had been everywhere, as had what he thought to be some kind of snake, though Cor didn't know what its significance was.
Not to mention the story he had told Monica this morning.
“I can look into it”, he proposed.
“Are you sure you can manage that with everything else you have been doing?” Clarus spoke up, worried.
Cor shot him an unimpressed stare. “The only ones actively fighting are the Kingsglaive. I might have some time in which to do this.”
“Cor.” The Shield shot him a warning glare.
“I'm sorry, my friend, but you know why-”
“I know, Regis. I know”, Cor said, softer now than the harsher tones with which he had spoken before.
It truly wasn't fair to the King. The man did his best, but sometimes the best was simply not enough.
A heavy silence settled around them.
“We keep getting distracted. You wanted to give the Galahdians a gift worth a fortune. And then?” Clarus prompted.
“They call themselves Galahkari – Galahkar is the singular. I knew that all of Galahd considers coeurls sacred and when I overheard two Galahkari talk about their connection to the Ulric line, I thought it best to give them to Nyx. So I got one of the five pelts cleaned up, went to the Glaive's training grounds yesterday and gave it to him. As it turns out, gifting an Ulric a coeurl pelt is a sure-fire way to get engaged to one.”
Cor's fingers skimmed over his new necklace as he watched his two friends exchange a look. He knew that look. It was their Cor-did-something-reckless-again look.
“You could not just have cleared up this misunderstanding?” Regis asked hesitantly.
“And insult them and their culture even worse than most Insomnians already do? No”, Cor stated.
“Are you sure the two of you fit together?” Regis pressed.
The Marshal frowned. “I may not know him well, but I know Nyx Ulric doesn't do anything half-arsed. He is as committed to this as I am.”
“What Regis wants to know”, Clarus cut in, exasperated, “is if the two of you can be happy together. Arranged matches are a fight all on their own, and that battle ground is one you don't have much experience in, Cor.”
Without conscious thought his fingers picked at the black bead of the necklace and felt the detailed, if slightly uneven, engravings of the wing. Strength found in protecting something you hold dear. But also a symbol of royal protection.
Regis and Clarus followed his movement and their gazes softened, some of their worry easing. It was obvious that much thought had gone into making this necklace, and that Nyx had made it himself spoke of determination, patience and an iron will to truly make this relationship work.
“We talked about it, this relationship. Oh, don't look so surprised. I can talk things out, you know? I could have said no to the necklace, and we would have gone our separate ways. But this is a one in a lifetime opportunity and I wasn't going to waste it. Maybe now we can finally get over the divide between us, the religious differences caused. Weren't you ever curious as to why the Galahkari forsook the Astrals like they did?”
“I have always wondered”, Regis admitted after a few seconds of silence. “There are so few written accounts left from that time, it all has been more guesswork than anything else.”
Clarus nodded, thoughtful. “From the few documents my family still has, we know Gilgamesh was somehow involved with this. But how exactly I cannot say.”
Cor tilted his head, thoughtful. Now that would be an idea.
“Cor, no”, Clarus ordered, his mien stern.
The Marshal just looked at him until Clarus pinched the bridge of his nose and Regis shot him a resigned look.
“Just don't do anything too rash, please?” Regis said.
Cor nodded, already thinking about how he could convince Nyx. They could file it under a reconnaissance mission and camp outside for a week. Just them, hunting, maybe taking down some Niffs and a visit down Tealpar Crag. Satisfied with this plan, Cor nodded again.
“Have you taken Sir Ulric out for dinner yet?” Regis suddenly asked.
“No”, Cor admitted and squinted at the King in speculation.
“If you want to unofficially announce your engagement, I would recommend the Red Shroud.”
Cor had heard of the Red Shroud. Who hadn't? It was a regular place for journalists to lurk in search for the next social sensation. The high-end restaurant was near exclusively for nobility and a neutral ground for alliances through marriage to be forged.
If he were to go there with Nyx he would send a very clear message. That they were in a relationship, for one, that they were seriously considering marriage and that the whole thing was arranged.
“I don't think that's a good place for now”, Clarus came to his aid.
“Probably not”, Regis hummed, tapping his fingers against the handle of his cane. “Then you should take him to a place that serves food he likes.”
Cor nodded. That he could most certainly do. And then they could talk about his idea of a camping trip in addition to a few other things they needed to clear up.
Regis gave an amused chuckle. Clarus and Cor looked at him inquisitively.
“You know what this means?”
“No, what?” Cor asked.
The King's eyes glittered impishly. Cor suddenly had a bad feeling about this.
“It means I can finally give you that lordship I have been meaning to grant you, and you always denied.”
“Regis, no”, Cor groaned, resigned.
His only answer was an unrepentant laugh.
“And don't dare not to invite us to your wedding. My wife will haunt you, if you don't.”
#ffxv#heart of thunder#cor leonis#cor/nyx#cor regis and clarus talk#and cor get's an idea#that could end in a bit of a disaster#my fics#geist writes
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LOL so there are strong opinions about me saying in that post about the Gotham Rogues, they form a team that’s ‘more petty than the Secret Six.’ Which is entirely fair given that I myself have strong opinions about that team, so, I should clarify.
As individuals, the Secret Six are of course, massively petty. I was referring to the six Gotham Rogues being ‘more petty’ as a unit....in the sense that their entire motivation for ‘going straight’ and being heroes would be, per my crack post there....just to spite Batman, basically.
The problem I have with the Secret Six, by comparison, is the same problem I have with most redemption or attempted redemption stories. Too often the narrative is confused about what the story wants to be, what the characters’ reasons for doing things are....and somewhere along the way, redemption stories almost always in execution end up failing to keep centered the one thing that redemption stories IMO need to always keep centered: an awareness of why the characters even need redeeming in the first place.
And this for me, is where Secret Six ultimately kept failing, and failing hard.
Take for example Secret Six Vol 2 #9, the issue with Nicola Scott’s infamous Nightwing pose emphasizing his ass (and I have issues with her conscious and constant choice to choose Nightwing as the male character to sexualize to make a point....like, I’m totally down with the point being made, but did you have to choose the Romani rape survivor....and start making this point in the very same arc where you guest starred his actual rapist Tarantula? C’MON!)
But anyway, so in that issue, Catman, Deadshot and Bane are confronted by Nightwing who basically scoffs at their claims they’re there to help and instead tells them to get the hell out of his city, full-on Batman style, no room for disagreement. Laying down the law, heavily.
And then the three of them proceed to bitch about it and him among themselves for the rest of the issue. His high-handedness. Who does he think he is. Why does he get to decide who gets to be a hero and who must stay a villain. Isn’t he just a hypocrite given that all vigilantes are breaking the law anyway. Etc, etc.
The narrative focus was clearly, clearly on the side of the three of them, centering their distress and frustration with being ‘pigeon-holed’ as the bad guys and not being allowed by Nightwing to break free of that mold no matter how sincere their intentions were about changing. There was zero ambiguity to this, no attempt by anyone or the narrative itself to offer up an alternative viewpoint. For the purposes of this story, Nightwing was the actual antagonist, while the three members of the Secret Six, the protagonists of the title, were victims of his deeming them unworthy of redemption.
But see the problem is....at no point did the issue raise the single most obvious, most necessary element one of them needed redemption for in the first place....
There was not a single mention of the fact that Nightwing is the son of the guy whose back Bane famously broke, and has bragged about ever since to the point that its the entire basis of his claim to infamy in the DC Universe.
And this is a problem. IMO, somewhere in all of that complaining about him, there needed to be at least a single mention of the fact that hey guys, maybe Nightwing isn’t just being a hypocritical douchebag.....maybe his reaction stemmed from the deeply personal loathing he has of the guy who hurt his father more than just about anyone else has ever managed? Maybe its not about who ‘deserves’ redemption and who doesn’t....maybe its just about redemption doesn’t actually mean that some people won’t still always hate your guts because of something you did. Redemption is about your actions. Not their reactions.
The second you make it about someone else and whether or not they approve of you yet or whether or not they’ll ‘allow’ you to be redeemed....you’re doing it wrong, because none of that is how redemption works. Its about....you either recognize that you did wrong and devote yourself to doing better regardless of whether or not you’re ever granted forgiveness or anyone ever gives you the benefit of the doubt....or you don’t. There is no in between. There is no point where people are supposed to like you now, or you’re supposed to deserve their approval. That part either happens or it doesn’t, but your desire for redemption and commitment to obtaining it should never actually be impacted by that one way or the other.
By failing to acknowledge this blatant reminder of why Bane in particular needed redemption in the first place, Secret Six failed there at its most essential level: it lost sight of one of the reasons the ‘good guy’ thinks they’re ‘bad guys’ and flipped the script to make him the enemy instead of remembering ‘oh yeah, no, that’s us....that’s why we’re trying to do better now.’
And it doesn’t help that the very same story arc went on to be the first and only time Tarantula reappeared in a major way since Devin Grayson’s Nightwing run.....only for her to achieve some kind of haphazard pseudo-redemption via a quasi-heroic death....and once again....without a single mention or reference the whole time she was around, of that thing she did to Dick which pretty heavily qualifies as one of the primary reasons she’d need redeeming in the first place.
And when that very same arc has more than one guest appearance by Nightwing and winds up in Gotham....this again, is a glaring oversight not all that much lesser from Devin Grayson’s bullshit refusal to call what Tarantula did ‘rape’ in the first place. You can’t make a case for redeeming a character while absolutely refusing to acknowledge the things she did that demand redeeming. I can not stress this heavily enough, lol.
ITS AN ESSENTIAL INGREDIENT OF REDEMPTION.
And without it, you’re just....going through the motions. And leaving behind a very confused narrative that doesn’t accomplish what it seemingly aims to accomplish, but demonstrating no awareness of why or offering an alternative take on what it might actually be trying to do instead.
That, to me, ultimately just makes for a very dissatisfying story and a complete lack of true resolution. Which sucks. Cuz I was always on board with the idea of the Secret Six, its just the execution that I found....missing the mark. With some more than others, admittedly. I do still think the title did wonders for revolutionizing Catman’s character in a number of ways, and I love Thomas. I think it added some much needed depth to Floyd Lawton. There was so much great stuff around Scandal. Etc, etc.
But it kept making passes at actually ‘redeeming’ them en masse....without any true consistency or adherence to the basic premise of redemption and thus as a title, as a group....it just doesn’t work for me.
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Sweeter than Sweet (78)
AO3 link
Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Jimin x Yoongi, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader, Jungkook x reader, Jin x reader.
Warnings: mentions of sexually explicit acts, non-consensual blood-drinking, self-hatred.
Word count: 3k
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If the below gif belongs to you, please let me know so I can properly credit.
Namjoon had never intended to stay this long when he’d stepped foot into her dimly-lit studio apartment during the early hours of the morn’.
A lettings agent might describe the place as cosy but cramped would be by far the more fitting adjective. A tired looking kitchenette, a slightly off balance dresser and a barely-double bed fill what little space there is, and whilst it may be sparsely furnished Namjoon’s thankful that it’s clean. True, it’s a long way from the opulent surroundings he’s become so accustomed to, but as they say, ‘beggars can’t be choosers’.
It’d been the shade of her hair and the sway of her hips that had first drawn him to her, nothing much deeper than that. Easy on the eyes, she’d seemed equally easy prey as tipsy as she was on leaving the club in which he’d first spotted her; her looks so similar to yours as she’d danced beneath the flashing lights that he’d sworn she must’ve been your twin.
Of course, you have your differences. She’s far feistier than you. She laughs louder and longer and had had no qualms in stumbling home with a stranger on her arm, lacking your coy smiles and blush, petal pink.
“Oh fuck, Namjoon!” Her voice was rougher than yours, too, he discovered. Husky from her nicotine habit, he’d hated how harsh it sounded when she’d moaned his name; a problem easily solved by a hand wrapped around her throat. It was all too easy to pretend she was you once silenced - even easier when bent over on all fours, his jutting hipbones slamming bruises into her behind.
The strands of her hair had looked identical to yours twisted around his fingers but there’d been none of your gasps and keens when he’d grabbed in fist and tugged; none of your soft sighs or desperate moans. It’d been a simple enough task for him to conjure them into his mind, though, and your doppelganger had been all too happy to let him drag her around into any position he saw fit - to use her body to live out all the fantasies he’d been saving up for you until both were utterly spent.
He’d considered killing her, then, and tells himself he likely would’ve done had it not been for a stroke of serendipity; a lucky coincidence that benefited them both. Her apartment sits almost opposite the bar in which you work, it turns out; her large window providing the perfect perch from which to watch its patrons come and go, blissfully ignorant of any watchful eyes that may linger on their backs.
Namjoon had fallen asleep after their tryst that night with the knowledge that his preoccupation with the woman curled at his side had cost him his chance to see you, but it wouldn’t happen again. In the nights that followed, he promised himself he’d be sure to take advantage of the fortunate circumstance with which he’d been blessed.
She’d woken up late the next morning, flustered and hungover, and had been too concerned with getting to work on time to waste any she had to spare on asking Namjoon to leave. Tugging on her coat, she’d hastily told him to make himself at home or see himself out whenever he was ready. What was hers was his it seemed, at least for the time being.
Really she was far too kind - too trusting of the stranger she’d welcomed not only into her bed but also her home. Her naivety reminded him of you, and yet he couldn’t seem to hold that against her. There were much worse things that a person could be, Namjoon supposed.
Perhaps it was an ounce of pity, too, that had meant he was allowed to stay. Maybe she was more observant than she at first seemed. Maybe she’d noticed the shabbiness of his clothes as they’d been shed, or maybe he’d too obviously enjoyed the feel of clean, soft blankets against his skin. It’d been weeks since he’d slept in a proper bed; falling asleep almost as soon as his head had met the pillow.
He’d dozed most of the day away after she’d left, rising only briefly in order to wash and dry his clothes in her machine. There was no real reason to be awake until evening fell, after all, and a quick scan of her apartment had revealed little more than a few dog-eared issues of Cosmo in the way of entertainment, none of which he had any desire to read.
When the time had come for your shift to start Namjoon had made sure he was stationed at the window, watching impatiently for your arrival with a clenched jaw and restlessly bobbing knees, his gaze flicking down the street this way and that. With each minute that passed by the more agitated he would become, rising from his seat to pace along the threadbare carpet only to pause when your insufferable colleague came into sight, entering the bar as Namjoon watched on with clenched fists.
Several minutes passed by before a roar of frustration interrupted the grinding of his teeth, hit suddenly by the awareness of an obvious oversight he’d made. You don’t work on Sundays - you never have. You wouldn’t be at the bar that night, either, and the realisation made him very nearly tear out his hair in a fit of frightful anger.
He’s no fool; Namjoon is well aware of how obsessive his behaviour towards you has become. It wouldn’t be like this if only you’d paid his warning heed and left the manor - if you’d just let him keep you safe. He wouldn’t have to watch you so closely if you were right here by his side.
Of course, the logical part of him that remains understands that after all that’s happened between you that safety is probably the last thing you’d associate with his name. But that was a mistake; a stupid, terrible mistake he’d made when driven near mad with jealousy and blinded by blood lust. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you… not really. He’d just wanted to make you see.
Back to the present, and Namjoon is only just calming down by the time he hears the door to the apartment open and her voice calling out tentatively just after. It’s evident by her wide-eyed look when she sees him sat at the foot of her bed that she’d doubted he’d still be here but she doesn’t seem dismayed by the fact; just the opposite, actually. Her face splits into a wide smile and she teases him about not being able to keep away as she places a bag of groceries down on the counter, crossing the small space to come sit on his lap as soon as he beckons her with a curl of his finger.
She may not be you but the weight of someone warm within his arms is pleasant nonetheless. She’s an outlet through which he can vent all his frustrations, one he intends to make good use of, and within minutes of her stepping through the front door Namjoon has her naked and wanting beneath him, begging for him in ways he only wishes you would. He’s rougher than is necessary when he takes her, he thinks, but that only seems to make her crave him all the more; clawing at his back and burying her face in the crook of his neck, lavishing kisses upon his skin.
She doesn’t hear him grunt your name under his breath as he cums and fills her carelessly with his seed, too preoccupied with her own pleasure to realise that his mind is elsewhere, with someone else. Perhaps she wouldn’t care even if she did.
He wishes that his mind were able to always stay so blissfully distracted, but as soon as he rolls off of her body and onto his back it soon begins to race along to the tune of their laboured breaths. Realistically, Namjoon knows he can only remain a lodger in her apartment for so long. It’ll start looking odd if he tries to linger any longer than just one more night, regardless of how hospitable she may be. Perhaps he should just remove the problem entirely. If he were to do that then he could stay as long as he likes; watch your comings and goings as much as he pleases.
Namjoon turns his head to the side and watches her for a moment, eyeing his host’s profile. Her ample chest is heaving up and down as she catches her breath following tonight’s exertions, her eyes closed and a sated smile stretching out her lips. He’s worn her out so well that he can hear the blood thumping through her veins with every bounding pulse - a sinful siren call - and the sight of her jugular throbbing beneath her skin has a famished Namjoon very nearly groaning aloud with hunger.
It’s been too long since he last fed. Cast out of his home, he’s had to resort to snatching mere mouthfuls from those who least likely to remember or be believed; drunks and bums and other such undesirables. Each one has left a bad taste in his mouth, enough to stave off hunger but never truly satisfy. Part of him wonders if any blood other than yours ever will, now he’s learnt what heaven tastes like.
Unable to resist the call, Namjoon slots himself against her side and buries his head into the crook of her neck, one arm around her waist to pull her naked form flush with his. The fragrance of her perfume lingers on her skin; a somewhat spicier scent than yours but by no means unpleasant. He nuzzles into her and she laughs, unalarmed, and why should she be? She has no idea of his nefarious nature, nor how close to danger she really lies.
“You know,” she smiles, planting a kiss to the top of his head, “I hadn't really expected someone like you to be so cuddly.” Namjoon chuckles wryly in response to that and places a kiss of his own to her slender neck, tightening his grip around her waist.
“Someone like me?” he queries curiously.
“Yeah, you know; tall, dark-” Namjoon tilts his head up to meet her eyes, surprised by the warmth that greets him there. “- Devastatingly handsome.” He laughs again at the sight of her cheesy grin, tucking his head back into the gentle slope of her neck.
It reminds him of something you would say; a sweet, stupid joke that’d make you blush as soon as it falls from your lips, eyes twinkling.
“I’m full of surprises,” he murmurs lowly, the timbre of his voice making her squirm a little in his arms, her thighs pressing together. If only she knew what dark secret to which he’s referring - the same secret that has him kissing his way down her jugular, lips pressed to her pulse and fangs aching with desire.
She hums contentedly, arching her body into his and tilting her head to the side in encouragement of his affections.
“Joon…” she sighs softly and he feels her fingers running through his hair, too-long nails dragging at the roots. Her pulse begins to race with excitement and the sound of it thudding through her veins is what proves to be Namjoon’s final undoing, able to resist no longer.
His draws his lips back to bare his pointed teeth, digging his fingers into her flesh as he plunges; embedding them into her neck.
Her reaction is both uninhibited and instantaneous; her soft limbs turning rigid as agony hits like lightning and her shrieks of terror fill the apartment, bouncing off the walls. Molten copper gliding across his tongue and slipping down his throat - warm, rich and thick - Namjoon tries his best to shut them out, keeps his eyes tightly closed as he rhythmically draws his nourishment from her veins.
It’s hard, though, when he feels her tugging at his hair and then shoving against his chest, kicking her legs in a fruitless attempt to get away. All the while she’s screaming, crying, and he’s not had anyone fight him like this since he fed on you. He barely even realises the fervour with which he’d begun to feast is already waning, frowning distractedly as he sucks at her wounds and pins her to the bed with his far larger frame.
“No, stop, please!” she cries, and it feels all too familiar; all too visceral, all too raw. “Please, d-don’t!” she begs through tears, “Namjoon!”
It was a mistake to purposefully seek out someone so like you, he sees that now. As her naked body writhes in agony beneath him it’s your cries of pain rather than hers that Namjoon hears; it’s your tear-streaked face he sees behind his eyelids. Unbidden, the memory makes it feels as though his ribcage is constricting around his lungs - a sucker punch right into his sternum - and the nectar that was at first so exquisite now tastes bitter as it passes over his tongue.
He doesn’t want to remember what he did to you; doesn’t want to have to live it all over again. He never intended to hurt someone he cares about so deeply or lay yet another relationship to ruin, and yet that’s all he ever seems capable of doing, isn’t it? It’s a struggle to remember a single person that he’s loved whom he hasn’t let down; you, his parents, his brothers. Each one pains him to recall, but none so much as the first shameful failure from which all of this started; his inability to save his precious sister from a fate she’d done so little to deserve.
It should have been him. He should’ve been the one to die - to wither away in a hospital bed so she could live on and become a far greater person that he could ever hope to be. What would she make of the despicable creature he’s become? The answer is painfully obvious, really. She’d hate him, maybe even more than Namjoon hates himself, and deep down he knows he’d deserve it. There’s nothing separating him now from the monster that’d preyed on his vulnerability, used his desperation to lure him and then so cruelly inflicted him with this curse.
He’s no better than that. His betrayal of his brothers and his attacking you finally proved it once and for all. Truly, he’s little more than a monster.
The remorse that consumes him is so potent it makes him feel as though he’s drowning in the blood he’s stolen from her. He chokes on the next mouthful, the sound of your pitiful cries still ringing in his ears as he lurches away. So hard does he cough and splutter that crimson droplets splatter across her sheets like some macabre piece of art, and as he struggles to catch his breath he can hear her sobbing and scrambling to get away - a thud as she feels to the floor in her haste to flee from the demon in her bed.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out, “God I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t even realise the sob that follows is his own until he puts his head in his hands and tears wet his palms. His chest heaves with the weight of them, the passageways of his throat becoming raw with all the rambling apologies that follow and the heavy sobs that rip through it.
“J-just… p-please,” he hears her say in a weak and trembling voice. Namjoon looks up - her blood drying on his lips - and is horrified by the sight that greets him; his victim cowering naked in the very furthest corner of the room. The hand that’s pressed to her neck is stained sticky red, tears flowing unrestrained from eyes that are wild and scared and staring. “P-please don’t hurt m-me.” She flinches when regret hits him so hard that he has to place a hand on the bed to steady himself. “I w-won’t tell anyone. P-please, just-just l-leave.”
Namjoon nods his head because it’s all he can seem to bring himself to do, tearing his eyes from her and rising from the bed as if on autopilot. He scrubs the blood from around his mouth with the back of his hand as he searches for his clothes and pulls them on, each whimper and sniffle that he hears threatening to start his own tears anew.
He’s never felt like this before; never felt such remorse for doing what comes so naturally to his kind save for the one occasion that he fed from you. And that’s the problem, it seems. Ever since that time, no longer can he feed without your face appearing in his mind. He can’t enjoy it the way that he once did, too preoccupied with the memory of the shame and the sadness that overwhelmed him following the expulsion from his home.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon repeats once more, his palms extended toward her as if trying to soothe a wounded animal, placating. “I give you my word - you won’t ever see me again,” he promises, fleeing out into the night so that he need not look again at the terrified expression that she wears upon the face that looks so much like yours.
Stepping out onto the pavement, Namjoon stares blankly at the bar sat on the opposite side of the street. His thoughts are bleak; longing for the day he might no longer have to feel this way - no longer loathe himself to the very core. He knows he’s deserving of the hate he’s received - there are numerous ways in which he’s earned it - but he’s just so... tired of it after all these years. So very, very tired of it all.
The one singular thing that keeps him going is the desire that consumes him; to see you, to watch out for you; to make sure you never come to the same harm again that he put you through.
Maybe, Namjoon hopes - Maybe one day he might be able to make all of this up to you.
#bts#bts smut#namjoon x reader#namjoon smut#namjoon angst#bts vampire!au#vampire!namjoon#kim namjoon#bts reader insert#bts angst#bts fluff#ot7 x bts#poly!bts#jimin x reader#yoongi x reader#jimin x reader x yoongi#vampire!jimin#vampire!yoongi#vampire!au#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#vampire!jungkook#vampire!seokjin#vampire!taehyung#vampire!hoseok#sweeter than sweet#sts
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Do No Harm
Haha...oh, man.
WARNING: Cioccolata being Cioccolata. Next to no gore, surprisingly, but needles are used inappropriately and bad things happen to veins.
Those who become doctors do so for one of two reasons: the love of life, or the love of power.
When you graduated medical school and took your first steps on the path to becoming a surgeon, you were certain that you would be surrounded by peers like yourself, peers who respected life and worked to save it when they could and protect its dignity when they couldn’t. What other reason was there to attend all those torturous years of studying and sleepless nights? What other reason was there to endure the constant sight of flesh being sliced open and stitched back together, the terror and grief of loved ones forced to wait outside the operating theatre, the unrelentingly ugly reality of the dying?
The longer you worked, the better you knew. You heard the cruel laughter of other doctors as they mocked their patients and traded stories. You were there in the operating room when another surgeon walked in, flipped up the sheet to admire the patient’s breasts and continued his conversation with the nurse like nothing happened. You watched the hope and energy drain from those around you, replaced by cynical and shrewd opportunism, until you barely recognized the people you began working with.
Granted, that could have just been because everyone kept transferring.
“I’ve finished my residency,” Doctor Bisco had told you with an unapologetic shrug as he carried his box down the hall like a trophy, “and I got a great offer from San Giovanni. I’m outta here. You���re sure you want to take over my current patients?
What, like you’re still going to take care of them? You wanted to say, but held your tongue. It wasn’t wrong to want more money—nobody would deny you were being overworked, least of all you—but something gnarled and angry stirred in the bottom of your heart when you heard him talk about numbers and connections, like it was all that mattered. Like the politics of the administration mattered more than the people.
When you opened the door to your office and found Doctor Cioccolata Torte sitting in your chair and drinking coffee out of your mug, you started to wonder if maybe they did.
“Doctor Amaretto! Having a good shift so far, I hope?” the man exclaimed as he set your mug down and smacked his lips, giving you a very obvious once over. You felt your jaw twitch. Rather than say the impulsively stupid first words that came to mind, you took a moment to wonder if his black lipstick was that shiny because it was freshly applied.
“Doctor Torte. I’ve asked you not to use a nickname with me,” you ignored his question and walked to the desk, unable to shake the feeling of being a visitor in your own office. You moved your mug away from him and resisted the urge to immediately throw it in the garbage can—even if the lipstick came off, you weren’t sure you were willing to drink from something he touched no matter how much you washed it.
“I’ve also asked you to remember boundaries. You’re not supposed to be in here when I’m gone…” Were these papers in the order you left them in? What else had been touched? Torte frowned, but it apparently wasn’t at your rebuke.
“I keep telling you to call me Cioco-lata!” he whined. “We’ve worked together too long for you to be this formal!”
“Well, I keep asking you not to call me Amaretto,” you said evenly. “Use the name I have, not the one you gave me.”
The nickname, while cute, wasn’t a flattering one. You had rankled at Torte’s dismissive bedside manner and the way the hospital administration blatantly favored him. He was their celebrity surgeon, the skilled doctor called upon to take care of the politicians and rich businessmen when they needed medical care, and in exchange for high-profile success (and the large donations that followed) was given next to no real oversight. Most of your peers were happy to follow suit, trying to curry favor with either him or those in power.
Those who love life and those who love power will never be friends.
“That’s so cute of you!” Doctor Torte had laughed, seeing the grit of your teeth when you caught him videotaping a patient’s agony-induced babbling, “You seem sweet, but you’re bitter. Just a little bitter. Well, Amaretto? If you have a problem, surely you should go and tell the director?”
The taunt echoed in your ears even today, silencing the comment you were about to make about knowing for a fact that the door was locked when you left.
Shouldn’t you tell the director?
A long moment passed as Torte leaned back in his seat, toying with one of your pens as he regarded you thoughtfully. There had always been something unidentifiable in the way he stared at you that made your skin crawl. You knew what lust looked like, and you’d definitely caught it in his face before, and you’d seen amusement when he watched you mentally grapple with the fact that no complaint to administration would touch him. This was something else.
This was something that only showed on his face in the rare moments the two of you were alone, and the unsettling sense that it was just barely restrained made your gut twist in a nameless reaction that could only be called fear.
You wanted to open the door behind you, but that would require you to turn your back to Torte. That was out of the question, so instead you took a deep breath.
“What can I help you with?” You felt your tone get even more clipped, stretching the limits of professional politeness.
“I want you…” Torte paused, tasting the words, but then apparently remembered the rest of the question. “I want you to change your scheduling. Give your cases to Madeline, or Pignoli—I’ve seen the patients you’re supposed to work on! You’re one of the brightest surgeons on this staff and they fill your days with cholecystectomies and artery bypasses for riffraff that would just get sick again anyway…” he waved his hands, words no longer sufficient for his contempt.
“I ch—“ you began, but he continued as if you hadn’t.
“You’ll never grow as a doctor like this. You could be brilliant, but you’re too worried about cleaning up the trash.”
The phase change from ‘strong dislike’ to ‘outright hate’ was like a plunge into icy water, powerful enough to make you dizzy. You felt yourself flush as your heart hammered behind your ribs, and in the next moment realized you’d moved forward to lean over the desk, close enough to Torte’s face to kiss.
“I chose,” you repeated slowly, carefully, determined to make every syllable sink in, “to treat them all. Everyone I could, especially the ones people like you would ignore.”
His eyes were so dark. Wide and black and empty, like a shark’s. How had you never noticed before? How had you never seen the nothing behind his eyes?
“I am a doctor, and that means I heal people. I will heal whoever I can, no matter how trivial their condition is or how little they can pay, until my heart gives out. Are you hearing me? Keep your politics and connections to yourself. I’ll work in the ER until I drop dead if I have to, because I’ll die first before I become anything like you.”
“I understand completely,” Torte muttered, voice soft.
“Great!” You straightened up and walked away to throw the door open. It hit the wall with a bang, rattling the pictures of your dogs in their frames. You gestured with a sweep of your arm.
“Get out of my office.”
Doctor Torte left quietly, almost meekly, pausing to study your face on his way out. It wasn’t until you heard the sound of his footsteps recede completely that you began to breathe normally again.
—
You couldn’t help but sigh as you finished dropping off your tools at the decontamination area. The end of your shift was finally, finally in sight. The only thing holding you up at the moment was sheer willpower, and when you made your way back to your office all you could think about was collapsing into your chair, getting to rest.
“Doctor Amaretto!” Hurried footsteps as someone rushed for you from behind.
“What?” You jerked your head, a rebuke on your lips—I don’t care if he does it, you can’t call me that—and paused when you realized you didn’t recognize the wide-eyed young nurse in pale green scrubs, mask pulled up almost over his eyes. You sighed and ran a hand through your hair as he kept pace alongside.
“I’m so sorry about that, you must be new and I’m very tired. Amaretto is…an office nickname, one I’m not fond of.” You tapped your nametag. “Call me this instead, okay?”
“You’re needed for a surgery in the new wing,” the nurse replied instead of answering, “I’m supposed to take you there.”
It was enough to make you stop dead. Now? But nothing had been scheduled. The image of your beloved office chair loomed in your mind. God, you needed to sit down…
“It’s an emergency,” the nurse offered, “life or death. You’re the only one who can do it. Won’t you come?”
You felt another sigh escape you.
“Alright. Lead the way…ah, you’ve forgotten your nametag…”
“Secco,” he replied, picking up speed to lead you away from the main operating theaters. You made one turn after another—this hospital was the oldest in Milan, and the layout could get confusing—until you started looking for signs or familiar faces to try and figure out where you were. Fewer and fewer doctors milled around as you walked, and soon the only people in the hall were you and Secco. Finally, just when you were sure he had gotten the both of you lost, Secco pulled a door open and stood aside, a mute invitation.
The operating theater was empty. You blinked a couple times to check if maybe you were hallucinating (you weren’t).
“I don’t understand. Where’s the patient?” You turned, hoping for an explanation, directly into a savage blow as Secco struck. Your vision filled with white as he drove his fist into your temple. A strangled half-cry of pain echoed in the theatre as you collapsed, gracelessly falling to the floor until your head rested on the cool tile. The blurry silhouette of a man wavered in your vision, looming over you. In the next instant, it was two.
“You’re so funny, Doctor Amaretto,” Cioccolatta Torte laughed, an unnaturally high pitched sound as Secco stepped away to shut the door, “she’s right here.”
He drew his leg back as if preparing a kick, but you blacked out in the moment it connected.
—
You were so cold.
The sterile air was absolutely freezing, wafting over your bare skin (what happened to your coat and scrubs?). You were reclining, resting in a chair, and for a foolish moment you let yourself believe that you were back at your office, waking up from an unproductive nap and a disturbing nightmare.
Whatever your head rested on was warm, someone’s shoulder. That someone’s fingers were trailing through your hair, moving it away from your face, and that forced you to open your eyes. Nobody touched you like this.
The first thing you registered was the lens. A camera loomed in front of you, fixed on your face, held by that nurse—if he even was a nurse—capturing every minute expression in your face. And if he was here, then that was…
You recoiled, pulling your head as far away from Doctor Torte as you could. This turned out to be a few centimeters, because you weren’t reclining in a chair, you were bound to it.
“Did you have to wake up so soon? I was enjoying that.” Torte pouted, having the nerve to look hurt, and then looked at Secco. “It’s recording, right? Plenty of battery? I won’t forgive you if you mess this one up.”
Your breath came in shaky gasps, but you forced yourself to look around. The lights here were bright, too bright for you to make out much more than the men before you and a small table of surgical tools. You had no idea where you were, but the feeling in the air made you worry that it wasn’t anywhere in the hospital.
“Doctor Torte—“ you began, but the words died in your throat as he grabbed you, cupping your cheeks in his hands and forcing you to look him in the eyes.
“I keep telling you,” he breathed, “to call me Cioccolata. When you’re begging, when you’re pleading, when you’re screaming, you’ll say Cioccolata, or the first thing I’ll do is take the tongue out of your head.”
Were you going to die? The frenzied intensity in Cioc—Torte’s eyes seemed to promise nothing else.
The moment passed, and he took a deep breath and stepped away. “You’re just trying to get me worked up,” he mused with a smile, “that’s what this is. It won’t work! This is going to be special. It’s like a first date.”
You heard the camera whir as Secco zoomed in, taking in different parts of your face with shaky glee.
“Doctor T—Cioccolata,” you hated the waver in your voice when you said the words, watching him select a large needle and an IV bag from a box (they didn’t gag you because it didn’t matter if you screamed, nobody was coming and that meant nobody would save you if he really did cut your tongue out). “This is insane. This is murder—“
“Exciting, right?” You recoiled at his clammy touch when he put his hands on you again, poking at the flesh of your elbow. He plunged the needle in without any preamble, eliciting a spasm of agony; he’d missed the vein.
He frowned as your face twisted in pain, but the camera was still going. “Oops. You know, you really should hydrate better if you don’t want this to happen.”
“Why are you doing this?” you hated, hated how your voice had become a whisper. All the angry courage you had in your office this morning had completely evaporated, leaving you weak and trembling and alone in front of Death and his sycophant.
And every instant of it was going to be preserved, forever.
Cioccolata sank the needle into your arm again, this time a cold pinching sensation instead of the electric pain you’d felt before. He taped the tube in place and attached the IV to some point behind your head, somewhere he couldn’t see. He stood, pausing to caress your jawline before his fingers wandered down to the frantic rhythm of your pulse.
“You’d die first, right? That’s what you said.” The words he threw back at you were casual, infuriatingly so, as if their significance was no greater than the date and time of an appointment. He walked back to the table, laid out with all its implements, and selected a syringe from a styrofoam box.
“I wasn’t sure what to do with you, at first. I thought about cutting the median nerve in your wrists and taking your talented hands from you forever…” he chuckled to himself and tapped the syringe, watching the clear liquid flow around, “but that seemed wasteful. Maybe I’ll do it if you’ve been bad, but I didn’t want it to be what made you mine.”
“In fact, until this morning I wasn’t sure what I would do to you. I knew what I wanted to build up to, but not how to start, what that first operation between us should be…and then you had a brilliant idea! You’re so smart.” he winked. The needle gleamed in the light, laden with unspoken promise, but it was that look on his face again—the one you saw in your office, the one that only came out when you were alone and there was nobody to help you—that really frightened you.
You couldn’t help it. You writhed in your restraints, desperately, as he approached, though they were tight enough that moving even a half-centimeter was out of the question. You watched, helplessly, as the needle plunged into the IV, delivering its payload straight into your veins.
“What is that—what is—don’t—“ you babbled, even though it was far too late to do anything. Cioccolata didn’t reply, just stroked your head.
“You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine…when we watch this together later, you’ll laugh at how hysterical you were over this.”
You wanted to throw up, but you forced yourself to try to control your breathing, to steady your runaway heart now beating fast, too fast, out of control, rushing toward the edge and plunging into hysteria…
And in that next instant, your heart stopped. You felt yourself change, from being a living person to a conscious mind trapped in a cooling corpse.
The light, too-bright before, was now unbearable, burning into your retinas as your pupils expanded unnaturally. You felt the blood pool in your legs and arms, a sensation you wanted to regard with mind-numbing terror but could only manage detached curiosity. You gasped for breath, once, twice, but no relief came with the action—air was coming into your lungs, but it wasn’t going anywhere. You were dying, you were dying, you were dying, your mind wheeled frantically, scrambling for a way to save yourself, but you had nothing. There was nothing you could do.
Ciocolatta had severed the strands holding you to life—how frail! How incredibly easy to cut!—and now you were in free-fall, plummeting into the yawning mouth of the grave.
In the instant your heart started again, Ciocolatta’s dark lips slammed into yours, stealing the breath you would have gasped as you felt life return, a hazy euphoria blanketing your body and filling the void in your chest.
His hands came up to your face, holding it steady as he continued to kiss you, pressing hard enough that they could feel your returned pulse.
“Didn’t that feel incredible, Amaretto? Don’t you feel amazing?”
You didn’t feel anything at all, actually. Shock made you dazed and pliant, submissive to his touch.
“Cioccolata…! You’re getting in the way of the shot! You’re covering up her face!” Secco, forgotten until now, made his complaint known as a petulant whine, stamping his feet and forcing the camera closer, almost delivering a kiss of its own. You couldn’t help but stare at yourself reflected in the glassy lens, a trail of lipstick smears covering your mouth and continuing towards your neck.
“What did you…do?” you struggled to get the words out.
“You’ve dropped dead!” he clapped his hands in glee. “You won’t be healing anyone anymore, you’ll be playing with me. That was our little promise, remember?”
He regarded the IV, still hooked into your arm, with an expression you would learn to recognize is dark intent.
“If you have a problem with it, though, we can do it again to make really sure. You’ve got a strong heart, you can take it.”
#yandere jjba#yandere x reader#cioccolata#by me#The drug he uses is a real thing if you're curious#though he's absolutely not using it correctly or ethically or responsibly
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I think we should talk about Nancy Drew
Hey. So I don’t post much here anymore. Sorry about that. But as a person who is somewhat of a gaming journalist, and Nancy Drew Game fan I wanted to talk about Nancy Drew: Midnight in Salem, which is launching very soon (about 6 hours from now).
For those of you unaware I’ll try and get you up to speed as best as I can. All jokes aside (bc tbh Nancy Drew is a bit of punching bag), I do in fact love Nancy Drew games. I’m a mystery fan, and a puzzle fan so it stands to reason that I fell in love with the series when I was younger. Herinteractive did some insane work, pumping out 2 games a year, leading it to currently having over 30 games in the series. But there has been a bit of a stir regarding the most recent entry: Midnight in Salem.
Midnight in Salem was first revealed, as the games were at that time, with a post-credit’s teaser in the previous game, Sea of Darkness. This is where we got the basic premise, and people started getting excited for a new entry. But on the eve of its launch, there is a lot of animosity flying around. It all stems back to the desire by Herinteractive to innovate.
Nancy Drew in its prior form was a point-and-click game. It makes sense I suppose, it’s first entry, Secrets Can Kill. So it seems that going forward into the 2010s, where point-and-click isn’t on trend, Her interactive saw fit to innovate by changing the formula. Seemingly the developer, looking to grab new audiences, hopes the changes will bring in higher numbers. Maybe it will, but in my experience this fandom is rather... shall we say insulated. The fandom is passionate and tight knit, but there isn’t any kind of movement of people into the fandom. Nancy Drew Games are well known, but there is already some stigma that lingers around the franchise. It’s perceived as girly, and casual. Is it deserved? I mean sure a bit yeah, but a move to a new engine will not change that. Hell, Unity has cheap devs not paying to have the Unity Ident removed, causing the engine to be associated with bad-quality games in some narrow minded individuals. The shift to Unity, would allow players to fully explore the 3D environments of the ND universe, but this means a lot more work. Work that Her interactive vastly underestimated.
The first obvious problem is that Her interactive had some vastly, inaccurate predictions of the work needed. It seemed to many that, whilst there might be *some* delays, that Midnight in Salem wouldn’t fall too far from the standard biannual schedule. In this case, Salem was set to release the year after it’s predecessor, giving a difference between the two of 9-21 months. With the upcoming date, it is being released just short of 55 months later. Now of course, delays happen. We don’t like them but they happen. But to have a game being kicked 4 years down the road is pretty crazy. It’s crazier if that four and a half year development time is that big a discrepancy from your initial projections. That’s just underestimation, and oversight like that has left some cold on the release.
Many are of course looking through a crazy lens. This game basically replaced 9 possible releases. People are giving an unfair view of this. As such people are wondering if it is “worth the time” spent on it, which I mean it won’t be. A game can’t really be that good that it is going be worth 9 games that’s unrealistic.
But could it all be worth it? Well no I don’t think so. Nancy Drew as a brand is not something that people have been itching to jump on. There are no COD bros who secretly wanted to jump on board but didn’t want to bc it was point and click. I think for the most part, Midnight in Salem will not bring in new fans to buy stuff, but some fans seem to be feeling a bit dejected.
Whilst I can’t abide the fans jumping on #NotMyNancyDrew, protesting the crime of changing the format, let’s be real, it is a step back. See the games looked good in their previous style, but creating a fully immersive 3D environment is pumping totally different, unused muscles, and it shows. Textures are unimpressive. Character models leave a lot to be desired. Simply put, the resources are stretched thin, and there are some obvious faults in the screenshots we have been seeing.
All in all Midnight in Salem is rather disappointing. In trying to capture more audience, Her interactive is doing a disservice to itself. It’s done so much work polishing point and click to a mirror shine, and seems to have thrown it away to pursue something that seems poised to fail. The backlash, whilst a little overblown, is not unjustified. Unfortunately with the backdrop seemingly being Her Interactive flagging as a company, this will probably fail. And as much as I do not want it to be the truth, the company as a whole might not be far behind
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Day 14 Pairing: Madara/Tobirama Word count: 1607 Word: Ignipotent - presiding over fire
Follow the link or read it under the cut!
KO-FI and commission info in the header!
Ignipotent - Madara/Tobirama
The temple was not empty when he arrived but Tobirama wasn't bothered much by that. He was in no hurry today; he could afford to wait for the other patrons to finish their worship before someone could see him. Finding a quiet place to set down the pack containing all of his worldly possessions, he settled down cross-legged on the floor and closed his eyes.
Several hours later he was awakened by the sound of approaching footsteps, loud and sharp in the otherwise empty room. He wondered if no one had noticed him sitting there in the dark corner. The sky beyond the stained glass windows was dark with evening; the priests were probably headed home for the evening when they finally spotted him. Irritating but at least he'd not had to sit there and wait the entire time for each of the other patrons to finish their duties. Patient he might be but it was always better not to have to wait for things.
He eyed the man approaching him with a critical eye. Dark hair combed and oiled then left free to billow around him like solid smoke, eyes like coal that burned where they laid their gaze on him, a short but sturdy build. If not for the fact that Tobirama was fairly sure priests of all religions were forbidden from having a relationship with anyone but their respective gods he might have allowed his gaze to drop further and admire any other interesting features he found there. As it was he forced himself to stop at the man’s chest and inspect the stylized flame stitched out in golden thread.
Once upon a time he too had been able to afford such luxuries as well. As a child he had draped himself in the finest fabrics and gorged himself on the rarest of fruits whenever the mood took him to do so. Now he could hardly remembered what it tasted like to eat a meal not thick with preservative salts or drink water not pulled from whatever river he happened to be passing by. Life had changed a great deal over the years and only some of that had been by his own choices.
"How fare you traveler?" When the man spoke his voice was a low growl and Tobirama pursed his lips at the barely contained temper obvious in even that polite greeting. "The temple is closed, I am afraid. If you wish to worship then I suggest you come back tomorrow. We are not an inn."
"I have no wish to make offerings unless necessary. What I seek are words."
"Oh I've got words for you," he could hear the man grumbling lowly.
Reminding himself that if he lost his own temper he would get no answers in return, Tobirama took a deep breath before speaking again. "Information, I need information and I have very few other places left to look but straight in to the fire."
"Hn. Ask your questions."
"First I would know how your worship works. You speak for the fire, yes? Or does it listen to you? I'm not very religious; never thought it was all that important to know this shit." A terrible oversight, that. He'd had lessons as a child, of course, just as all the other children of privilege, but he remembered thinking them boring and sneaking in texts from his other lessons to read instead.
Perhaps if he had learned to listen to the fire back then he wouldn't have to ask someone else to do so for him now. The priest eyed him as though wondering whether or not to reveal such things and Tobirama frowned. He hadn't even asked the difficult questions yet and already the man was being tight-lipped. Maybe he should come back tomorrow and seek out someone else to speak with. Just as he thought to do so, however, the man finally spoke.
"The fire listens to our pleas and we interpret the response it gives, although such responses are not always what our supplicants are looking for. As always, I warn you that the fire does not care for earthly woes but follows its own path."
"A destructive path," Tobirama said.
"Can you blame a bird for flying?" The priest demanded. "None should ever blame a fire for burning for that is its nature. Blame the one who gave the fire a place to feed."
Seeing his opening, Tobirama rose to his feet. "That is precisely what I am trying to do. If you would allow it, I wish to ask the flames one question."
"Only one?"
"Yes. Wait...two. Possibly two questions, depending on the answer to the first."
Eyeing him dubiously once more, the priest blew out an exasperated sigh but turned and beckoned him forward. Out of sheer habit Tobirama found his eyes dropping down to admire the sight before him. Dedicated to his god or no, that was the finest ass he'd seen in a long time.
When they approached the altar where the ever-burning fires danced and cast their shadows he sort of expected something dramatic or at least respectful. Instead all he got was an unfairly attractive priest coming to an abrupt halt and waving one arm unceremoniously at the threadbare pillows below the altar.
"There you go. Present yourself and ask your questions. Honestly if I wasn't so damn curious I'd have kicked you out already."
"My utmost thanks," Tobirama drawled, doing his best to be obvious about his insincerity. He got the impression that the other man only barely resisted sticking out his tongue. Kneeling on the pillow, he set aside the cranky priest and let the memories he hated most well up inside him. “Spirits of fire, I ask this of you because I have no other options. Long ago you were set free amongst my people, within my home, and you claimed the lives of my two younger brothers. I seek the name of the one who sent you there to feed.”
For years he had sought the man who set fire to his home and for years he had followed trail after trail only for each and every one of them to grow cold, always just when it seemed he might finally have the answers he so desperately craved. His only surviving brother now lived in the house that had been built over the ashes of the one that burned down but it had taken only a month for Tobirama to realize that he could not rest there, could never feel at home there until he had found the ones responsible for Itama and Kawarama’s deaths.
Only justice would bring him rest.
Since that day he had wandered as a vagabond searching every corner of every country, chasing even the smallest scrap of information regarding enemies of the Senju family. In his self-importance he had assumed he could find the perpetrators without asking the fire spirits’ help and yet…
“They have an answer, if you wish to hear it.” The priest’s voice was much less angry now, Tobirama noted.
“I will hear it.”
“Weary traveler, burning heart, the one you seek feeds us still. By the name of Ginkaku may he be called.”
Tobirama drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Spirits of fire, I ask that you tell me where to find this man.”
“By the bones of the brother he sacrificed does he reside in the place where he first bade us to feed. My priest will lead you there – wait what!? No! I don’t want–!” The voice behind his left shoulder cutoff suddenly when the flames on their altar rose up in response to his protests. With eyebrows raised, admittedly at least a little afraid of angering the spirits, Tobirama turned to see the man behind him subsiding in to a pout. “Alright fine! But I don’t like it!”
When Tobirama looked forward again the flames were dancing with a funny little hiccup and he realized with no small amount of wonder that they were laughing.
“Alright get up, you, they’re not saying anything more than that. Stupid fucking…I like it here! I don’t know what’s gotten in to their heads to make me traipse halfway across the continent just to play guide for you!” The priest huffed several times out of his nose while Tobirama very carefully did not suggest just pointing out the location on a map. On the one hand he was curious to see how long it would take the man to think of that on his own. And on the other hand, well, it had been quite some time since he’d had any company on his travels. Having such an attractive companion certainly wouldn’t hurt.
“Do I get to know the name of my guide or shall I continue to just call you ‘priest’?”
“My name is Madara,” was his growling reply. Tobirama rolled the name off his tongue a few times.
Then he stood from the pillow, bowed to the flames, and turned to offer Madara his hand. “My name is Tobirama and I suppose I should be honored to have you along.”
“You should be, yes.” Madara sniffed and turned to storm off, presumably towards his private rooms within the temple so he could pack for their journey. He probably hoped to have some privacy but Tobirama had a feeling this was the sort of man you never wanted to let out of your sight for any extended periods of time.
A grin touched his face as he followed. Whatever awaited them on their journey, at least now he would have a bit of entertainment along the way.
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America’s Most Eligible 2 Diamond Scene: Explore the Reef with Adam
You nod, and Eden swims over to distract Carson while you float closer to Adam. You: Eden offered to buy us a little time if we wanna explore on our own. What do you say? Adam: You, me, and no cameras? Lead the way.
You follow Adam away from the others, to a quiet, colourful section of the reef. You: Sneaking off, exploring uncharted waters… makes me feel like we’re on a real adventure. See anything interesting in the water? Adam: Some cool fish… and there’s a particularly impressive sight swimming right next to me.
You: Hey… -You’re a pretty nice sight yourself… Adam +1
Adam laughs and winks at you. Adam: Glad you think so. But I’m definitely not the best catch in this sea…
-Eyes on the prize, Adam! Adam +1
You: We don’t have all day to explore. Adam nods and throws you a mock salute. Adam: Aye, aye, captain.
Just then, you spot a peculiar little fish floating a few feet away from you, almost perfectly blended into the coral behind it…
-Pufferfish!
You: Adam, look! Adam: Damn. I almost didn’t see that little guy. Check this out… He lowers his hand a few feet behind the pufferfish. Slowly, its skin shifts from the colour of the reef behind it, until it matches Adam’s hand. You: That’s one hell of a party trick. Suddenly, the pufferfish darts away through the water and under a section of the reef. Adam: Where’d he go? You: Maybe our little buddy knows something we don’t… Come on!
You dive beneath the water and swim after the pufferfish. In between the coral formations, there’s an opening just wide enough to squeeze through. You swim through the underwater passage, until you surface in a chamber lit by glowing lichen and reflected sunlight…
Adam: Wow. You: I can’t believe something this incredible was right under our feet this whole time. There’s a narrow shelf below the waterline, just wide enough for both of you to sit on as you admire the hidden cave. Adam: I wonder what kind of people have been here before us. The stories had to start somewhere, right? Treasure or no treasure.
You: I bet the first people here were… -Cutthroat pirates! Adam +1
You: Desperate to hide their booty before their rivals tracked them down and tossed them into the deep! Adam: That was… very specific. You: We’re literally sitting in a secret grotto! You can’t tell me that doesn’t make your imagination run wild. Adam: My imagination always runs wild when I’m around you.
-Reality TV contestants. Adam +1
Adam laughs, and the rise and fall of his chest sends ripples through the water around you. Adam: You can’t be serious. You: Just picture it: four seasons back, a couple of other contestants are desperate to get away from Carson’s monologues… Adam: And diving along the reef is their solution? You: Desperate times call for desperate measures. My point is, it could happen. Adam: They do say reality is stranger than fiction.
-Star-crossed lovers… Adam +1
You: Everything about this place says ‘romantic tryst waiting to happen’. Adam: Right. That classic Miami story about sneaking away from your feuding families to swim to a distant reef… You: Hey, you can’t deny the quality of the ambience. Adam smiles at you, his eyes alight with obvious wonder. Adam: Or the company.
Suddenly, Adam peers deep into the water. You: Anything interesting down there? Adam: Only one way to know for sure. He dives down into the clear, blue water, and you watch through the ripples as he reaches the floor. He searches, and searches… You: Adam? You okay down there? Just when you’re starting to wonder how much air he could possibly have left, he pushes off of the floor and surfaces beside you. Adam: Check it out.
-Gold Coin
You: Adam… -You’re my hero! Adam +1
You: I was expecting a cool rock, and you bring me literal pirate treasure? You: You really give a girl/guy high standards… Adam bows as much as he can while treading water. Adam: I aim to please.
We’re gonna be rich! Adam +1
You: You literally struck gold! Adam: We’d be a lot richer if this was, say, the eighteenth century… Adam: But it’s still your treasure, as promised. You: I’ll guard it with my life.
-What am I supposed to buy with one doubloon? Adam +1
You: I expect a whole treasure chest next time. Adam: I would’ve brought you a golden dinner table, but those things get heavy. You: I guess I can forgive the oversight. For now.
You grin at him, and he grins back, and then you both start laughing. Adam: I know we should head out soon, but I just wanted to say… finding this place was really something special. Adam: Especially because I got to see it with you.
You: Thanks for coming on this adventure with me… -It was way more fun with a partner. Adam +1
Adam: I’m always down to explore with you. All you have to do is say the word. You: Good. Because something tells me this won’t be our last adventure of the season…
-The only thing it’s missing is a kiss… Adam +1
Adam: Well, I’d hate to leave the perfect date unfinished… You slip off the ledge and swim toward him, and he instantly takes you in his arms. He slides one hand up to cradle the back of your neck as he kisses you, softly at first, then more fiercely, his body warm against yours… Adam: Anything missing from the date now? You: Hmm. It could probably use another kiss… Adam laughs and kisses you one last time. The thrill of his touch lingers even after you pull apart. You: Now I’m satisfied. Adam: Glad I could help.
You share one last smile together, then swim back through the underwater passage and out to the brilliant, sunlit reef.
#playchoices#choices stories you play#choices ame#choices america’s most eligible#america's most eligible
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More Freezerburn Arranged Marriage AU.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (here) / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10
Yang scanned the tavern, a small smile plastered in place as she observed the residents of Patch interact with the Faunus merrily, drinking and singing songs. It grew so rare during recent years to see their allies from Menagerie that every trip turned into a party, and that applied both ways, although she personally hadn't set foot in the other kingdom in years. First the civil war, then the war against Atlas, and then negotiating the truce and arranging the marriage- she'd been busy, but she often thought about when she might see her friend again.
She just wished she could actually enjoy Blake's presence now.
The Faunus sat beside her, as per their usual. With the exception of the evening meal the night before, they'd always sat side-by-side, usually joking and teasing. While the blonde never imagined she'd end up in such a prestigious position among her people, Blake knew she'd one day take her mother's place as Chieftain of the Faunus, and sometimes the levity would help lighten her friend's mood whenever she started getting overwhelmed by the scope of her future responsibilities. Recently, they both needed the break from the seriousness of the world, but tonight was an exception.
It was a strange time indeed when Yang Xiao Long felt no desire to joke, no gentle teasing falling from her lips throughout the meal, and it didn't go unnoticed. Even from across the table, she could see her father's worried expression flashing her way every now and again, brows creased and lips drawn into a frown. Although he'd done his level best to remain scarce the past two months, Taiyang knew his daughter better than anyone and the blonde's attempt at appearing normal would never rival Weiss'. Throughout the night before, her wife seemed poised and collected, polite as ever, attentive to every question directed her way and making small talk with whoever engaged her. No one thought anything was amiss.
But Yang liked to think she'd grown more attuned to the woman's moods and she sensed something was off, aside from the Atlesian's refusal to divulge whatever plagued her mind after the Faunus' arrival. It lurked just behind those blue eyes, somehow lacking their usual shine as she sat at the blonde's left, posture as ramrod straight as the night of their wedding. Even if the woman still carried herself rigidly in comparison to everyone else, she'd relaxed in recent weeks, the slope of her shoulders a gentle curve rather than a straight line, and she often smiled proudly behind her mug whenever they ate now that she'd mastered using chopsticks.
"That's the first real smile I've seen since yesterday," Blake said, pulling her attention away from her musings. "Want to share?"
"I was just thinking of my wife." She'd done her best not to let on that she was watching during those moments when Weiss stole her attention completely. The Atlesian looked downright cute when she was proud with another task accomplished or a new skill learned, like when she'd mastered writing the most basic Valen characters. Honestly, her own penmanship was chicken scratch in comparison and she'd never forget the way her wife had lit up when she'd said as much. It was quickly covered with a chiding remark about improving her skill rather than bragging about poor performance, but not quickly enough for her to miss. "I'm a married woman now, Blakey. Aren't those books you read always going on about how much someone thinks about their spouse or lover or whatever?"
"Hmmm, the Queen Consort, yes." The Faunus mused, ignoring the bait to defend her choices in literature in favor of casting a glance around, motioning with her nearly empty cup. Unlike the Valens, all the Faunus chose to drink their 'special tea'; Menagerie relied on their network of spies to keep tabs on the other nations, especially during the period of rebuilding after their own civil war, and one of their favored tricks was a very specific blend of tea leaves and wild berries native to their land that had the most curious effect when drank. Somewhere between being high on opium and drunk on wine, it loosened tongues, eventually lulled the target to sleep, and it ultimately served to deliver many precious secrets to the Chieftain's ears. Most Faunus built up an immunity themselves, or at least a resistance, for that very purpose, which made it an easy drink for any meal. Humans, on the other hand, could have very bad reactions, and Yang would never forget her own experience with the stuff as she swirled her own preferred liquid around its mug. "No wonder she's on your mind. Is she not joining us this evening?"
"She's... not feeling well," Yang replied, occupying herself with her mug and taking a long pull of the rice wine. She wasn't in the mood for alcohol, though, so she only tasted sharp bitterness that made her regret drinking in the first place. If she kept going at this pace, it would likely make her a foul drunk, like her Uncle tended to get when he was deep in his cups. She set the mug down and left it alone entirely, not wanting to even be tempted; it certainly wouldn't make things better. "I had someone take her food."
Ears perked and brow raised, the impending question was obvious. "You didn't do it yourself?"
Hiding things from Blake was nigh impossible, something she'd temporarily forgotten. Puffing out a mirthless chuckle, she shook her head. "Weiss... doesn't want to see me right now."
From the corner of her eye, she could see the look being sent her way. Obviously, her friend had put that much together already. "Any idea why?"
"Nope." Sighing, the blonde sank slightly, nearly curling in on herself in misery. "Absolutely none."
She'd done what she could to find out, of course. The day before, she drew the Atlesian a warm bath filled with her favorite scent and left her in peace. Her presence wasn't wanted right then and she... understood, so she washed herself in the nearby stream, ignoring the way the cold wind bit at her skin while she hurried to dress in fresh clothes and return to the house. When Weiss was done, the blonde brought her meat and cheese- although they tasted slightly different than those of Atlas, it was a meal closer to what the woman ate back home and required no chopsticks to eat- and a tall glass of water, then helped her into bed. Yang didn't press or pry, concerning herself only with making sure her wife was comfortable, and she was seemingly rewarded when, instead of being sent away, she was invited into the bed, curling around the smaller woman as she usually did. Sleep wouldn't come to her- a combination of worry and excitement keeping her wide awake- so she contented herself with watching Weiss drift into a light slumber. Opening the pathway to one's chi and drawing it out the first time often depleted a lot of energy, so Yang wasn't surprised, and she looked forward to teaching her wife to draw it out more frequently, making the process easier overall. When the Atlesian awoke, she thought maybe whatever was bothering the woman remained sleeping and they could talk about it later. The rest of the day went off well enough, even if she still had her doubts that Weiss was truly alright.
That morning, though, was a different story. Her wife didn't want to leave the bed when they awoke... but she didn't want the blonde to stay, either. There was an excuse of lingering exhaustion and she didn't buy it for a second, yet any attempt at further conversation once Yang got out of bed was met with either silence or clipped, one word replies, until she'd reached the end of her rope.
"Is there anything you do want?" Her frustration had colored her tone a very small amount as she silently pleaded with whichever gods might be listening to give her some clue as to what to do or say.
"Leave," her wife had replied in the same cold, stiff, formal tone she'd used during the brief instances she'd spoken during their wedding. It was like the past two months hadn't happened and they were strangers once more. "See to your guests. That's all I ask."
All the air fled her lungs after hearing those words. Being effectively banished from the Atlesian's presence was one thing; being sent away in such an efficient manner, as if her presence meant nothing... it hurt. It almost made her frustration boil over into anger.
But she'd complied. Yang didn't understand it- couldn't, not without help, and the one person who could provide such assistance apparently didn't want to speak to her- but she honored the request all the same. The thoughts preyed on her mind, though, mentally pouring over everything she did and said, trying to find her error. Was it failing to mention the mock battle? In hindsight, taking the time to explain the situation instead of being so excited to see the Faunus again would've been better, of course, but surely that oversight would result in a chiding lecture, not an outright rejection. Weiss didn't like open affection- or, perhaps, hadn't yet grown accustomed to it, as odd as that sounded to the blonde- so maybe that was it. Did the Atlesian feel as though Yang embarrassed her when she picked up the smaller woman like she weighed nothing? It was a combination of joy, excitement, pride, and her chi still invigorating her muscles, not a conscious attempt to upset her. Weiss wouldn't hold that against her... right?
"What did I do?" The blonde turned a pleading look towards her best friend, hoping that maybe she'd gleaned some hidden knowledge during her years perusing romance novels from all over Remnant. She'd always brushed them off as silly; her father followed his heart, and though it brought him pain, it also brought him the greatest happiness he would ever find and he'd said so himself, so what could some book possibly teach her that her heart couldn't?
Moments like this, though, she wished she'd taken Blake up on her offers to borrow one or two over the years.
"I don't think you did anything." The Faunus sat back, crossing her arms over her chest as her lips pressed into a thin line. "I have a hunch it's something completely unrelated."
Lilac eyes met troubled amber and nothing could keep her from asking. "Well, what is it? What can I do? How do I fix this?"
"You don't. I don't think you can... but you should be there anyway." Blake got up, stretching her lower back for a moment after being seated so long. "Come on, let's go see if I'm right."
Yang sprang to her feet, eagerly following one step behind her friend as they traveled the length of the tavern, and she shot her dad a look to warn him that they weren't to be followed. No one would think twice about the two of them heading off together and no Valen would think she needed an escort of any sort but the Faunus were rather protective of the Chieftain and her family. They weren't heading off on one of their ill advised adventures, though, all smiles and mischief; no, this felt more like heading into a battle, her chi thrumming through every muscle in anticipation. Ever since feeling the ice cold of her wife's pushing back against hers yesterday in the clearing, it was becoming harder to control her own. It kept trying to reach out and find that pressure that was only possible when close to Weiss, which... would have to be addressed, sooner rather than later.
First thing's first, though. They walked silently up to the house, the Faunus leading the way for the most part until they'd entered the clearing and they both stopped. "Go sit beneath the kitchen window."
"What? Why?"
"Because I want you to listen," Blake said, expression turning serious. "And just listen. I mean it, Yang; don't move, don't talk, don't react. Just listen while I talk to Weiss."
"Are you going to tell her I'm there?" The idea of eavesdropping on her wife didn't sit well with the blonde. She wanted to know what was wrong- of course she did- but compromising the woman's trust in her... she wasn't that desperate, at least not yet. However, she reluctantly admitted that subterfuge was the Faunus' forte, and the chief reason Menagerie managed to avoid open war with Vacuo. Kali was nothing short of a talented spymaster and won most of her battles with words rather than brute force.
Idly, Yang wished Blake had taken more after her father; Ghira shared her mindset of tackling problems head on and personally.
"No, but..." The Faunus turned towards her fully, ears drooping as she spoke earnestly. "Just trust me. If I'm right, Weiss will forgive a little dishonesty. I'm sure of it." Yang hesitated still and not for lack of faith in her best friend. It didn't seem right or fair, and she was a hair's breadth away from saying as much when a hand was offered towards her. "You made me do this. Settle a debt."
Instantly, her eyes lit up as her anger surged, expression changing in the blink of an eye to fully display her rage. There was no more sacred a tenet the Valens kept than the honoring of debts, though it was rarely taken in a financial sense. This sort of debt was paid in unquestionable trust for a considerable favor and while she normally wouldn't hesitate to follow through, this matter was different. "Blake!"
"Yang." She shook her hand for emphasis, still offering it out. "Settle. A debt."
With a growl, the blonde clasped her friend's wrist, narrowing her eyes when fingers wrapped around her own. "You've only got two of those left, you know."
"As many times as you get yourself into trouble, I'll make it back," the Faunus replied, a hint of a smirk playing at her lips. "You're to sit beneath the kitchen window and not do anything to indicate you're there. I just want you to listen."
"Fine." Releasing their hold, she stormed to the indicated spot without another look back. Despite how absolutely wrong it was for Blake to pull this stunt, she couldn't very well go against it; not only would it be a direct insult to their friendship, it would go against the principles she held dear. Unable to refuse, she plopped down beneath the window, crossed her arms and legs, and flared her chi to keep warm, all the while considering reorganizing her priorities in life. The descending night turned colder by the second but the darkness couldn't match her mood. At the earliest opportunity, she swore she'd give Adam tips on wooing her friend.
Not because they'd work, of course; she'd ensure he only got information that would annoy Blake the most. That seemed a suitable retribution for being strong armed into this unsavory position.
Her attention snapped away from her frustration with the dirty trick to the sound of the window's latch, glancing up to see her friend push open the panes. With the barrier removed, she could hear more clearly the soft sounds of cupboards being opened and eventually water being poured into the kettle. She couldn't help but roll her eyes; of course the Faunus would make tea.
Well, at least one of them would have something good come out of this.
Grumpily sitting beneath the window, the blonde waited until she heard the water begin boiling, shoulders jumping slightly as Blake's careful movements turned a tad chaotic. She opened and closed cupboards loudly, stomped her feet with every step, ensured the cups clattered when they were set down- the times her friend was this deliberately loud in her memory could be counted on one hand.
But, it did the trick.
"Oh, good, you came down," the Faunus said, a smile in her voice. Despite being an accomplished warrior in her own right, Blake could be disarmingly charming when the situation called for it. "Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, thank you, Princess." Yang frowned. Her wife's reply was stiff and formal, born purely from her upbringing, and the hint of uneasiness lingered. What had her so afraid? "Where's Queen Yang?"
She winced at the impersonal, formal title. Weiss never called her that, not even when parting from her family back at Fort Beacon. Why use it now?
"Formalities are a bigger thing in Atlas, I suppose, but there's no need for it here." The gentle clatter of cups being placed on saucers- obviously belonging to the set Blake brought from Menagerie years ago- and a bit of shuffling. "You can call me Blake. That is, if you can look me in the eye."
Somehow, that managed to sidestep the question as to the blonde's whereabouts. "I'm trying to be polite."
"You're trying to ensure your soul won't get stolen," the Faunus replied, pausing for a moment. "At least, I think that's how your legends go, right? Never look a Wolpertinger in the eye, lest your soul gets snatched from your body?"
The Atlesian word in the middle of smooth Valen made Yang blink, turning her head to peer up at the window. She could recognize the syllables, mouthing the word herself to see how they fit together, but couldn't place its definition. She hadn't seen or heard it while learning Weiss' language. Was it the Atlesian word for 'Faunus'?
"H-how do you know that-"
"You've seen my father. Not all Faunus have obvious traits." The clink of cup and saucer being set down, followed by cloth rustling. "And those of us who do?" Without looking, Yang could picture what was happening; Blake showed her a time or two how she managed to travel inconspicuously across Vale and Vacuo during the wars. A simple length of black ribbon, when wrapped just right, could obscure her ears, hiding her heritage from view. A clever person with an exact idea of whom they sought might see through the trick but, for the most part, it worked quite well. "There. Tell me. If you saw me on the streets of your capitol city, would you think twice about my heritage? Or pass me off as another face in the crowd?" There was a lilt to her voice, a sort of begrudging pride she adopted when talking about her people's unfortunate habits developed to circumvent superstitions. "Menagerie has long relied on our easily hidden merchants to get around the trade embargo Atlas levied against us and we are very good at it." The hush of the ribbon being pulled free signaled that she'd started winding it about her forearm, where it usually hid. "We're also well aware of what Atlesians think of us. Demons of the night, child eaters, abominations of nature- the tales are rather colorful."
Yang started up at the open window in abject confusion and slight horror. Who would spread such lies about the Faunus? The people of Menagerie were just as friendly as any other- when at peace and unified under a strong leader- and they certainly weren't any of the things being described- who came up with these lies?
"But, obviously untrue."
"Who are you trying to convince?" Blake reclaimed her cup. "You won't turn your back to me, or any Faunus, and you won't look us in the eye. If possible, you stay beyond arm's reach. And you're hiding cloves of garlic in your pocket- which doesn't actually keep us away, mind, though the smell can be unpleasant when it's so strong." A pause long enough for a sip. "You're terrified of us."
"Yes, I am," Weiss replied, a tightness in her voice.
The blonde's shoulders slumped as she leaned back against the wall of the house. How had she not noticed that? The garlic was easy to explain- her nose wasn't nearly as sensitive, of course- but the rest... perhaps her focus was so intent, she hadn't looked at the bigger picture like her friend obviously had. Still, she'd known her wife was afraid of something, had asked... how could she not have seen the obvious answer?
Probably because it would never occur to her. How could anyone perpetuate such lies about people? Such barefaced hate was rare, even among the warriors she'd faced over the years, but for it to be taught to children. Why? Just... just why?
"That's it? No justifying tirade about how you were raised to think that way, how it's not your fault- anything?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm in Vale now- this is my home, which makes us allies and your people are obviously not the monsters mine have painted them as." It broke Yang's heart a little to hear the slight tremor in the Atlesian's voice. She wanted to stand up- was Weiss about to cry? Was she angry? Was she ashamed? There was no way to tell without looking, because what her voice refused to betray her eyes always would- but remained seated. The blonde had to abide by her friend's wishes but she could feel the pressure of tears threatening to spill, from frustration and worry both. "My irrational fear... it's a hindrance."
"It matters to Yang." Blake's tone softened just a little. "She's worried about you. She thinks it's something she's done that has you upset."
"She would think that." A sigh, followed by a small, mirthless chuckle. "I don't think there's anything I can do that won't worry her."
"True. I used to tease her that I already have two overprotective parents- I don't need another one." The Faunus' laugh was warm with fond remembrance, even if the last time she'd said that was a bitter memory. Still, Yang couldn't keep the corner of her mouth from tugging into a small smile. Those were simpler times. "But I still don't see why you didn't tell her. She wouldn't begrudge you a learned prejudice, especially when you're making attempts to be... cordial." Weiss must've raised a brow in askance. "You are carrying garlic cloves."
"Fair point." A rustle of fabric and the pantry door opening tipped her off to what was going on inside. "I... I owe you an apology."
"And that's a debt I'd rather you keep a little longer." Blake approached the window, leaning against the counter as the night wind blew. "You were raised to fear us. It's not fair to expect you to just get over that in the course of a day. What you've accomplished already is enough progress."
"I interpret that as 'wait until I mean it'."
"Well, if we're being honest." Yang narrowed her eyes, faintly picking up her wife's soft tread as it drew closer to the window. There was a faint, amused huff from the Faunus, and she guessed they were probably standing side-by-side admiring the view. With the half moon rising over the trees, it promised to be a beautiful night, but she felt pressure weighing down on her heart and shoulders.
Why hadn't she done more research? After the misunderstandings they've already had, why didn't she dig through every scrap of information she could find to ensure it wouldn't happen again?
Leaning her head back, she looked up at the underside of the window sill, a frown tugging at her lips.
She needed to do better. For Weiss' sake.
"You know... as much as you fear us... I noticed you're actually not that scared whenever Yang's around."
The blonde perked up, listening intently.
"Yang promised she'd protect me. I trust her to keep her word." Stunned, Yang's breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened. She keenly remembered the odd sensation of walking around with a sword on her hip- something the warrior had long ago discarded out of distaste- but for that week she was proud to have the thin rapier strapped to her. It was a sign they could be together, that she might be a good match for the Atlesian or, at the very least, that she had a chance to prove herself as worthy. Here, though, was the first verbal acknowledgement for that trust being truly given to her, placed willingly in a promise she'd made. It also explained how Blake was able to observe the Atlesian's reactions while she couldn't; just being there provided some modicum of comfort to her wife. "And since we're being honest... I probably wouldn't be as calm if another Faunus came here looking for me, but Yang trusts you. I can at least be... courteous."
She shifted, hands resting on her knees to keep them in place as she fought the urge to stand. There it was, that hint of melancholy in her wife's tone. Something still wasn't right.
"You don't seem happy about that."
A heavy sigh that sounded more tired than despondent escaped her wife's lips. "I stayed away today to avoid offending you and your family. The last thing I want to do is make things difficult for Yang... but it seems I've done that anyway. Both things." Yang's brows furrowed, pulling away from the wall while keeping her eyes up toward the window. Why did the woman sound so... lethargic? Weiss was always attentive, her words crisp and pointed; at present, she seemed like she was struggling to stay awake. "Tell me... if Atlas had never attacked Vale, if Yang hadn't accepted the offer of an arranged marriage to end the war... would you have married her?"
"Me? And Yang?" A pause, a cough, and some awkward shuffling; the blonde could vividly picture the blush rising in the Faunus' cheeks. "Well, I can't say it hasn't crossed my mind. We've known each other for years, we're good friends, she's a wonderful person... I don't think my parents would object. But, I don't think it's ever occurred to Yang."
"... hasn't it?" In all honesty, it hadn't. Blake was her best friend, yes, but she'd never thought of the Faunus in a romantic light. If anything, they felt more like sisters than potential lovers; they'd fought beside each other, traveled across Vale and Menagerie, and through the years cultivated a deep and intimate relationship together, but not in that way. "Yang's sweet. She's passionate. Most importantly, she cares about you... if you had asked, she wouldn't have said no and you wouldn't have regretted it. She's... she's a very good wife."
"You're not wrong about any of that." There was some shuffling, and a cup clinking against a saucer. "Does that bother you?"
Carefully, Yang shifted to her knees, trying to make as little noise as possible. Blake would be able to hear her, of course, but the Atlesian wouldn't, which meant she was abiding by the rules thus far. Yet, she wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to remain silent. She had a right to speak for herself, especially on this topic.
Weiss had a point; if asked, she probably wouldn't have refused. If it was something the Faunus truly wanted to pursue, however, her opportunity to do so closed the moment Yang spoke her vows at Fort Beacon and traded Ember Celica for Myrtenaster. The Atlesian didn't put as much stock in the Valen traditions, true, but she did, and she would hold herself to them until her dying breath. If there was any doubt lingering in her wife's mind, it was her duty to put them to rest immediately.
"I didn't think it would. I'm Atlesian and we... have different views on such things, marriages and the like." Her voice lowered slightly, the sound of her cup and saucer being set down. There was a strange, scratchy quality to her voice now, like she was fighting back a yawn or a sneeze. Perhaps tears? "But it does. A little. It's why I couldn't tell her the truth- that I'm simply afraid, it's... unbecoming. It's easy for you to say she wouldn't hold it against me; you've known her for so much longer... you know her so much better than I. In the past two months, what have I shown?" Her voice turned wistful but still carried a sad undertone. "I couldn't fight. I couldn't harness my chi. I can't even keep her from worrying over me- how am I supposed to tell her this? That her best friend terrifies me? That allies she holds dear make me want to balk, to turn and run- how can I tell her I'm a coward? In Atlas, it wouldn't matter; my personal failings would be overlooked due to my station and my spouse would simply... well. Supplement."
"Oh?" Blake paused, most likely taking a sip of her tea before gracelessly setting it on the saucer loudly, the clinking betraying her surprise. "Oh."
"Does that make me selfish? Yang's been nothing short of supportive and patient- am I wrong to begrudge her this?" Yang grit her teeth, her frustration mounting. Weiss sounded genuinely upset, which was rare, and it was somehow in regards to her. How long would her friend expect her to keep to these ridiculous stipulations? "In Atlas, I would be. I have no right-"
"You said it yourself; you're not in Atlas." The Faunus was quick to cut her off. "This is Vale, and they keep very different views on marriages. I'm reasonably certain it would never cross Yang's mind to take a mistress."
"A mistress?" Yang couldn't help but say the word aloud, softly, brows pinching in confusion. She could remember hearing it once or twice before from some of the clan leaders but always with a sense of derision and never an explanation. She hadn't thought to ask- why would she?- but now she cursed her ignorance.
"In fact, I'm confident it's never occurred to her. She's just not the sort to be unfaithful," Blake said, setting aside her cup and saucer. "It might be common practice in Atlas to marry only for political gain and take lovers on the side, but not in Vale." Her voice took on a sharper edge. "And not in Menagerie, either. Your people may be terrified of mine, and we may be understandably wary of yours, but I would never put Yang in the position of choosing between us. I'm not here to steal your wife, Weiss."
There was a bitter chuckle that made the blonde's gut clench. "Of course not. Too noble, in a truer sense than my people ever used the word. I was raised to think of the people of Vytal as uncivilized barbarians, of your people as demons and monsters, but the longer I spend outside the borders of Atlas, the more I begin to see the truth." A sigh, a sniffle. "I'm the barbarian, the monster."
That was enough. The blonde stood, turning so she could level a very clear glare into the kitchen. Weiss didn't see her- her head was down, eyes riveted to the counter as her shoulders shook- but the Faunus certainly could. No words were needed as she nodded, holding both hands up in a placating gesture with her gaze darting towards the entrance. Without further prompting, and very disinclined to abide any discouragement anyway, Yang walked to the front of the house while barely managing to not stomp her way there, throwing the door open and heading straight for the kitchen. The moment she was in the room, the scent of the tea hit her and it struck some memory that she shoved aside, lilac eyes falling on her wife's form.
"Weiss," she said, the forceful tone tempered by softness as she took a few steps forward with both arms outstretched, fighting against her first impulse to immediately wrap her arms around the smaller woman's form. When last they parted, the Atlesian had pushed her away, and to her mind nothing had changed; approaching now- without express permission- would be wrong of her. It galled her, though, that she'd let things go this far and she spared a brief glare at Blake for forcing her into this position in the first place.
The moment her wife turned, the blonde was reluctantly glad she hadn't, because her chi flared the instant she could see the woman's face. Her eyes were glazed over and there was a rosy tint to her cheeks; she was obviously keeping a hand on the counter for support as she unsteadily swayed. Blood red eyes shot to Blake, wordlessly demanding an explanation.
Not that she needed one; it clicked almost instantly.
"I think I made the tea too strong." The Faunus weakly offered, ears laying back in contrition.
"BLAKE!" The blonde took a single step towards her friend- whose title was rather dubious at present- before a slim hand landed on her forearm, halting her movements.
"Yang, don't." Weiss shook her head, likely trying to get her bearings, but the motion did nothing to dispel the tears gathering in her eyes. "My... tea was drugged, I'm aware, I..." The Atlesian tried to take a step forward but her balance faltered. Worried, the blonde rushed forward, catching her wife and carefully supporting her with an arm around her shoulders, noticing the thin sheen of sweat building on the woman's pale brow. "I just... didn't expect..."
"It's okay, Snowfall, shush." Throwing one more heated glare at Blake, Yang turned her entire attention to guiding her wife's trembling form out of the kitchen. She would need to put the woman to bed immediately and try to break her fever before she got delirious. "You need to save your energy."
"I'm... fine..." She tried to stand on her own power but faltered again, her legs too weak as the tea robbed her of strength.
Obviously, simply helping the woman stand wouldn't cut it, so the blonde bent her knees and scooped Weiss into her arms, cradling her close as weak hands clutched at the material of her shirt. Even through the layers between them and her chi thrumming through every fiber of her being, the Atlesian felt warm in comparison, hinting at the strength of her fever. "She's burning up."
"I-I'll get my parents," Blake said, a tremor in her voice as her ears laid back. "They'll know what to do."
"Hurry," she replied, carefully carrying her wife out of the kitchen and up the stairs, shouldering the bedroom door open and silently thanking whatever deity might be listening that it was left ajar. She quickly tucked her wife in beneath the covers, running a hand through sweat slicked bangs; it worried her how quickly Weiss' body temperature rose, still seeming far too warm to the touch and, through ingrained habit, the blonde bent over and pressed her lips to the woman's forehead to confirm the strength of her fever. When she pulled away, lilac eyes scanned over her wife's form, tucking in the covers tighter. "Weiss, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have let Blake do that, I should've stopped her, I-" Apologizing did neither of them any good at present but the words fell from her lips regardless as she left the bed, seeking more blankets to lay over top the woman and a rag for her forehead. All the while, she muttered to herself, every dumb decision she'd ever made that landed her in the Faunus' debt. "This is my fault. I should've- what's wrong with me?"
When Yang returned, she set the blanket on the bed and started folding the dampened rag only to notice that something had changed; her wife looked paler than before and her shivering had worsened. The blonde reached over, fear gripping tight as her fingertips once again brushed through the woman's white fringe, and a worried gasp escaped her lips. Where before Weiss had felt warm even to her touch, now she was cold as ice. Both hands went to cup pale cheeks, her thumbs working in small circles to rub some color back into the skin.
"Weiss? Snowfall, can you hear me?" Her wife made a small noise but she couldn't tell if it was an acknowledgement of her question or just a vocalization of the agony of her now frigid body temperature. Either way, she became distracted almost immediately by the presence she could feel pushing back against her palms, strong and insistent. Relief flooded through her; while most warriors focused their chi to heal from grievous wounds, some could also use theirs to filter out poisons and toxins from their system. It seemed Weiss had the capability of doing so naturally, or at least subconsciously, her own chi flaring in response. She bent down and brushed a soft kiss against the woman's forehead. "You'll be okay, Snowfall. Just rest. I'll-"
"Wha- wait." She froze, watching as blue eyes fluttered open briefly before her wife closed them again. Leaning forward so she could hear better, the blonde waited for whatever Weiss had to say between her stuttering breaths. "C-come."
Yang frowned, her brows furrowed as she tried to figure out what that meant. "Come... closer? I can hear you, Snowfall, what do you need?" Weiss groaned and shifted as much as her weakened form allowed. The blonde quickly reached out, setting her hands on the woman's shoulders and urging her to be still. She'd need her strength while her chi purged the tea from her system. Her wife's chi hummed in response, no longer pushing against hers but rather... pulling? "Do you... do you want me to come under the covers with you?"
Through an apparent supreme force of will, Weiss opened her eyes and nodded weakly before her strength failed her again, her body going limp while the blonde hurried to kick off her boots. Slipping beneath the sheets, Yang scooted over, mentally trying to map out what would be most comfortable for her infirm wife when the decision was made for her; the Atlesian managed to turn onto her side and immediately curled up, weakly reaching out and tugging her closer. She obliged until she could wrap one arm around Weiss' smaller frame, her chin resting in white locks as the shivering began to slow. The woman felt like a block of solid ice, freezing to the touch, but Yang was a roaring inferno in comparison, ignoring any discomfort in favor of holding the Atlesian as gently as possible.
Whenever Blake got back, they were going to have some words.
"Please be alright." She whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Weiss' head. "Please, just be okay."
... what the fuck, y'all, I don't even know...
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Curse of Enchantia – WON!!
Written by Alfred n the Fettuc
That’s it! I conquered Curse of Enchantia! I slayed the beast! Victory! Free at last!
I have mixed feelings about it. One part of me is very proud to have done this without a walkthrough (even if the temptation was very strong a few times) and the other part is astonished by the vacuity of the whole thing. I think my soul has died a little by playing this game to completion. Good thing it was for the blog, if it helps at least one person to stay away from this game in the future, maybe my sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.
But for now, let’s all go back in the enchanted land of Enchantia one last time in order to help Brad get rid of the evil sorceress once and for all! Yay!
Don’t worry, Brad. It’ll all be over real soon.
After my trip to the planes of madness, I find myself back in town once more. As I now have in my possession the precious fire extinguisher and electric fan, I pay another visit to the wizard. I expect him to send me back to the cliff so I can give these items to the giant parrot but then again, the wizard has proven in the past he can be a little erratic about what his magic exactly does. What’s the worse than could happen? It’s not like he’s going to kill me right?
Oh.
So I wake up into some sort of grave, proving the wizard has a sick sense of humour (or is totally incompetent). Looking around me, I grab a bone and ATTACK the wall with it so Brad can carve his way out of here.
Black Mamba was a wuss.
Exiting the grave, I find myself in a nice looking graveyard, complete with a tombstone to my name, bats, full moon and zombie hands trying to grab innocent feet. Nice place you got there! I guess I’m getting close to the evil enchantress. If only the music would change somewhat to reflect the atmosphere of the whole thing, but then again we are stuck with the same tune.
Why my tombstone is actually on the grave next to mine is anyone’s guess. Maybe it was another Brad.
Immediately after, a vampire appears and rushes towards me. When he touches me I disappear and the whole scene starts again. This puzzle is actually the one that took me the most time during this session. I grabbed the cymbals and the shovel next to me and tried everything on the vampire but nothing worked.
What a warm welcome! In my arms!
The fact that the vampire is running towards me is a bit of a clue though. I try to go down on the screen for him to get grabbed by the zombie hands but I get grabbed instead. I spend a long time trying a lot of things but the solution is simple enough. You have to get behind your grave as soon as you exit it so the vampire falls into it. The difficulty is actually managing that because the pathfinding is quite finicky and the time window very short. After the bandit and the yeti, this is the third time in this game someone falls down while trying to grab me. At least this time I actually had to do something for him to fall, it wasn’t automatic.
The land of Enchantia is full of clumsy runners.
After getting rid of the vampire, I grab what seems to be a mirror or a silver plate on the ground and can finally progress east (after falling in my own grave once or twice and getting grabbed by the hands because of the hit detection). After a few steps, the vampire reappears but stands still this time.
Surprise!
I’ll call the vampire Bob for now on because it seems he won’t go down so easily so he needs to be named and Bob seems like a suitable name for him. So this time, attacking Bob with the shovel works!
Worst vampire ever.
Two more steps and Bob is there again. This time, he is nice enough to let me take all my time in order to pick up the garlic bread and the crucifix lying on the ground.
New theory : Bob just likes getting hurt and he leaves these kinds of items purposefully on the ground.
So now I have a few items to get rid of a vampire : crucifix, garlic bread, mirror. Even the cymbals, fire extinguisher, match and the pen could easily be used. But as we all know now about Enchantia, there is only one way to solve a puzzle. So this time, you have to push the tombstone next to Bob on his foot.
I expect the next encounter to be solved with a 1-ton acme weight.
I can then proceed to the next screen… and you guessed it… Bob is already waiting for me. I think he’s into BDSM or something.
50 shades of vampire.
So how are we gonna hurt Bob this time? Simple enough, I eat the garlic bread and make him smell my breath.
Good thing there is no damsel in distress in this game. My killer breath could have been a problem later.
I grab the vacuum cleaner (probably left there by an overzealous graveyard keeper) and Bob reappears.
He is not even trying anything now. He’s just waiting for me to attack him with something.
Attacking him with the crucifix works this time. Pretty straightforward. Let’s move on.
I am the great Jacinto. Take that!
Going farther east, this time, Bob reappears, badly hidden behind a gravestone, waiting for me. He is a bit late though, because I’m already behind him.
Come on, buddy, you’re not even trying.
I approach him quietly (probably with a sadistic grim) and attack with the cymbals. Turns out this vampire is also sensitive to strong sounds.
Don’t worry. This hurts you more than it hurts me.
Finally, Bob seems to have had enough and he quits his job, leaving the door open.
Come on, Bob, don’t take it like that, we were having fun.
The next screen holds a skeleton, a flower and a strange-looking tree. Very elaborate, especially considering you can’t seem to do anything with any of these objects and that only one of the three obvious exits works.
My guess : a few puzzles had to be cut due to budget or time restrictions. Well I won’t complain. This game has wasted enough of my time already.
So I go into the only walkable exit northeast and arrive in front of a gate with fire-spewing gargoyles. Maybe it’s finally time to use my fire extinguisher? Nope. You just have to walk to the gate and push it.
I certainly hope this security system didn’t cost them too much…
I arrive in front of what can only be the enchantress’ castle and enter by the front gate. So I’m guessing the whole security of the castle was based on a single pain-loving vampire and two useless fire-breathing gargoyles. I kinda wonder why the enchantress hasn’t been overthrown by the people earlier.
Once you realise the monstrous door looks like it wears a small red hat, the whole thing feels more festive than intimidating.
I pass the empty hall of the castle and enter an empty room with a fireplace in which I find a lonely golden ring on the ground.
The only interactive item in this room. Seems like a waste.
Trying to climb the stairs in the hall leads to a kinda funny slapstick moment where the stairs give way and Brad falls down face first.
Well funny except for Brad who is now completely toothless.
The door on the right leads to a library. Only one book is interactive. I try picking it up but it doesn’t work. Turns out you have to push/pull it because, as in all good castle libraries, it opens a secret passage.
I think the book in question is “Adventure game programming for dummies”
And the secret passage leads to… the enchantress’ laboratory. This is it. The final showdown. The battle for control over Enchantia. The ultimate fight for my freedom.
Hey you look eerily like your sister in the ice cave, don’t you?
So the fight goes as this : the enchantress prepares a spell and you have a few seconds to react before she kills/stun you and you can try again. Her first attack is a ghost she sends toward you.
‘Tis but a flesh wound
Considering you’re locked in your spot and your only options are using all your inventory items, the whole ordeal is pretty straightforward and relies mostly on trial and error. For now, attacking with the vacuum cleaner works on the ghost.
Who you gonna call?
For her next attack, the enchantress evokes fireballs so the fire extinguisher seems to be the obvious choice. It stumped me a little because you have to PUSH the extinguisher, not ATTACK with it.
Here, cool off.
She then switches to direct fire blasts in your face which are surprisingly fast. You need to attack with the electric fan to send the blast back to her.
Magic can’t do anything against a good electric appliance.
The enchantress collapses and you need to put the ring on her finger (well let’s say you need to COMBINE the ring with the enchantress). Why? At this point I confess I’m just trying anything on anything and not searching for any kind of justification. I’m guessing the ring that was just lying on the floor three screens back was the ultimate weapon against the witch. Kind of another big oversight in the overall security, don’t you think?
Now that the witch is done for, I can quietly turn super-saiyan.
And with that done, we are teleported back to the baseball field and are granted a fabulous end screen with Brad doing his victory jump, fist first and smiling at the camera, like the hero of some kind of very bad 80’s baseball underdog movie.
Oh, and Shadow of the Beast wants its font back.
And that’s it! Yay! I can’t help but feel the whole ending sequence has been drastically cut, probably because someone at Core Design felt the whole creating process had been long enough (and probably cutting back on beta-testing as well). Then again, considering the difficulty of some of the other parts of the game, I really can’t complain. The ending sequence is straightforward and could even have been fun (despite its simplicity) if my hatred for the game hadn’t been so high at this point.
I’m not sure the lads gave enough criticism.
For a bit of fun I looked over Let’s play on the net and I found one narrated by none other than Yahtzee Croshaw (of Zero Punctuation fame). Here is a link to it. It’s as funny as usual (if you don’t know his work, I really urge you to look into it, the guy is hilarious) and he comments on a lot of similar points we did (notably concerning the blu-tack for example).
So now, all I have left to do is crush the game with all the might of the PISSED system (which probably never wore its name more accordingly), but in the meantime I have a few questions, I don’t know if anyone can answer but I need to ask them anyway.
Why did I finish the game with 92% completion? Maybe I missed a fantastic optional area with exceptional puzzles? Yeah, probably not.
What were the use of the silver plate, the pen and the piece of meat?
Why didn’t I do anything in the village inn? Seems like a lot of work for an area with absolutely no purpose.
Why am I still asking questions about this game while all I want to do is drink my sorrows away and go play an actual good adventure game?
Thank you all, folks for your support during this ordeal. I couldn’t have done it without you. See you next week for the final rating!
Session time : 1 hour Final total time : 9 hours 30 minutes (way too long) Items that never found a purpose : Piece of meat, match, silver plate, pen Final score : 441 Percentage complete : 92% (why???)
source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/curse-of-enchantia-won/
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