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captainsimagines · 3 years ago

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dreaming in june || eight

Summary: At the request of an old friend who now happens to be the new Captain America, you move to a place that only vaguely feels peaceful, to secretly protect his best friend. There you meet Bucky Barnes, your next door neighbor, who has also lived countless lives, seen a lot of things, and lost the one he loved. You have more in common than you thought.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) POC Enhanced Reader

Based on the Song(s): Heat Waves by Glass Animals and iann dior ; Coney Island by Taylor Swift and The National

Series / AO3 Link / Playlist

(8/15)

Warnings: discussions about cults; mention of blood; mention of past character deaths; strong language; canon-typical violence; angsty angst

Word Count: 3,300+

Author’s Note: Sorry about the late update. For some reason, I just couldn’t organize the scenes in my head... I always break my heart a little more each time I write about Stucky. I’ll never get over it. This is my therapy. Fuuuuck. xxMoni

“You’re capable of being protective without strings attached.”

1945

Bucky thinks his heart is about to pound out of his chest.

It’s loud enough that he can feel the thuds against his eardrums—everyone across the street probably hears it. But no matter what he does, that constant and violent throb does not lessen.

He loves her.

Steve Rogers loves Peggy Carter.

Bucky stabs the heels of his palm into his eyes, rubbing violently until the black haze starts to give him a headache. Maybe that’s exactly what he needs—a massive headache to knock him on his ass and to sleep.

He’s already thrown-up once. It was the first thing he did when he ran, tumbling, into his and Steve’s shared room for the night. It was straight bile—colorless and acidic. Bucky hasn’t eaten much these past few weeks, but he doesn’t feel all that hungry. He ends up giving half his meal to Dum-Dum, who happily accepts it.

But now Bucky wishes he did have something sustainable in his stomach, because the taste of pure acid hurts a little too much.

He sits at the edge of the bed, head in his hands, and heart back in Brooklyn.

He knows he can’t tell Steve. Steve is Captain America now, and Captain America can’t be a… Fuck, Bucky doesn’t even want to say it. Because if he uses the insult then he’s basically insulting himself and what good will that do? Steve Rogers loves Peggy Carter, and Bucky Barnes has never wanted to be invisible more than he does right now. If no one could see him, he could venture into the world with tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, trembling hands and crumbling shoulders.

Steve will be back soon. And Bucky will have to act as if everything’s alright. He’ll have to endure Steve’s blabbering about Peggy, and pretend like he doesn’t want to carve his own heart out and lay it at Steve’s feet.

Everyone has told him that he’s good at lying.

Did that hurt, Barnes? Liar, you’re holding in your screams.

You buzzed yet, Barnes? Liar, you’re red in the cheeks!

You fuck that French girl, Barnes? Liar, you’re a dog and everyone knows it.

Bucky doesn’t lie—he’s just good at manipulating the truth.

The moment the key jiggles the doorknob, Bucky starts to full-blown panic. He needs a couple more seconds, a couple more minutes. Steve can’t see him like this—he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“Buck?”

Bucky hides his face in his palms and ducks forward so he curls into himself, forehead resting on his knees and chest shielded. He tries to stop moving but his hyperventilating is sending him forward with each sharp inhale.

“Bucky, look at me. Please, Bucky. What’s going on?”

Bucky doesn’t want to look up. He doesn’t want to see that beautiful blue that’s no longer just his. It’s his favorite color. He has to share now. The ocean just isn’t big enough for three.

“Please look at me. Bucky, I’m beggin’.”

‘Don’t beg me,’ Bucky wants to say. ‘I’d give you everything.’

Then the unexpected happens. Bucky’s being lifted, tugged into a warm chest with arms wrapped around his shaking shoulders and soothing words in his ear. During the Brooklyn winters, Bucky had always been the one to hold Steve and fight away the colds. When quilts wouldn’t work, he’d wrap himself behind Steve and pray that his body didn’t act on its own, that Bucky didn’t indulge a little too much. Bucky hated winters because Steve always got sick. But Bucky loved winters because he was afforded the chance of learning the curve of Steve’s spine.

The roles are reversed and Bucky didn’t realize until now that it’s a wonderful thing to be held. To be molded into a safe space.

“Is it about the mission tomorrow?”

Don’t lie. Manipulate the truth.

“I don’t like trains.” And it’s the truth. Cars, planes, boats, bikes—Bucky will take any of those over trains. There’s something about the loud rattle and unsteady turns that makes him completely unsettled. Like the tracks will start splitting off one by one, and the godforsaken train will never meet the end of the line.

“But why are you—?”

Go on, Bucky thinks. Ask me why I’m blubbering like a fucking baby.

“I’m just tired. Overwhelmed.” Again, not exactly a lie. All the crying has made him tired, and his new revelation has him overwhelmed.

“Buck… I’m worried about you.”

Bucky clutches the front of Steve’s sweater. He hasn’t been out of his uniform all that often, so the feel of soft fabric has Bucky gripping it in pure thankfulness.

“You don’t have to be worried about me.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I will always worry about you. Where you are, where you’ve been, where you’re going. I will worry myself off the ends of the earth if it meant knowing you’re okay.”

Bucky loses all inhibitions, and turns his cheek to Steve’s hard chest. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks, ‘I know that you care. But stop giving me hope that you care just a little too much.’

“I’m tired,” Bucky admits, completely choosing to ignore Steve’s earlier admission. What good will it do for his never-ending breaking heart?

“Me too.”

“No. I mean, I’m really tired.”

He feels Steve’s sigh flutter the short curls at the top of his head. “You and me, Buck? We’ll be tired together. Always have been, always will be.”

Steve holds him all night until their mental alarm clocks wake them at the same time. They untangle the same way they always have, with no words exchanged but with obvious hesitation. Their uniforms are shrugged on, the briefings fly by, and soon they’re standing over the Austrian Alps, overlooking those dreaded train tracks.

“You remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

2024

It happens at three in the morning a week later.

You have been woken by air raids, military invasions, coups, soft words, and kisses. Each time, you’ve either tumbled out of bed or clutched the pillows harder. This time, however, you fall onto the hardwood floor with a big thud.

A brick has been thrown through your window. That’s a first.

The scream you let out is involuntary—well, who wouldn’t yell from glass shattering in their bedroom and tree branches spiraling in all directions to try and shield you?

You’re struggling in a jungle of branches when your bedroom door is kicked open.

“Shortcake!”

“Oh, this is weird!” you laugh, struggling on the floor. The branches cradle you like you’re a child. “I’m good, you can get off me!”

Branches are forcibly ripped away. The faint screams are loud in your ears, and for the first time in a long time, you’re feeling their pain. “Stop, stop!” You catch a glimpse of Bucky through a patch, his face furious yet tainted with worry. He’s pulling as hard as he can as Sam leans out the window, looking down into the street.

“James, stop! Stop!”

But he can’t hear you. His ears are clogged with cotton, his hands acting on their own accord. He pulls and tugs but the branches keep replacing themselves, curling around you protectively. Your pajama shirt reads “New York”, plain and simple. Bucky focuses on that as he rushes.

“Bucky, stop! You’re hurting me!”

Sam is there quickly, risking himself as he crowds behind Bucky, pulling his arms and falling backward. Bucky lands on top of him in a messy pile of legs and grunts. Bucky’s breathing is sporadic, uneven and rugged. His chest heaves in what looks like painful bursts as Sam struggles to hold him down.

Then it hits him—He was hurting you.

But he never touched you. How… How?

“I’m sorry,” Bucky pleads, voice cracking. “I’m sorry!”

The branches have tamed, but they’re still wrapping you in a protective cocoon. Slowly, their top layers heal and stretch, snapped branches curling and leaves turning green again.

Never have you felt nature’s pain when someone else was causing it. You’ve always heard their wails, but never felt their pain actually slice through your skin and indent your bones. It was like Bucky was snapping the twigs off your own body, ripping the flesh. Like those twigs were your ribs.

“It’s okay,” you quickly say, crawling out from the mess of wood. “I’m okay.”

Bucky starts to hyperventilate. How? What?

“Look at me,” you say, crawling over to him. Sam lets him go when Bucky tries to forcibly get away, this time in the direction of the bedroom door. “James!”

He’s out of your apartment faster than it takes you to stand up. Sam holds your arm back when you attempt to go after him. Instead, he gently shakes his head and mumbles, “Give him a minute.”

The branches slowly creep back outside your window, dragging along broken glass and wood from the frame. Sam watches them in fascination, albeit a little freaked out, but.

“They couldn’t have caught the brick before it shattered the fuck outta your window?”

A laugh bubbles in your throat. “I think they were equally as surprised as me.”

Sam huffs and rubs his eyes. You take him in for the first time since he kicked open your bedroom door. He’s in boxers and a random sweater that’s unevenly zipped up, almost like the zipper broke halfway. His eyes are a little swollen and he’s barefoot. You guide him to the other side of your bed and away from the glass.

Sam bends and picks up the brick, turning it over in his hand. “Turn on the light. There’s writing here.”

You shuffle across the hardwood in your equally bare feet and flick the light-switch. Sam squints before he starts reading. “‘The way of the witch, and the chu—’ Nope. I’m not reciting this shit out loud. Sounds like a spell. I ain’t reading that shit out loud.”

You roll your eyes and take the brick from his outstretched hand.

“Spells don’t work if you don’t have the magic to back it up,” you explain. You look at the writing before drawing a different conclusion. “It’s a poem, not a spell.”

“Both shit rhyme, don’t they?”

You recite the writing that’s not written, but carved. It was done poorly, but the words are eligible.

“The way of the witch,

And the churn of her blood

Shall open new portals

And summon the flood.”

“The fuck…” Sam mumbles.

“Portals? Flood?” You’re not asking anyone in particular, not even Sam. He wouldn’t have an answer for you anyway. “What is this? Some biblical, multiverse disaster?”

“Is it calling you a witch?”

“I’m not a witch.”

“You do freaky shit with your hands and things move. What would you call that?”

“...Gifted.”

“Fuck outta here.”

“Sam,” you grumble, rubbing your eye with the meatier part of your palm. “I’m going to have to get in touch with Druig again.”

Sam drops his shoulders forward, the last tendrils of sleepiness evaporating from his foggy mind. “I’ll call Bruce and Thor.”

“James…”

“Go away.”

You sigh heavily, resting your forehead against his closed bedroom door. Alpine circles your feet and meows quietly, asking to be let in. “James, Alpine wants to be with you. Can I at least open the door for that?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but you do hear the sheets shuffle slightly. Straining your ears, you wait patiently until Bucky mumbles a quick “fine” under his breath. You turn the knob and push the door open, wait for Alpine to shimmy through, then shut it again. The bed creaks a couple times then everything silences.

“Did you seriously just let the damn cat in and not come in yourself?”

“You told me to go away. I figured I’d continue to negotiate my way in.”

Bucky hides his face in a pillow, ignoring the way Alpine crawls over the expanse of his back. He sighs heavily when he hears you clear your throat outside his door. He wants to see you, don’t get him wrong, but what the fuck is he supposed to do after hurting you like that? He’s never laid a hand on you that wasn’t friendly, and the one time he “saved” you, he hurt you.

But you’re not leaving, and Bucky hears you cracking your knuckles absentmindedly, and by the fourth crack he gives up. “Fine, come in.”

The door opens slowly.

He’s seen you in all your morning glory, with hair tousled and eyes a little bit swollen, lips a tad paler than the color they usually turn by mid-afternoon, with crumpled pajamas and unsocked feet. But here you are at three in the morning, eyes a little bit more swollen but skin lively, your pajamas still unruined and your feet covered. Bucky thinks you might have a habit of dragging your socks off in your sleep.

You cautiously sit at the edge of his bed, petting Alpine as she passes by your thighs. You stare at Bucky’s broad shoulders, watching as they rise gently with each tiny inhale.

“Please look at me.”

He wants to. God, he wants to. But there’s this gnawing feeling in the middle of his chest that’s causing his head to feel heavy and his mouth to dry.

“You weren’t hurting me. You didn’t know.”

“I used to hurt a lot of people and not know it.”

You wince, looking away. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You weigh your options. You could leave him here to overthink the entire situation until you and Sam give him the details in the morning. Or, you can ease him into conversation and try to reassure him that he doesn’t have to blame himself. Why did it hurt you at all? You don’t know. But your protectors were scared and the act of being forcibly pulled away from you emitted their fear and pain straight into you.

In the end, you decide to leave Bucky. Your presence doesn’t seem to make him feel better at all. You stand to leave, barely on your feet, when Bucky snaps his arm out and grabs your wrist, pulling you to him. You stumble and topple back onto his bed, right next to him, your back to his chest. Bucky holds you to him as if you dared to slip away again, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck. You freeze, completely baffled, eyes wide.

A minute passes before you finally release a long breath, relaxing in his hold.

It doesn’t feel wrong. You’ve known Bucky Barnes for several months, have seen him at his worst, have washed his hair and cooked him breakfast, and boxed his dinners, and everything else. The only times he’s actually touched you was during his breakdowns, or when he was shaking your hand. A week before he had held your hand at the top of the ferris wheel.

It doesn’t feel wrong to be wrapped up in Bucky Barnes.

You lay your palm over the arm he has wrapped around your torso, flesh against flesh, and rub the pads of your fingers against him gently. Bucky’s breath hitches; his grip tightens.

Something swells in your chest, behind your sternum, awakening after centuries. Your lip wobbles as you desperately try to squash it, but Bucky mutters four words that sink you further, to the depths of this outrageous ache.

“You smell like jasmine.”

“You’re not going to believe me.”

Everyone narrows their eyes at Druig. He looks nervous, and Druig is never nervous. Most of the time he can get answers anywhere, and those answers always come with solutions. But he looks at you with a glint of worry in his eyes, and a crease between his brow.

“Try us.”

“Princess…” he starts, hesitantly stepping forward. “When you killed Graciano, how exactly did you do it?”

“I used his own arrow.”

“After he had already shot you?”

“Yes.”

Druig clears his throat. He looks around the room at Bucky, Sam, and Bruce. Thor didn’t attend this meeting, which seems foolish for what Druig says next. “There are records dating back four hundred years. Records of immortal beings.”

“Let me guess. These records aren’t about your friends,” you say. You’ve heard stories about vampires and werewolves, about witches who found the fountain of youth, about human beings who made a deal with the Devil. You’ve met the other Eternals and seen their never-aging faces as well. But there’s a timidness in Druig’s voice that you haven’t heard since he told you the Spanish were close to your borders.

“‘The way of the witch’. They thought you a witch, no?”

“You assured me I wasn’t.”

“I’m not calling you a witch. But Graciano’s men believed you were.”

“Sure.”

“‘The churn of her blood’. They must have discovered the healing properties in your blood. It could explain why I never found Graciano’s body when I came back for you. Your blood healed his wound.”

You scoff, curling in on yourself. Bucky moves to wrap an arm around your shoulders, his thumb gently smoothing over your collarbone. “Don’t fucking tell me that man can still be alive.”

Druig shakes his head quickly, eyes wide. “No. I can promise you he isn’t.” Then, his lips curl into a satisfied smile. “1692, Salem. Men were accused and killed also.”

They killed supposed witches in the worst and most idiotic ways possible. Tying weights to their feet to see if they floated back up, only to discover that they had drowned. Witches don’t drown. They crushed people with slabs of rock because witches supposedly had lungs of steel and super strength. They discovered this wasn’t the case, and had to turn to newer methods. Poison, perfect recitation of the Bible, pricking of the skin to see if one felt pain or bled, even the appearance of a birthmark, mole, or skin condition could give someone away.

But most of the time, the accused were hanged. You assume that’s what you Graciano was subjected to. “...Hanging works?”

“No. Neither did drowning. He died in the most popular way you would kill a witch.”

Hanging, no? What else could be the most pop—Fire.

“That man lived for almost two hundred years after he killed my people?” you ask, suddenly angry. Your blood kept him alive and he continued his reign of terror on innocents? Were you to blame? Your blood really had this power?

“He created a cult,” Druig finally explains. The room is silent again, mouths parted in surprise and confusion. Bruce fumbles his pen, not bothering to pick it up when it drops to the floor.

Sam blinks a few times, like he’s trying to clear his vision. Then, he sighs, “There was nothing in the Captain America job description that mentioned cults.”

“What the fuck does this have to do with the brick through my girl’s window, Druig?” Bucky persists, pulling you closer into his chest. You don’t think he knows he’s doing it. Or that he just called you his girl.

“The final two verses of that poem. ‘Shall open new portals, and summon the flood.’ There is no doubt in my mind that they have discovered where their creator gained his powers.”

“I’m a walking target for an immortal cult?” Sure, because why not? How did it take them all these years to find you? And why would Graciano share your name and background with people if he hated you so much? Telling others that you were the one who ultimately gave him that power defeats the purpose of trying to erase your name, your people, and your lineage. He must have started noticing that he wasn’t aging or getting sick as often as he once was ten to fifteen years after. Somewhere down the line he realized his blood, now mixed with yours, held similar powers in creating immortal beings.

All these questions shoot around your head, begging to be uttered and answered. But Druig hasn’t continued, so you suspect he’s done.

“I would suggest that you never donate blood.” You glare at Bruce.

“Makkari knows where they convene.”

“Great, make it scarier,” Sam mumbles, scratching his forearms. He’s cringing non-stop.

“What do you expect to do, Druig? Kill them?”

Druig shrugs, unmoved. “If they honor Graciano, why the fuck not?”

“Where do they meet up?” Bucky asks.

“The one place on Earth where the ground speaks and caves hold secrets. Where the tides are both gentle and erratic, and the sky is rarely ever blue.”

“Man, if you don’t—” Sam warns, but you interrupt him.

“Iceland.”

Druig nods, smiling a little. “I hear the National Museum of Iceland is expanding some exhibits. They want to be more diverse. Guess what museum is lending some of their Mesoamerican finds for the next six months?”

Oxford University. He doesn’t need to tell you for you to just know.

Bucky knocks on the office door, peeking inside when he hears Berenice mumble a quiet ‘come in’. She looks up, then down, then snaps her head back up. She grins, even as her brow furrows.

“Bucky? We don’t have a session scheduled until tomorrow.”

“I know. But I feel like I owe it to you to tell you that I won’t be able to make it.”

“Oh? Is everything okay?” she asks, worried, but her attention is immediately stolen to the middle of Bucky’s jacket. “Oh, a friend!” Berenice reaches forward hesitantly to pat Alpine’s head. Bucky nods his approval and watches Alpine warm up to her.

“No,” Bucky answers truthfully. “I’m not in trouble. Jasmine is.”

Berenice blushes, ducking her head as she knowingly smirks. “Her name is Jasmine today?”

“She’s too special to be one flower.”

“She hasn’t asked you to call her by her real name?” Berenice asks. Calling someone by the name they first suggested is a sign of respect—that’s why Bucky was so grateful Berenice called him Bucky instead of James. But you have never told him otherwise, and you have never corrected Sam either. He locks that question in the back of his head, though.

“She’s never… But I’ll ask her.”

Berenice nods and boops Alpine’s nose before she walks back to her desk. Bucky enjoys how chaotic her office is. Sessions aren’t held here, obviously, and it’s the first time he’s seen it. It’s nice to know that Berenice manufactures the session office to something she isn’t—tidy. Seeing her desk full of papers and her trashcan full of crumpled notes gives him that extra good feeling about her.

“Why aren’t you coming by tomorrow, Bucky?”

“Sam and I are leaving the country. With her. She’s searching for answers and we volunteered to help.”

Berenice shrugs, like it makes total sense. “Well, of course. That’s what friends do.”

“You don’t think I’m being too protective?”

“Why would I think that?” There’s a deep crease in between her eyebrows. She looks offended, but Bucky knows she’s actually just curious.

“Nothing.” Bucky sighs and moves to pet Alpine. She purrs gently underneath his metal thumb. “My old therapist said that I didn’t have to be protective about things. She thought I was overcompensating. Like, helping others was because I wanted to be on that person’s good side. Or to make up for the countless bad things I did.”

Berenice gives him a sad smile. “What kind of therapist did the U.S government assign you, kid?”

Bucky chuckles and rolls his eyes. He’s older than her, technically. But if they’re going by age in general, she’s barely thirty and he’s in the middle. She’s younger. “A bad one, apparently.”

“Bucky,” Berenice says, rubbing at her collarbones. She leans back in her chair as she collects her thoughts. “If you do a good thing, I promise you it’s not because you owe it to someone or something. You’re protective because you’re Bucky Barnes. You don’t have to prove it to me, or to your friends, or even to yourself that you’re capable of being protective without strings attached.”

Bucky swallows, staring down at the top of Alpine’s head. “We’ll be in Iceland.”

“Ooo, I’ve always wanted to visit.”

“I’ll bring back a souvenir.”

Berenice rocks back and forth in her chair, staring at Bucky expectedly.

“I told you my location just in case something happens and we can’t reach anyone else. And because you’re obligated to keep my secrets to yourself.”

Berenice smiles. “Yeah, our session secrets. Is this an impromptu session?”

“Now it is.”

“Well,” Berenice says, then clears her throat. “I think we have… a little time left. Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

Bucky hesitates, but figures it’s now or never. He zips his jacket up a little further, watching Alpine’s head, and sits in one of the chairs in front of her desk. He breathes in slowly, avoiding eye contact.

“I haven’t felt this way about anyone since Steve, and it feels like I’m betraying him.”

Berenice spreads her lips in a thin line. “You feel you’re betraying the man who betrayed you?”

Bucky shakes his head rapidly. “Steve didn’t betray me.”

No. No, no, no.

“Okay,” Berenice says. “You feel you’re betraying the man who left you?”

“That doesn’t sound any better.”

“I know it doesn’t.”

Steve betraying him? Steve Rogers would never betray Bucky Barnes. He became Captain America for Bucky. He rescued the 107th for Bucky. He hunted Hydra for Bucky. He dropped the shield, twice, for Bucky. He introduced Sam to Bucky, for Bucky.

But what exactly is the definition of betrayal? Being unfaithful to a friend and dishonoring that trust. It’s something Bucky’s thought a lot about. Did Steve, after everything, end up betraying his best friend? Are so many good deeds enough to cover up one instance of bad?

“Steve chose Peggy Carter,” Berenice states, watching Bucky’s eyes slowly close. Still, she continues. “He lived his life the way he chose. If Steve Rogers was allowed to do that, then you’re allowed to, too.”

“Why does it feel so wrong?”

“It might feel like that right now,” Berenice admits. “That’s valid. But just you wait, Bucky… Soon you’ll cut that invisible string and live anew.”

TAGLIST: @cloudyfeel @howlermonkey69 @wintersgirl1917 @aquariusbarnes @fandoms-writings @shirukitsune @goldylions @real-jane @mannien @sentimental-for-maneskin @dezthegeek @avengershoney @ginger-swag-rapunzel @natbarnes1917

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #reader x bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #dreaming in june #dreaming in june series #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #captainsimagines #by Moni #part eight

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basementwiveswritingchallenge · 3 years ago

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Basement Wives Writing Challenge

It’s everyone’s new favourite trope: basement wife. We want to see your take on it, from soft!dark to pitch black, come join your fellow sister wives in our commune.

Brought to you by@angrythingstarlight @sweetlyscared @river-soul and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

What’s a basement wife?

A wife kept in one’s basement to meet all the needs of whoever put them there. They can either be married in spirit or in contract and often, the arrangement is not by choice. (Also, it doesn't have to be basement if you'd rather an attic, we encourage creativity.)

What’s the challenge?

It’s not really a challenge, more having some fun. We have some prompts below and you can use one or more in a single piece, write each as a part of a series, mix and match, and you don’t need to claim any.

We are accepting MCU characters and MCU adjacent characters (meaning actors from the MCU in other roles). As well, we will accept DC characters too!

All you need to do, is tag #basementwife, link this post, and attach the proper warnings to your drabble/fic/whatever. No incest, no underage, no bestiality. Fics will be kept on a collective masterlist on this blog but will be shared also on the respective pages of admins.

Below the cut, you will find a variety of prompts. You DO NOT need to choose one from each, we simply wanted to offer lots of choices to inspire ideas! You also don't need to claim a prompt :) and this is an open challenge so there is no due date!

Prompts:

Scenes:

Married at first sight

First night

Bath time

Punishment

Attempted escape

Apology

Date night

Gift giving

Telling a secret

A special meal

Surprise! You’re pregnant.

Hide and Seek

Dialogue:

“What else could you want but me, sweetie?”

“Forgiveness is easy if you know how to say sorry.”

“Please don’t leave me down here.”

“I have a surprise!”

“You think anyone can hear you down here?”

“I chose you. You’re special.”

“Good girls don’t cry.”

“You had nothing before me. You were nothing.”

“Put this on.”

“You can tell me the truth or I can get it out of you.”

“I got something sweet for you, doll.”

“You think you can be happy without me? Show me then.”

“I’m not asking anymore.”

“Haven’t I been good to you?”

“You look good in white.”

“A whole year, can you believe it?”

“You don’t wanna talk? Fine.”

“What did I say about touching?”

“I wasn’t mad before, sweetheart, but now you’ve gone and done it.”

“Tell me you love me. Tell me!”

“This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

"If you don't want me, why are you so wet?"

“I’m sorry [term of endearment], but you need to learn.”

"You said you wanted company? Why don't you make our guest feel at home?"

"Shh [term of endearment] you're safe now."

“I did it all for you!”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“Beg for me.”

“Now we have all the time in the world to get to know each other.”

“Trust me, it could be worse, darling.”

Situations:

Using a plastic spoon to defend yourself

Getting your bed taken away and earning it back

Smiling for the camera

A sensual massage after a long day

Earning a trip outside the basement

Playing a game of cards with a naughty twist

Having fun with icing

Stroll through the woods

Tournament

The other room (the only place worse than the basement)

Miscellaneous Prompts (kinks, trope, AUS):

Cult AU

Sister Wives

Handmaid’s Tale AU

Mafia AU

Voyeurism kink

Knife kink

Role-playing

Primal kink

Bomb shelter

Apocalypse AU

Cage/Collar

Praise/Punishment

List of rules

Breeding kink

Dark web

1950s Suburbia

Cabin in the Woods

Conditioning/Brainwashing

Serial Killer AU

Bondage

Image Prompts (link)

#writing challenge #basement wife #basementwife #writing #mcu #dark fics #fics #open challenge

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l3vi4than · 6 months ago

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Okay, I’ve had enough of that “men evil” nonsense spilled at me lately so want to share two things here in case someone might find it helpful:

1) never try to reason an “all men must die” person with “not all men”/“but trans men” and other such arguments. The “not all men” is a big meme there and will be actively used against you to dehumanise you to the point of irredeemable man-supporter who “must die as well”

2) as prev said for the most part these people really aren’t feminists in the slightest. They just love to have a “legitimate” reasoning behind their uncontrollable hatred tornadoes. They act from the same point of devouring fear that makes people support other fascist ideologies. You can’t argue with them with reason, only emotion — and their emotions are probably much stronger than you think (which makes it really hard to sustain a conversation)

I am really surprised this hasn’t been said before, but here are also a few advices for the critical thinking part that can help you avoid ill-intended debates and preserve your mental health:

If you notice someone is trying to radicalise you against anything — they are most probably trying to manipulate you, withdraw from the discussion if it makes you uncomfortable until further clarification is given

The vast generalisations are almost always false premises used to justify violent message behind them. Don’t trust generalisations without statistical evidence behind them

The false dichotomy “us vs them” is always a red flag. I beg you, please, “uniting against the common enemy” is the most well known manipulative shit ever, it only leads to dehumanisation of “them”. We’re all humans in the same proportion, nobody is “more human” and there’s no way to make this argument acceptable with fancy words

Another red flag is when the Pavlov’s dog reflex is trained via indirect aggression. “Everyone says that trans women are evil” -> “I too must not support or have compassion to trans women because how can I support something evil???” It is difficult to notice, but pay attention to the phrases structured as “as always some X has done Y”/“another tragedy:…”/“why can’t X just be normal about Y?”/“you only care about X because you’re Y”/“this is different or a special case”/etc — these are rarely mirroring speaker’s opinion, instead they are translating the pattern they’ve appropriated and are now reusing to prove the initial point (like “all men are evil”) The funny example from my recent experience: “all penis-havers are evil and must die; gays don’t count tho they’re built differently” 💀

If you’re curious, I’d recommend reading Amanda Montell’s book “Cultish” — it covers pretty well the language of indoctrination and manipulative gaslighting. She describes how cult leaders hook people into their “beliefs”, but also provides curious examples from politics and culture. It’s really one of the best introductions into the critical thinking without actually being one of those, so I highly recommend

Anyway. As a cis man, im extremely happy to see this post happening. I’m in no position to engage in a discussion here probably, but I just want to say that there are much more (cis) men who support feminist ideas and activism than it is commonly thought there are. And tbh, I think it’s great, the more people are engaging in (real) activism, the sooner our world will become a better place for all of us 💖 baby steps!

Last, but not least, im so heartbroken to find out about transmascs experiencing this “anti men” shit as well (TIL). Because even within the terf logic itself it just doesn’t make any sense, lmao. To me all this “all men are inherently X” sounds exactly the same as “if you’re attracted to buff girls you’re gay” shit 💀 like wtf?! Be strong, my brothers, being pushed into a frame of ridiculous and contradictory expectations is part of “being a man” — which is sad, and you shouldn’t have to deal with this shit (as nobody should), im sorry 🫂

sorry since realizing my gender i have zero tolerance for the whole “man hating” angle of being queer i hate i hate it i hate you. stop. you are hurting people.

#sorry this got emotional #but look shit all you want on me #but don’t touch our trans masc boys okay #don’t you dare be mean to boys 🔪

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theghostofblackbunnymask · 3 years ago

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Welcome To The Bunny Cult Writing Event!

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What's The Bunny Cult Writing Event?

The Bunny Cult Writing Event is celebration of Black Bunny Mask (Also known as Ghost/Bell) hitting 400+ followers!

What's In The Event?

This event will allow Yandere DSMP writers to write from one of the many AUs and Prompts.

How Can I Join The Event?

You'll have to tell me in my inbox (Not as a anom) and tell me which AU/Prompt you'll be doing and which characters will be in the story.

And once the story is finished you have to tag me so I can add you to the list of people who participated

Will There Be Winners?

Nope! This is mainly for fun for people in the Yandere DSMP community and the DSMP community in general. You can be competitive with your friends if you want to though.

Rules

1: You can't do a prompt someone else already took

2: If you don't want to be in the event anymore, please DM me in my inbox so I can take you take you off of the list

3: NO SMUT (Smut can be implied, but not full on smut, and can only be done with people who are ok with smut) OR PREGNANT READERS

4:Don't be toxic or bring in drama, this is all for fun and I don't want negativity during this celebration

5:Please don't make fun of others writings or grammar.

6:Polyamorous relationships are allowed and encourages

7: No yandere Philza

8: AUs are reusable, if someone chose the Purge AU you can still do it

AUs

Royalty AU

High School AU

Mafia AU

Cult AU

God AU

College AU

Boy/Girl Band AU

Fantasy AU

Murder Mystery AU

Apocalypse AU

Coffee Shop AU

Angel and Demons AU

Dystopian AU

Sea Creatures AU

Mythology AU

Pirate AU

Medieval AU

Purge AU

Aggresive/Harsh Prompts

The ones below are by @dearyscribbles

•"You act like you hold any control over me. If you try to run, I'll make sure the only way you'll be able to eat is through a feeding tube"

•"What? What will you do help them? Beg me not to go? Scream at me to leave them alone? Fight me? The best thing you can do is behave, just like the pathetic bitch you are"

•"You know, maybe, just maybe, if you LISTENED to me, maybe we would've have to go through this. Maybe I wouldn't have to come home so bloody, maybe your friends would still be alive. It's all up to you, and you still manage to fuck everything up"

•"What are you crying for, GOD I can't stand when you do this. Why are you upset, huh? Because you looked at someone else when I told you not to? Because you broke the rules, and now you have to face the consequences of your own actions?"

•"YOU wouldn't have ANYTHING without me. Not this house, not the food, the clothes off your back, hell, not even that damn phone you're threatening me with. Do you want me to show you how good you have it? Maybe it's time I start playing the bad guy you think I am" Taken by @bookoffandoms

The ones below are by @animeyanderelover

“Do you want me to break your legs or lock you in a cage to prevent you from running away?”

“One more chance! I’m giving you one more chance to fucking stop resisting!”

“I can end all of your pain. You just have to say these three words.”

“If you don’t kiss me back, I’ll slit someone’s throat.” Done by @grrrrr-dsmp

“Listen, I’m giving you two choices. Either you start eating willingly or I’ll force you. There’s no way I’m letting you starve yourself to death.”

"You can’t find your clothes? That’s a shame. But you can wear mine. They look better on you anyways.”

70. “Hearing you say that makes me want to fuck you so badly.”

71. “Your body, your heart, your soul. It all belongs to me." Taken by @god1ngs

Soft/Toxic Comfort Prompts

“You think you’re ugly? Who told you so? Tell me so I can give them an agonizing death for making you think that. And after I’m finished with them, I’m going to worship you in bed until you see how beautiful you really are.”

“Please stop crying. You make me feel even worse. But you need to understand, if I wouldn’t have chained you to the bed, you would have tried to run away again.”

"Babe…! Shit! I’m sorry you had to see this, but please believe me! He deserved it! No,no,no, don’t be scared of me. You know I would never harm you.” Taken by @aungel

Desperate/Obsessed Prompts

The ones below are by @animeyanderelover

��Can you at least pretend to love me? Just for tonight?”

“You don’t understand! If you accept me now, I’ll be your slave!”

“Stop giving me that look! Stop looking at me as if I’m a monster!”

“I desire any physical touch with you so please hit me more.”

“What I am doing? I’m punishing myself. Why? Because I upset you earlier.”

“Hate me, scream at me, hit me. Do whatever you want with me, but please stay with me.”

“…You are telling me that I can live with my life without you, but you don’t seem to understand that YOU are my life.”

"You had a nightmare about me? That’s great! That means you think of me even when you dream. Even though I hope your next dream about me will be more pleasant.”

“Use me however you want too. My body is yours.”

Now let the meeting commence...

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years ago

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The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

This is my first time publishing any of my reader insert work so don’t be too hard on me. Y/N is a psych student that needs a favor and asks her therapist for help. Lmk if you want to see more.

It was an unmistakable conflict of interest, your relationship with Hannibal. He was your therapist, your mentor, your partner, and many years your senior to boot. You recognized this monumental power imbalance. You put on a façade of embarrassment for the people who expected it; people whose proclivities were done in the shadows and therefore easier to get away with. Why should you be expected to rationalize your loving, mutually beneficial relationship to a person who regularly cheats on her boyfriend?

You'd dated men your own age before, and without fail, you always found yourself waiting for them to grow up. Hannibal made you feel comfortable. Both emotionally and physically. You had a side of his bed and a spot in his arms to fall asleep in every night. Given the choice, you could truthfully say you'd never want to leave his arms.

Like many unlikely relationships, it didn’t start out in the most romantic of ways. Clutching your laptop under your raincoat, you hesitated knocking. Your therapist had, of course, seen you at your lowest points and was sworn to secrecy, but this was a low you didn’t want even him to see. Standing outside of his home, in the so-incredibly-not-business-hours dead of night with mascara running down your face.

You finally worked up the nerve to knock, telling yourself that he was probably asleep and wouldn’t hear you. This rationalization fell apart when the interior light turned on and the door unlocked. Although you’d been seeing Dr. Lecter for quite a while, his presence never failed to intimidate you. Now it was even worse. His severe expression was fixated on you as he silently awaited an explanation.

“Dr. Lecter...” You lowered your head and fumbled with your computer. You made a point to kiss your last shreds of dignity goodbye before you opened your mouth again. “...could I please borrow a book?”

Dr. Lecter narrowed his eyes. “I take it by the hour, this is an urgent matter, Miss [L/N]?”

“My midterm. It’s due in...” You glanced at your watch. “Eight hours.”

“Well you don’t have a moment to waste, now do you?” Dr. Lecter said, a slight upturn in his voice connoting amusement. “Come in. Let’s find you that book.”

You felt your muscles relax as he stepped aside to let you in. The house was spacious. Much too large for one person. That was really the only thing you could bring yourself to notice before he shut the door behind you.

“Now what is this all-important book of yours called?” He asked, pulling your raincoat from your shoulders like he always did.

“It’s called Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism.” You explained, tucking your computer under your arm. “By Robert Jay Lifton.”

“You’re in luck, Miss [L/N].” His thin lips turned up into a smile. “I have a copy from my own years as a student.”

You breathed an audible sigh of relief. You tensed your muscles and held in your excitement at the prospect of something finally going according to plan, even if that plan was your third or fourth backup.

You followed him into his office, which reminded you more of Belle’s library than any workspace you’d ever encountered. He must have had thousands of books in this room alone.

“It’s a fascinating read, but not one you could finish in eight hours.” Dr. Lecter's voice echoed from somewhere in the office, getting lost in the books. “Even for the most ravenous of psychology students, of which I know you to be.”

"Hardly." You muttered under your breath. "If that were the case, I wouldn't be begging for help at 2am before the final paper is due."

"Procrastination is only human, my dear." He assured you, his voice drawing closer. "It's common in those with deep-rooted insecurities about their competency."

"Now that sounds more like me." You joked, leaning back on your heels. "Should you really be trying to validate my bad habits? I feel like that's counterproductive."

"Scolding you would be more counterproductive." He corrected. "You've been scolded many times before and you continue your bad habits. Only when we get to the root of your behavior can you begin to reverse it."

He emerged from the bookshelves and handed you a beat-up copy of Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism, which you graciously accepted.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Lecter.” You said, placing your hand over your heart. "I owe you my life."

"I'd hardly equate your life to a used book, Miss [L/N]." Dr. Lecter said. "I feel like, as your therapist, we should talk about why you do."

You looked away, smiling sheepishly. "Maybe sometime in daylight. I've taken up enough of your time as it is. I'll get out of your hair now."

"It would take you more time to get back to your dorm that you could use writing." He said, matter-of-factually. "Write your paper in my office."

You looked at him in disbelief. Your judgment was clouded with energy drinks and desperation. So your usual self-sacrificing polite denial was steamrolled by a very enthusiastic acceptance. "I would be forever indebted to you, Dr. Lecter."

"Miss [L/N]," Dr. Lecter cut in. "You're a student, you need to study."

You didn’t really remember a lot of what happened after you wrapped your arms around his waist, too overwhelmed with gratitude to think if an embrace was even appropriate. It was the middle of the night, so you had an excuse if he shoved you off him. But surprisingly, he didn’t.

You broke the embrace and gathered up your book and computer. “Seriously, I owe you big time for this. You’re really saving my life here.”

“Go write your paper, [F/N].” He ordered. “We can discuss why you conflate your academics and your life during our next appointment. For now, make yourself at home.”

And that you did. Dr. Lecter retired back to bed and you spent a solid four hours typing away. An antique grandfather clock kept count for you. When you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, you sent the paper off to your professor, editing be damned. You let sleep compel you, comforted by the fact that you didn't have to think about your paper for at least another week before the grading period was over.

Dr. Lecter’s desk was the most comfortable surface in the world to you that night, because you slept for six hours with only your arms as a pillow. It was the first rest your body had gotten in quite some time. You were gently coaxed awake by the smell of something delicious.

You followed the smell into a kitchen that could rival those of Michelin-starred restaurants. Dr. Lecter was hard at work, cooking something that enticed your nose. He cracked an egg and looked up at you. “Good morning, Miss [L/N].”

“I’m sorry.” You said, shaking your head shamefully.

“For?” He asked, fixing his attention back on his recipe.

“Falling asleep.” You dropped your shoulders.

“I told you to make yourself at home, did I not?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. This time, he sounded like he was actually going to scold you. “Tell me, do you sleep at your desk at home?”

“I try not to.” You answer with a shrug.

“But when you feel yourself falling asleep, you usually put yourself to bed, right?” He continued.

You started to feel a bit stupid. “...yeah.”

He poked at some sausage links in a frying pan, letting out a sizzle. “You could have taken the couch.”

“I guess I was just too sleepy to think of that.” You explained, preparing to be psychoanalyzed no matter what you said.

“No, you were just too polite to push the imagined boundaries of my invitation.” He concluded, busying his hands with plating whatever it was he was making. His tone was comfortingly familiar. “Miss [L/N], don’t sacrifice your comfort for what you think I perceive to be rude. If I found you rude, you’d know it.”

"I'm sorry." You repeated.

"Don't apologize." He said, reaching for the pepper mill. "I know your anxiety disorder makes you feel like you are a burden. I assure you, you are not. I want you to know for next time that the couch is open. Or you could take the guest bedroom."

You stopped yourself before you could apologize again. You momentarily pondered what he had to say before uttering a quiet but convicted "Thank you."

"You're very welcome." Dr. Lecter slid a plate across the table in your direction. "Eat, my dear."

You didn't need to be told twice. You usually didn’t care for sausage, but reconsidered when you took a bite. The meat was so flavorful and rich, a little noise of delight escaped your lips.

Dr. Lecter smiled, your little moan sending his ego through the roof. “You like it?”

“It’s delicious.” You put your fork down, your face flush with embarrassment. “Way better than the food at the dining hall.”

“Miss [L/N],” Dr. Lecter began, putting an extra sausage link on your plate. “If you find yourself in need of psychology texts, I’d be happy to extend my invitation indefinitely.”

You nearly choked on your eggs. “On god?”

“Given that you arrive sometime before midnight and perhaps call ahead, yes.” He answered. “Your studies are your life and breath, after all. You would find yourself very accommodated to here.”

This time, you'd really take him up on his offer.

#hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #reader insert #first fic #its probably crap #an attempt was made

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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After reading your opinion on Molly Weasley, i want to know: What are you're opinions on the Weasley family? Besides Ron & Molly that is.

Five characters? In one post? Well, alright, here we go.

The Weasleys as a Whole

I’ve mentioned this before but JKR writes the Weasleys to clearly be a believable but ideal family. They’re all fiercely loyal, progressive per wizarding world standards, love each other and Harry deeply, and have this wonderful off-kilter joyous house where there’s always some rambunctious thing going on.

Harry comes to associate the Weasleys with family and, personally, I believe a large part of him marrying Ginny boils down to it will make him a Weasley for real.

That said, they’ve got some major issues. They’re very righteous people who, as a whole, will ice you out the moment they even suspect you do something that disagrees with them. You don’t even have to do it, what you did or didn’t do doesn’t even have to be something terrible or something bad, but god help you if the family decides they’re done with you.

They’re very resentful of people like the Malfoys. This isn’t just because Lucius is a smarmy, pompous, ass (he is) or that he indirectly almost murdered Ginny but seems to mostly be because Lucius has so much money. All of their interactions seem to boil down to the money. More than this though, the Weasleys seem fully supportive of laws that... well, used against themselves would be a travesty but used against the likes of the Malfoys it’s about damn time.

They’re unquestioningly loyal to Dumbledore. Granted, most people we see in canon are, Dumbledore’s very very very good at convincing people he’s a saint. However, these guys are practically his cult member to the point where they do things like refuse to have Harry over the summer, even before Voldemort returned, because Dumbledore told them not to.

They also never really adopt Harry into the family. Oh they give him a nice sweater, he comes over every once in a while to the house, he’s very good friends with Ron but he’s mostly treated just like that, a good friend. Now, there’s nothing wrong with this, except the way JKR sets it up we’re supposed to believe this is the family Harry found. It’s just that the family Harry’s found let’s him stay in a house with bars on his window where twelve-year-old Ron tells them, “Harry’s muggle family is really really awful” in a way that should have been raising red flags. Hermione practically lives at the Weasleys, Harry never does.

Now, are the Weasleys evil? No, far from it, they’re ordinary people who act in ways I’d expect ordinary people too. Technically they didn’t have to do anything more for Harry than they did, they didn’t have to hate Lucius Malfoy for better reasons, and they don’t have to be even slightly less worshipful of Dumbledore. They’re people, and they’re fine characters, but the overwhelming worship and love of the Weasleys we see across fandom does get on my nerves.

But you asked for individuals, so here we go.

Arthur Weasley

Arthur is the epitome of “Pretty Fly for a White Guy” in the worst of ways and is, frankly, a giant awful joke to me. He’s the white kid you see going around with dread locks, a beanie the color of the Jamaican flag, smoking weed, and attempting to speak like Bob Marley

Only, because he does it with muggle things, we’re supposed to find him funny and progressive.

Arthur is absolutely, albeit unwittingly, condescending in his love of muggle knickknacks. He has no idea how any of it actually works, not limited to how muggles could possible survive without the gold standard, but ardently believes he does because he can enchant the car to fly. Seriously, that he believes he’s an expert on muggle culture, as a pureblood wizard who heads an office in the ministry on it, is the worst part. His love of toasters comes across as, “Wow, look how cool it is that these poor little muggles made all this neat stuff. We should absolutely love the muggles because of it!” And that he heads an office in the ministry called “The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts” which is all about catching down Jackass style pranksters who think it would be hilarious of they enchanted toasters to bludgeon muggles to death...

Goddammit Arthur, why do you exist?

Right, otherwise, he’s got some pride issues going on. Part of the reason Percy is excommunicated is not so much that Percy doesn’t believe Harry, but because Percy dared to do better than Arthur in his own career. Arthur is stuck in his position as head of a joke of a department, he is an underling at its finest, and frankly likely only has that position because he’s a pureblood and the idea of putting a halfblood or even muggleborn at the head of a department dealing with muggles just made the higher ups shudder. (Don’t tell Arthur that though, he likes to think he’s not benefitting from nepotism).

Arthur goes so far to accuse Percy as Fudge’s secretary as spying on him. Arthur, the guy who heads “Misuse of Muggle Artifacts”. Yeah, Arthur, I’m sure Fudge is really wasting his time using his straight laced secretary to find out all your dirty secrets.

He also tends to see the world as very black and white. When Skeeter in book 4 writes an article after the Quidditch World Cup disaster complaining about the ministry’s lax security in enabling domestic terrorists to enter (something completely valid and true by the way) Arthur is so personally offended that both he and Percy go straight to the ministry to complain about Rita Skeeter and her daring to assume freedom of speech! HOW DARE SHE CALL THE MINISTRY’S NON-EXISTENT SECURITY AT THE WORLD CUP LAX! (To be fair, she also cited Arthur as having been in attendance at the event, a ministry employee, and having done nothing but, well, this is also true Arthur. You’re in a guerilla, underground, resistance movement. If I didn’t already think the Order was a joke this would kind of highlight it for me).

He’s also very resentful of Lucius Malfoy, and it seems to mostly be about the money. Arthur and Molly have a severe spending problem and actively resent that Lucius is swimming in money. That Arthur is ardently pleased about a law being passed in which the ministry without warrant can ransack Lucius Malfoy’s home...

Well, Arthur, imagine the slippery slope if the government decides that it would like to search the Weasley home without warrant? In fact, he doesn’t even have to imagine it, as the beloved government in a few short years turns against him and then it’s all about how corrupt the ministry is.

Arthur’s delightfully narrowminded, basically, and reminds us at nearly every opportunity.

Percy Weasley

Mostly, I just feel bad for Percy. Percy’s the son/brother that nobody likes and he’s painfully aware of that fact. He doesn’t fit in with the others, he has far too much ambition for the Gryffindor family and they resent him for it, and then he dares to say things like “I don’t know guys, Voldemort resurrecting from the dead after decades doesn’t sound plausible, we know Harry’s a little off kilter, and Dumbledore’s one shady dude”. Percy happens to be wrong about Voldemort resurrecting (and admits as much when the evidence is plainly visible), but he’s pretty on the money with the rest of it.

Regardless, growing up we see Ron constantly hating on Percy along with the rest of the siblings. I’m sure Percy is obnoxious, and certainly full of himself after making prefect and head boy, but he’s very clearly even before Order of the Phoenix the Least Favorite Brother (TM).

Then the Weasley family completely ices him out for a) getting a very high ranking position very quickly as Fudge’s secretary and b) not being gung ho about Dumbledore saying crazy things in the paper. Remember that to Percy Harry is Ron’s weird friend who seems to get into highly illegal activities every other week. From Percy’s point of view, it’s probably a matter of time before Harry becomes a crack head in Knockturn Alley (or given how behind the times wizards tend to be, an opium den).

He’s constantly getting Ron into not only trouble but life threatening situations, is erratic and apparently a parseltongue of all things, and now Harry’s flipped his lid and saying that Voldemort has been resurrected after having gone through a very traumatic experience of watching a classmate somehow die.

While we see Percy kind of (sort of) make up with the family it’s clear that for Percy to have any relation with these people he’s the one who will always, ALWAYS, have to come crawling back on his knees and begging for forgiveness. It’s the Weasley way or the highway and I imagine, at some point probably a little after/during that epilogue, Percy will just slowly drift away because it’s just not worth it anymore.

Percy’s very much the black sheep of the family.

Fred and George Weasley

You all are going to kill me, but I actually don’t care in the slightest about Fred and George Weasley. This is because they basically have no personality aside from “funny”.

They just have their weird, tandem, twin act and are either playing jokes on the school or else serving as Deus ex Machina in giving Harry magical items such as the Marauder’s Map for no apparent reason. The plot told them it was time, I guess.

Their jokes, while not as bad as Sirius and James’ “Let’s sexually harrass Severus Snape by pantsing and beating him at the edge of Hogwarts lake” or Sirius’ “Let’s get Snape eaten by a werewolf!” are still often needlessly cruel and... kind of pointless. They harass Slytherin house constantly just because they happen to be Slytherins, they’re acceptable victims (which of course makes house tension that much worse). Harry gets sent a toilet seat in the hospital because... that’s funny? Har de har?

They’re so indistinguishable from one another I routinely see people mistake which one got his ear chopped off and which one died. Because the point is, that we can’t tell the difference! It doesn’t matter who lived and who died because all we know is that Freorge is dead!

Similarly, you see tons of fics around where character of the day ends up in this weird twincestuous relationship with Fred and George and it’s not only for a) that delightful twincest but b) because they’re such a singular unit that any attempt to pair one with somebody else feels weird. So you just get these porn fics about Fred and George being weird rapey teenagers who seem like they’d be more interested dating each other.

Charlie Weasley

I really have no thoughts on Charlie. He raises dragons in Romania, the family loves him. Now, dragon raising feels like one of the most dangerous jobs in the Harry Potter universe, like Charlie had just gone and signed up to be a lumberjack but he seems to like it?

We really don’t see much of Charlie, he’s just the obligatory older Weasley son so that the Weasleys can be this ridiculously large family.

Bill Weasley

We see slightly more of Bill, but again, not enough to really leave an impression. We know that his marrying Fleur sent Molly into a complete state, and that they’re going to have awkward Christmas dinners forever because of it where Fleur just sits there and pretends not to loathe every second of Molly’s presence while Molly notes how bad it is that Victoire got stuck with that ugly pink hair instead of the Weasley red.

Bill doesn’t seem to really do anything about this. He still marries Fleur, but we don’t really see a major confrontation where he tells the family “Look, I’m marrying her, so grow up.” So, I imagine he just tries to smile pleasantly and tells Fleur to just endure it for another few hours. He loves his family, his family’s great, but they only have to see Fleur once a year at Christmas.

Ginny Weasley

Ginny is weird. She’s this weird, frankly, almost personality-less void whose sole obsession in life seems to be marrying Harry. She and Harry end up in the world’s weirdest relationship and I honestly have no idea how people ship it other than canon told them to.

Ginny’s... well, first off, she’s very much in love with an idea. She had always worshipped Harry Potter but then he personally saves her life in what was a horrifically traumatic year and so that feeling just grows even more. Despite being Ron’s sister, she barely seems to know Harry, and everything she seems to like about it are just things she made up.

I imagine her and Harry’s marriage will be littered with affairs on her end. Not divorce though, because Harry would never admit his wife is having affairs on him all the time even if someone directly confronted him. Harry also won’t admit he’s gay.

More than though we get hints of a personality. Ginny’s a fiery red-head tomboy with a temper. But... Well, it’s only ever hints. She never felt like a real person to me. She has I think one throwaway line about the Chamber of Secrets incident and how it personally affected her. We’re told she’s great at the bat boogey hex so we know she’s a fiery independent woman.

She feels more like a character sheet than an actual person.

Whenever she’s around I always had this nagging question in my head where I ask why Ginny’s here. She has a lot of potential but nothing’s ever done with her. And when something is, it’s to get her into this bizarre relationship with Harry where he imagines there’s a green rage monster in his chest that loves her skin.

Okay Harry, if you say so.

TL;DR: The Weasleys aren’t evil or anything, I’m not on Team Bash Them All, but they are shortsighted, ordinary, people who don’t deserve to be worshipped as all that is good in this world.

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revenant-dumpster-fire · 3 years ago

Text

Canine (Revenant x Reader)

Part 2 of 2 of the chapter “Styptic & Canine”. [AO3 Link to full chapter]

Theme: Revenant introduces the reader to his makeshift family as he turns up the spice level, but an unfortunate run in with a creep ruins most of the day.

Warnings: Graphic content, physical male dominance, threats of violence, blood, descriptions of violence, sexual references, sexual harassment, sharp objects, pain, bipolar, depression, mentions of mania, general romantic fluff.

Reader's Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is female.

Writing Notes: This post was too big. 18K words. This is part 2 of a larger chapter that is “Styptic & Canine”. I’m posting it in halves so Tumblr doesn’t die. Also, yes, this chapter is where I start raising the heat. My intent was to boil the frog, but Tumblr made me split right where I first turn on the gas stove.

Navigation: First Chapter | Previous Part (Styptic & Canine) | Next Chapter

You regain consciousness to a mild shake, his hands around each of your cheeks and his frame vaulted over your body in a sitting position.

"Oh dear, little skinsuit, what was that about?" His voice drips with some kind of sadistic humor.

"What was what about?" The morning light was shining through the skylight. He obviously let you sleep in a bit, for which you were grateful. You couldn't remember any dreams though, it was all blank.

"Don't play stupid, you must know." He's way too into this. "I want to know if it was me."

"I really don't remember. Why, what did I do?"

He lurches back in some kind of cruel delight, pulling his hands away to cup around his own face, accentuating his joy.

"Then maybe you'll know the answer to this: who is 'daddy'?"

Your face gets hot instantly, now you know why he's so interested. He has prime material to hold over your head for days. You have one potential way out and he isn't likely to buy it.

"I never met my father, so I'm not sure..." You try.

"Oh, I guessed as much. But this wasn't that kind of daddy." He places each of his hands on the sides of your waist, making you blush harder. "Your hips were absolutely reeling. I could hear how much you were loving it. You still smell like lust. So, I must know... who is the lucky one to have the title of 'daddy'?" Your face is burning. Your attempt to get out of this has definitely and utterly failed.

"I don't know! I've never even--" You cut yourself off, realizing that saying more is only playing into his game.

"Oh please, you must tell me." He leans over to whisper in your ear, curling over you in a seductive manner. "I'll keep it a secret, I promise. I just want to know who makes you writhe like that. Clearly I could learn something." This asshole. Your face actually hurts it's so hot. You can't get out of this, and you don't even have an answer for him. You've never even called anyone that before.

"Please, can I get up?" You beg, hoping it can just be over.

"Oh no, dear," You feel yourself screaming internally as he nuzzles his mask against the side of your face, "I can't let you do that. No, no... Not until you humor me." He presses his body into you, and you audibly whimper. "Call me daddy."

You're dead. You have to be dead. This can't be real. You can't humor him, but you have to humor him. Why is he like this? If you say it really fast, maybe it'll be okay. Maybe he'll accept it.

"Can I get up...?" You choke. "...daddy..." You didn't say it fast, but you said it with zero confidence, which hopefully dampens his power trip.

He throws himself off of you, laughing something fierce. His guffaw is loud, cruel, and pure delight. He's completely overtaken by it, laying back beside you, almost twitching in hilarity. He can't control himself as he lifts his hand as if to wipe away a tear.

He shuts down again, turning limp.

You jump out of bed, giving yourself distance from his metal sarcophagus, knowing whatever comes next might not be pleasant. You make your way to the computer desk, sitting on the office chair, waiting to see what he does this time.

His chassis begins to whirr and cracks into movement, his arms grabbing at air beside him as he tests every limb in violent bends and swings. The static begins in his voice, before suddenly slipping into something audible.

"You-you moved away." His empty optics seem to stare at you from a distance as he sits up. "I wanted to hold-hold you again..." His tone was soft, but his vocals were still skipping. "Shame, daddy will get you next-next time."

His eyes come back to life, and he's aware again.

"Well, just say how you really feel then, huh?" You jab back, waiting to see how he reacts. He chuckles a little, a mere echo of the laugh that forced him to restart.

"Well, I'll make it up to you. How do you feel about making a trip to meet my little family?"

"Family? I thought--"

"Oh, not like that, of course. Just the closest thing I have." He smiles smugly at you, seeing an opportunity. "You don't need to worry, no one competes with you."

Damn blush, you're going to turn red permanently if he doesn't stop.

He vaults out of bed, making his way over to you.

"I let you sleep in, thankfully what you're wearing is ideal for the job already." He offers his hand. When you take it, he hoists you to your feet. "It should help with any sad feelings too, how are those going by the way?"

"With how things have been going, I haven't had the chance to be depressed..." You're almost embarrassed that his plan to keep throwing you off your depression is working so well.

"Good, keep showering me with all your attention then." He squeezes your hand a bit before letting go. At this rate he could make you manic again if he keeps pushing it. You're just not sure if you should let him. "I've arranged a ride for us, since I don't think you can run this far."

"Oh, alright, sure. Do I need to do anything? I feel kinda like I should take a shower..." It's very strange that you're going someplace wearing dirty clothes with no shower.

"Trust me, you'd be better off doing that after."

• • • •

Revenant can't drive, apparently. To the point in which he's actually enough of a liability that he's not allowed to drive anywhere outside of the Apex Games. He wasn't very happy with the idea of having a chauffeur, but the legal team was able to convince him to accept being driven in exchange for a vehicle that separated him from the driver. That vehicle was a limo. A giant, stretch limo. A very luxurious limo. Versus you, who is a mess: dressed in a stained shirt you slept in and you haven't washed your hair. This is embarrassing.

"This dumb thing is almost ten yards long, and you have to be right up against me, don't you?" Revenant is sitting far in the back corner, and you've wedged yourself right between him and the corner, trying your best to hide yourself from any phantom that might see you.

"I'm in a limo and I look like I belong in a garbage truck." You duck away from the windows, shoving your face up against the black leather of his waist, careful to avoid the support pistons.

"Literally no one can see you except me." He scoffs, crossing his arms. "The windows are blacked out, the driver's privacy window is closed, and nobody is here but us." His eyes glare down at you, but he seems to be moderately entertained by your distress.

"I look homeless." You pause. "Again."

Revenant laughs at that, uncurling his arms to mess up your hair in some kind of adoring but condescending gesture.

"You're fine, trust me. Nobody is going to see you." He pauses from messing with your hair. "I have a stop coming up, just stay in here and I'll be back with some supplies."

"Be fast, I need to hide behind someone and you're the only one here." You're being intentionally dramatic, but if it makes him laugh it's worth it. He sighs equally as dramatically, clearly playing along.

The vehicle hovers to a stop, and Revenant wisps out the door, closing it behind him before you even get a sense for where you are. The windows really are blacked out, you can't see anything through them.

Now alone, you shrink into the back corner of the seats going around the vehicle. There's a television and what appears to be a loaded bar, multicolored LED lights lining the whole thing, and starlights in the ceiling. The seats are all made with beautiful leather and have a triangular pattern stitched in the surface. The floor has carpeted mats that feel a bit more plush than the average car. You consider rummaging through the bar, but you're not sure if anyone is going to charge you an arm and a leg for alcohol you can get cheaper anywhere else. You sigh and lean back, shrinking further in the seat.

The door on the opposite corner as you clicks open, and Revenant crawls in, dragging a massive green bag behind him, barely managing to get it in the car.

"Is that a body bag?!" You curl up in the fetal position on your seat, recoiling away from the door.

"Yes." He gruffly huffs as he drags the apparent bagged corpse into the limo, weighing the whole vehicle down. He gets it in the middle of the floor, then drops it with a thud and throws himself down beside you. With his weight, you feel like you nearly missed being crushed. His arm rests on your opposite shoulder and you shudder, giving him a concerned stare. "Oh shush, I paid for it."

"You what?" You whimper, completely at a loss of what you're experiencing.

"It'll be fine, I can't rightly show up without any offering." He shrugs his shoulders, pulling you closer. He seems to be very pleased with himself, smugly teasing you.

"Offering?! Is this a cult?!" You whisper aloud, not necessarily expecting an answer. He laughs again, enjoying your mental wheels spinning. The limo gets moving again, handling the extra weight very easily.

"Oh, no, that's for next time." He's obviously teasing now. "I'll make sure you're in a lovely white dress to soak in the blood of our sacrifices for that occasion." He shoves you up against his chassis, growling to rattle his torso against you. "Then, when we're all done, I'll make official my new nickname."

"Oh, fuck you." You let slip under your breath, causing him to guffaw openly again. He catches his synthetic breath, rubbing his mask in the same motion a human would.

"You've gotten so comfortable with me so quickly, what happened?" His question must be rhetorical, because he doesn't leave much of a pause for an answer. He jumps right back into teasing. "I'll have to tame you by any means necessary if you're going to keep being so temptingly coy." His hands cup around your waist and you crack a sigh, turning away from him, trying to focus on anything other than how red in the face you must be.

"Do you regularly flirt in front of fresh corpses?"

"Awww..." He grabs your chin and pulls your face back to meet his, bringing his visage down close enough to feel his breath. "Are you kink-shaming me? Or are you just being a prude little tease?" He pauses before snickering to himself, losing his flirtatious composure. "You're so red, you practically match me." His loss of composure is cute enough to get to you. You giggle a little.

The car comes to a gentle stop, and Revenant immediately gets to pulling the corpse out. The body bag is way larger than makes sense, it almost looks as if it could fit someone Revenant's size. Yet the body inside still seems way too big. You're not sure what it is, but you're a bit too afraid to ask at the same time. Revenant eventually gets the bag to the edge of the vehicle before throwing it over one of his shoulders, forcing his shoulder spikes to flip downward out of the way. He nearly topples over at the shifting weight, meaning whatever is in the bag is excessively heavy.

As you crawl out of the car after him, you smell the fresh air of being nowhere near civilization. You see lots of flat lands broken up by woods with a giant abandoned warehouse in front of you. The warehouse has holes rusted throughout its sides and the door is ajar, the hinges rusted so it no longer swings. The air is fresh, and you look around, unable to find signs of other humans close by. Revenant waves away the limo. It turns around, kicking up dust off the unpaved path before zooming off into the horizon. He waits until the limo is far enough before pulling you close.

"You have to listen to everything I say, understand?" He's dead serious. You nod, suddenly concerned over his change in tone. "Don't try to protect me, I'll be okay. Scream if and only if you feel pain." You search for any joking tone in his voice, but there is none. "But above all else, listen to me. Don't play stupid, just obey." He looks to you, demanding acknowledgement. You nod, determined and concerned at this new development.

He walks over to the door, making his way inside carefully as you follow. He throws the body bag on the concrete floor of the entryway, causing a morbid slapping sound as it hits the ground. Revenant kneels down and begins ripping the bag open. You take a moment to look around.

This whole warehouse is dark beyond belief. There seems to be different rooms, but the rusted-through holes in the wall allow you to get negligible peeks into nearby rooms. The roof has not decayed at all yet, but it means no light is entering the building, making the deeper rooms be cast in an oppressive darkness. From the outside this warehouse looked massive, this room must be only one of dozens. The silence is scary, there isn't a single sound of life apart from you and Revenant, but you know better. Silence means something doesn't want to be found, and is inevitably a sign of life. Silence only happens when a hunter has scared everything else into silence. You might have learned that from Bloodhound, but you can't be sure. Either way, it's anxiety-inducing.

Revenant stands tall, pulling the scraps of the bag away from a giant bisection of a carcass. It appears to be beef, in the same state butchers will sell to grocers or restaurants. It doesn't smell bad, but it definitely smells like raw meat. Revenant grabs you around the shoulder, pulling you into a very controlling embrace. He whistles, or something like it.

"C'mere puppies!" As soon as he says it, you hear the sound of many nails skittering around the concrete flooring, making their way to the room you're in. Revenant squeezes you close as the pack comes into sight.

"Revenant! Those are not dogs!" You can't help but whisper in shock as the pack stops in your line of sight, trying to get a read on whether you're a threat or not.

Prowlers are utterly terrifying predators. They can be described as something between a wild dog and a tiger with the hide of a dinosaur. Their quadrupedal forms stand tall enough to meet you eye-to-eye at the largest, but the females and younger prowlers come up to your waist or knees instead. This subspecies has a beautiful, peacock-like furl behind their ears that stand on end when they see you, making them look as kaleidoscopic as they are scary. Their fangs could make a saber tooth tiger swoon, and their colors remind you of the legendary Birds of Paradise. Their long tails flick back and forth in concern, trying to understand who you are or if they should fight you. The largest male growls so deeply that Revenant sounds like a kitten in comparison, and it approaches both of you ahead of the rest of the pack.

"Rev..." You start to step behind him. This creature could very easily kill you in a single bite to the neck, and he was already tall enough to reach it.

"Shush, listen to me." He whispers to you, using his grip around your back to shuffle you back in place and to his side, pulling you against him in an uncomfortable grip. "Hey Six, this is mine." He addresses the massive male prowler approaching you, almost presenting you to him.

You hold your breath as Six sniffs your face, neck, and chest, trying to figure out what you are and why you're here. The other prowlers begin to enter the room, not even paying attention to the food in preference of figuring out the newcomer. Six's tail begins to rise up, flicking the tip back and forth as he finds you acceptable as a guest. You receive a lick right on the face as a final assurance, and the other prowlers swarm you to meet you.

You grab onto Revenant like your life depends on it. All of these prowlers could kill you, probably even the young ones too. It doesn't matter if they're all flicking their tails happily, or panting with smiles and tongues out, or excitedly greeting you. They can kill you and you're painfully aware of it.

"Calm down, seriously. You were fine meeting me for the first time, but a bunch of little puppies scare you?" Revenant releases his hold on you, but you don't return the favor.

"These are not puppies!" You try to whisper at him, but he might not be able to hear you over the crowd you've attracted. He pushes down on your shoulders, causing you to lose your grip on him and fall into a sitting position. Now all the prowlers can meet you eye-to-eye or tower over you. You're inundated with licks, and no amount of guarding your face with your arms will save you.

"You'll be fine. They're my pack, and they'll respect what's mine." You can barely hear him over the assault of affection.

As the excitement begins to settle, some of the larger prowlers peter off to check out the meat, leaving the younger ones to look after you. A tiny pair of kits you didn't see before bound up to your lap and hop in, cuddling against your stomach. For such scary adults, the babies are unbearably cute. You're not sure if you can touch them or not, so you simply let them roll around in your lap, slapping at each other like the siblings they are. Six comes back to you, his maw covered in blood from the beef.

"I figured he'd notice." You hear Revenant mutter as Six inspects your arm and calf, licking at the puncture wounds a little. "I guess my hypocrisy was going to catch up eventually." Six carefully sniffs the skin before shooting a glare and deep growl at Revenant. "Don't move a muscle, no matter what." He instructs you.

Six lunges at Revenant's leg, catching the metal below the knee joint in his bite. Revenant buckles and hits the ground. You jump a little and whine to yourself, but you stay as reserved as you can otherwise. The kits notice and begin pawing at you, trying to understand your reaction. Six drags Revenant a few feet from you as Revenant makes stifled sounds reminiscent of excruciating pain. You want to step in, but you obey orders. You hear the moaning of the metal in his leg beginning to bend for a few moments, before Six releases him. Revenant sits up, grappling his leg before Six chomps the opposite arm near the shoulder, causing Revenant to try to reel away in shock and pain. Again, Six growls as the metal bends beneath his bite, Revenant taking the pain as best as he can. Six releases, gives a growling bark to Revenant, and returns to you to lick your wounds more.

"Oh, now aren't you just poetic." Revenant finally makes out between what sounds like heavy breaths. "You got me in the same places." He's cradling his calf and arm, in the exact same places and sides as you were hurt. "I knew I was going to pay for that, but you didn't have to be that literary about it."

Six turns to him and makes whining sounds that mimic human speech. You've heard of Siberian Huskies making these noises, but never prowlers. Either way, it sounds sassy, and Revenant seems to relax knowing he's back in good graces.

"Yes, I know I taught you the same lesson a long time ago, but still..." He talks to them like anyone would talk to their dog. "You didn't have to be that extra about it." Six flicks his head at him before returning to your wounds, the kits now back to play-fighting each other.

"So, yeah, these are my puppies." He finally addresses you again. Most of the other prowlers are now taking turns at the carcass, seemingly following a hierarchy. You want to correct him, but you don't. He's clearly going to keep insisting that they're puppies. "This is Six, he's the sixth alpha of a pack I've helped raise over the past few decades. Zero was the first prowler that accepted me, and One was his puppy--the first alpha."

Six retires from your wounds, taking the two kits from you to go eat with their mother.

"There's no way you can be depressed around these guys. If there's any creature more aware of the emotional state of other beings, I dare them to come forward. My pack is perfect." He genuinely sounds overjoyed that you're getting to meet them all, he seems very proud. "I even raised them to respect females... Even if that did bite me back today." He huffs a bit.

"So, wait, you've been raising prowlers out here for decades?" You finally make a sound, Six and a few others look over at you for a moment, surprised by your more relaxed voice.

"Yeah, although they're fairly independent. I'm more like an elder to them, rather than directly in their hierarchy. I bring them food, not that they need me to, and they come along with me when I need company or extra help." He scoots himself close to you, letting his damaged leg drag. You get a closer look and see that the metal is both punctured and buckled on both his arm and leg. "They've been a passion project of mine ever since I first met Zero. They make me feel a bit of humanity." That last sentence is spoken with a level of reverence. You let the silence fall for a moment.

"You know, this is probably a scientific breakthrough in some field that nobody has ever managed before. You have a wild pack of prowlers that accept you and the people you bring in." He seems surprised by your lavish praise. "This could change our understanding of prowlers forever."

"Well, it helps that I'm nigh unkillable," he knocks on his metal chest, making a banging sound, "and honestly you're allowed in because as far as they're concerned, you're my mate." He wraps his arm around you possessively as the kits crawl back into your lap, now well-fed and cuddly. "That's why they don't mind you around the little ones." He sees you eyeing them as they roll around, trying to get comfortable. He picks one up, holding it in his hands like it's a precious jewel. It yips at him for attention, so he scratches behind it's tiny furls with his spare hand. "I think this one will be Seven, unless the next litter has an even bigger boy."

His adoration for these predators is absolutely identical to how so many people feel about their pets. The choice to love prowlers is a bit unconventional, but he is very much a man stuck in a metal body--humanity intact--in these moments. You are growing increasingly fond of him, seeing something beautiful beyond the cruel simulacrum assassin you once knew. He catches you staring.

"Go ahead, pick her up." He gestures to the other kit in your lap, actually looking a little jealous of her brother. At first, you tremor at the thought of picking her up wrong, but a sudden wave of confidence comes from nowhere. You scoop her up in your arms, bringing her up to your chest and cradling her. She immediately begins to squirm with delight and lick at your hand as you rub her head and chin.

"Was that all instinct?" He pauses, and you tilt your head at him, confused by the question. "You were shaking, then suddenly you weren't. Is that what maternal instinct looks like?" You're a bit shocked he saw that much.

"I'm not sure. I'm not usually around babies of any kind." You confess, but now you suspect the same thing he does. The baby female prowler reaches for your face, barely managing to touch your chin before you lower your face to meet her. She reacts with tiny licks on your nose while you tickle her belly. Revenant is the one staring now.

Revenant places the baby male in your arms next to the female, allowing them to both vie for your coveted attention. Some of the females come over and snuggle up next to you, laying on and around you, while the males and Six lie next to Revenant. Revenant leans back, eventually resting his head on the flank of one of the larger males, while another rests its head on his shoulder.

"You should lie down, let the puppies run around." He instructs you, briefly pointing to the kits in your arms. "Your body isn't heavy enough to bother anyone, just lay on whoever seems the most comfortable."

You look around, seeing a lot of intimidating warm bodies around you, so you cheat and carefully lay under Revenant's arm. You hear him audibly sigh, bothered that you're still worried but unable to chide you. The kits use you to crawl up on Revenant and slide down his metal torso to the other side, Six audibly purring when they land in his vicinity. Maybe a prowler would make a better pillow than a newly busted up metal arm and the concrete floor. You shiver a bit at the sheer power of these creatures, running your fingers over the metal holes in Revenant's arm, causing him to wince away from your touch.

"Does it hurt?" You whisper, hoping not to draw any prowler's attention.

"Yeah, it hurts a lot. My body can feel pain just like you skinsuits." He inhales in distress as you pull your fingers away from the damage. "It honestly feels like the flesh and muscle is torn off, like the bone is crushed and splintered, and like I'm bleeding out on the ground. But I know it's not real. It's never real."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know this would happen." You pull yourself into more of a ball, shuddering at the thought of that level of pain.

"It's not your fault, I instilled this level of protectiveness into them." Revenant pulls his arm away as one of the female prowlers crawls over you and lays on top of you, purring as if to comfort you. "Anyone who hurts one of the girls gets it back sevenfold." You roll onto your back, the prowler readjusting to lay on your belly, purring and licking your neck. "So you can stop being sad about it. They can sense it in you. If you don't want the attention, you can't let yourself be distressed." He sits up, looking down at you smugly while a second prowler writhes across the ground to get close enough to lick your cheek. Are these creatures really this intuitive?

Six notices Revenant sitting up to watch you and meanders over to see the small commotion. Six shoves himself between you and Revenant, apparently sensing some kind of disagreement. Six positions his paws on your neck, allowing you to feel the enormous size of his claws. One flex and you're dead. These things must be three inches of blade, all with a hypodermic tip. Six turns his head to Revenant and makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a growl before shoving his snout against your ear to purr. He bares his fangs while doing so, allowing you to feel how long and menacing they are. You wince away from him, pushing your face into the other prowler's licks, but Six just shoves his snout further to reconnect with you.

"He seems to think I should be more comforting, you're way too nervous for his liking. Good luck being depressed now." He sounds like he's enjoying this, shrugging to himself before he places his hand on your free arm. "Just calm down, they're not going to hurt you."

"I could die from a single flick of the wrist." You carefully say, feeling your vocal chords vibrate against Six's massive nails.

"That doesn't stop you from getting close to me." His hand glides up and down your arm. You don't have a response for him, so you stay quiet. "Like I said, just scream at any discomfort and someone is getting a swift dose of justice." He lies back on the same prowler as before, changing his position to avoid disrupting Six.

"I can't scream if my throat is slit."

"Give it time, you'll understand."

• • • •

Three prowlers is apparently the amount it takes to bring back a stick. It can be more if the stick is longer, but this giant branch is the maximum size you can throw. They hop together, all their jaws in a line across the branch, their fangs clutched around the wood. They carefully drop it at your feet, waiting expectantly for you to try throwing it again. You do your best to throw it, but between your injured arm and the weight of it, you struggle to get it as far as you'd like. The area behind the warehouse is a small yard with enough room for fetch, surrounded by thick forests over a few small hills.

"You throw like a child." You hear Revenant mock you, and you turn around to shoot him a glare. Six is resting in his lap and he has the mother prowler at his side, accepting the belly rubs he offers while the kits sleep. "I can throw farther than you from here, without even standing." You roll your eyes, knowing he's probably right.

Two new prowlers got in on the stick this throw, bounding back to you for another throw. You have eight prowlers all fighting to be one of the three on the stick, but they all seem to be having fun. Four of the young adults are off in the woods playing tug of war by themselves, making a total of sixteen prowlers you've now met. This pack is unusually huge from what little you know. You wonder if Revenant's meddling has something to do with it.

You pick up the branch and drag it over to Revenant, curious to see if he'll back up his claim.

"Alright, go for it." You hand him the end of the branch, and he chucks it far enough to lob over the entire yard and land somewhere in the woods. He snickers as the pack disappears in the darkness after it. You watch, hearing the branch collide with the trees, making rustling and snapping sounds as it catches in them. "So, what if you just got it stuck in a tree?"

"Oh, I thought you wanted me to show off for you." Revenant coos sarcastically. "Give them a few minutes, they can climb." You sigh and shrug, waiting for any sign of them coming back. "Do you want to go home?"

"No, not yet."

"Oh, oh!? You aren't scared of my puppies anymore?" He says between chuckles.

"Shut it." You growl at him, finally getting to use his catch-phrase against him.

"Are you sure? It's getting late." It was beginning to be late in the afternoon, coming up on when you'd normally be wanting dinner. In truth you hadn't eaten in over a day, but depression made it so you never wanted to eat anyway. You'd been playing with his prowlers for hours now, fully accepted by them. You now felt pretty confident in your safety around them, but their stature was still a bit menacing.

"At least let me see if they can bring back that stick." You hear some rustling in the woods, before the eight prowlers burst out of the brush with the original branch and a second, equally massive one. Now only two are left out of being able to hold a part of a stick. They drop both at your feet.

You try to throw the first but it only makes it a short ways, all the prowlers fighting for it. You hand the second to Revenant, and he throws it back into the woods completely out of sight. They all abandon the first stick in preference for the farthest one.

"Maybe you should be doing this." You hunch over, a bit defeated and tired.

"You're doing fine. Anyways, we should wrap up soon. You probably need that shower and I have something I need to do before tomorrow." Revenant starts to get up, prompting Six to get off of him while huffing and shaking himself awake. "Also, you need food."

You sigh, wanting to argue but knowing you can't.

"I'm calling back your ride. We need to get all these guys hidden in the warehouse as to not cause any alarm." He pulls some kind of cellular device out of his pocket on his belt and presses a few buttons. He then proceeds to shuffle you back towards the warehouse, prompting Six, the mother, and the two kits to follow. As you get to the side entrance, Revenant turns around and emits another whistling sound, inundated with his usual modulated twinge. He steps inside with you and the other twelve prowlers come flooding in behind him.

He pets each of them as they make their way in, saving Six and the kits for last. He really does love these creatures. You sheepishly and carefully pet Six as you go to leave, but only because he demands it by butting his head into your hand to make it clear.

Finally, you step outside with Revenant, going towards the dirt road that got you here.

"You look like absolute hell." Revenant jabs. You pull your hair back and try to control it a bit better, but it refuses to cooperate. It's probably stuck from all the prowler saliva all over you, hair absolutely included. Not to even mention your shirt and pants look like you got tackled and ground into the dirt by an entire rugby team. Your shirt was already stained, now it's dusty, dirty, stained, and has green grass streaks. Your shoes are probably just as bad, but they're cheap sneakers so you don't really care much.

"I know, I really need a shower. Maybe two." You give up on your hair. It's just going to be a mess.

"Take as long as you need. I'll be back soon after you. I hope you don't mind riding back alone." You've made it to the dirt road, and you can see the excessively luxurious limo in the distance, kicking up dirt.

"You're not coming?"

"No, I have one last thing to do before the match tomorrow. It'll be worth it, and I think you'll like it too." Revenant seems like he won't budge on the matter.

The limo pulls up and he opens the door for you, and you crawl in alone, making sure you stay as far in the corner as possible. You don't really like the thought of being in here alone, but you have no choice in the matter. He shuts the door and you lose sight of him through the blacked-out windows. The limo starts to move, making a sharp turn and hitting high speeds over the terrain, probably kicking up tons of dust in the meantime. You have nothing to stare at, so you just curl up to yourself and wait to make it back.

"You seem a bit meek for this kind of work, kid." You hear a masculine voice with a skeezy city accent coming from the front of the limo. The privacy window is cracked, just enough so you can hear him, but thankfully not enough so you can see each other. Why was that rolled down at all? It wasn't on the way here. You turn away, refusing to answer, hoping he will leave you be.

"Heh, exactly." You hear him chuckle. You wish you had the guts to just waltz over and roll up the window on him, but you're neither that confident nor strong enough if it ends in a spat. You just let him continue. "Heck, I didn't think robots were even into that stuff, but he seems to be the 'specially fucked-up type." Your stomach sinks like an anchor as you hear what sounds like the draw of a cigarette. "Fucker practically gets off every time he guts someone on live TV. Makes perfect sense he'd get off 'tuh victimizin' some tiny doll like you."

You get the picture, and you feel sick to your stomach for it. You can't respond, every word you want to say gets caught in your throat and you're forced to swallow it. This guy might be unhinged; a lot of people are these days. If you try to argue, he might try something. If you try to play it off... who are you kidding? You could never play this one off. It sounds so bad. Is he going to try to hurt you? Or is this all some mind game?

"Does it hurt? You sure as hell look like you've been through a meat grinder." You feel your face turn red. You turn further away from the cracked window. "Oh, I bet it does. No way 'woulda giant metal psycho like that hold back on a little thing like you."

He won't stop. He's clearly only getting started, but you hope that this is the worst of it.

"Question is: are you a hostage or does he really pay you that well? You know, sweetheart, if you're in need of money, just record whatever the hell he does to 'ya and sell it on the internet." He starts laughing as you internally beg for him to shut up. "All sorts of fucked up dudes would pay for the privilege. You could make absolute bank! Even better if you let him cut you open a bit for the cameras while you scream." He's really laughing now, clearly getting off to how much he has you cornered.

"Everyone loves a good screamin' bitch. Anyone who says they don't is a liar. But you know that, don't 'ya toots?" His use of centuries-old misogynistic slang somehow makes everything worse. You feel yourself shake a bit as you hold yourself tighter. Your stomach hurts badly from the distress now, and you feel yourself spiral internally. Where is this going? Can you outrun this guy if you need to? What if he catches you? Can you squirm out of this guy's grasp? "God, what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall while that's going on. I bet your tears only make him harder."

You want to scream, but your prey instincts refuse to let you move or make a sound in hopes that he simply forgets you're there. You can't help yourself but hold your breath in intervals, hoping to be even more silent, but in turn making you more light-headed and fearful.

"I bet there's lots of filthy bastards that would pay extra to have his sloppy seconds." You're absolutely nauseated at the thought of that, but you haven't eaten, so maybe it's just a stomach ulcer forming from the extreme stress. "I bet he's modded to absolutely ruin you, isn't he? Tear your insides up and fill you until you're overflowin', right? You look like he never gives you a day off." You pray, begging God to kill you--this is worse than death.

"So, if he's draggin' 'ya all the way out into the woods to fuck 'ya, it must be pretty messed up stuff, huh?" You lay your face in your hands. "Aww, don't cry babe, I'm not going to tell anyone. I wouldn't want a hole in my chest, anyhow." You want to disappear. You hope he crashes the car and you die in a fire. You hate everything about this. "If you're ever in need of an extra kick of cash though, I wouldn't mind a taste of 'ya. Or buyin' one of those tapes."

You break internally. It feels like the essence of every muscle snaps in your body, and the tears flow without even intending to. You suddenly have the courage to move, but only to move a few inches to cower deeper in the corner of the seats.

It's not worth it. None of this is worth it. You no longer hear anything he says, even though you can still hear his voice. It sounds like you're underwater, so you can't make out the words anymore. Maybe that's a good thing. Unfortunately, you can still make out your own thoughts, and they're all cruel. It's all cruel. Everything about this situation is cruel.

You focus on the tears hitting your hands. They're cold, and they quickly flow out of your palms and down your arms before dripping off your elbows. They leave a trail of salts down your arm so thin you can barely notice it. You don't even feel compelled to make a sound as you cry; it's not that type of sorrow. It's pure humiliation, and your lungs work calmly as your eyes drown instead.

You wish you could just be swallowed by the swell of your own pain. Death is something you think about often as a potential solution to every problem, but right now it feels like a drug you're in active withdrawal from. Like you need it, right here, right now. You want to imagine the limo crashing into an embankment wall, submerging into an ocean, or being hit by a train. You don't care if the creep dies or not, all you know is you want out. The world feels cold enough to sap every degree of heat from you, and you feel as if you're freezing both literally and figuratively.

You fester in the feelings. The only saving grace in this situation is that you're too unimportant to matter to anyone as anything other than an easy squeeze. Nobody will miss you if you die. No one will look for you if you disappear. No family will mourn you. You secretly hope this pervert doesn't know that too, otherwise you might not make it out of this unscathed. You hope he believes Revenant will run him through if he tries to abduct you. You'd rather not die like that, something faster and more violent would be preferred.

Would Revenant kill you? In any circumstance at all? He could make it quick and violent, but he might not want to at this point. He seems to like you more by the day, but now that scares you. Is he human enough to feel strongly about you? Or does he tend to fall back on his programming? Maybe he would like gutting you--then at least someone could enjoy your death. You think about it, but you cannot imagine it without there being some kind of regret thrown in on your or his end. You can only imagine goading him into it by aggressively attacking his emotional stability, which is something you'd regret. Otherwise, you cannot imagine him killing you for no reason and being regret-free afterwards. You don't want him to feel regret. You just want to be free without hurting anyone, but maybe that's unrealistic.

The vehicle comes to a gentle stop. Your brain kicks into survival mode and you immediately rush for the door, not giving the driver any chance to get out of his seat, let alone open the door for you. He is still talking but you don't care; he's only laughing at you anyway. You get the door open and thankfully you're not at some back alley motel, but the main Apex Games facility. It's the back entrance, but you'll take it. It might be a blessing anyway, since it's so close to Revenant's new room that you'll likely avoid all human contact. You get up to the door and fumble in your pocket for your ID card, finally getting it out. You hear the driver say some more heinous things, but you refuse to turn around to see his face. The card is accepted and you rush in.

• • • •

The water is as hot as you can tolerate. It burns your skin and is downright uncomfortable to wash yourself in. Even as you curl up on the shower floor, crying and tolerating the hottest water you can handle, nothing can truly wash off the overwhelming feeling of being violated. Nothing can wash off the depression, the feelings of insignificance, the intrusive suicidal ideations, or the fear of meaning nothing in the grand scheme of things while simultaneously meaning just enough to force you into living.

The floor of the shower is warm, but it's still uncomfortable to lay on. The water spray hitting your skin is the only comfort you feel, but it isn't enough to quell you. The soap slowly rinses off your body, and the lathered up shampoo slowly flows out of your hair and down the drain. You'll eventually rinse completely like this, but it will be a while longer. How long has it already been? You took a long time sitting on the shower floor to even find the energy to get the soap lathered on you, and even that process was slow. Now you've been back on the floor and letting the soap slowly come off as you sob. Revenant might be back by now, but you're not sure what his errand was exactly. Maybe it will take all night. Does it matter? Do you matter? The thoughts won't stop.

You just cry. You cry until it feels like your soul starts to leave your body. Maybe it does. Between the heat, the steam, and the exhaustion, you pass out.

• • • •

"Skinsuit!" You feel yourself being gently jostled, still on the shower floor. The water is off, but the steam is so thick you question how long it's been. Your skin is beginning to get wrinkled from all the water absorption, so it's been a while. You're facing away from him, and you don't have the energy to turn to him. You don't even have the energy to speak. You just play the corpse, hoping that faking it will cause you to make it.

Revenant withdraws, and you hear rapid shuffling behind you. It sounds like he grabs the towel you had hung for yourself, running in and out of the bathroom to grab other things. You care about how he feels--he sounds distressed--but not for yourself. Why does he care at all, though? How does he feel about all this, anyway?

"Come here, little skinsuit. Everything is fine." You feel his arms scoop under you, and your natural instinct is to resist the hard synthetics against your bare skin. You wince a little, but mostly keep your corpse-like state: eyes closed and body limp. He carries you out of the bathroom where the air is freezing, but also not inundated with enough water vapor to nearly asphyxiate you. Weirdly enough, his chest isn't cold, but actually has something like fur? You don't open your eyes, you're probably just imagining it.

He places you down on a towel on the bed, immediately throwing another equally large towel over you. You're still cold, but it's way more tolerable with something over you. You hear Revenant mumbling in some kind of panic to himself, but you still can't find the energy to console him. You hear some typing on his computer, then the chair gets shoved out from under him as he stands in a huff. You hear your duffle bag unzip and likely some of your clothes be tossed on the bed near your head.

"You better not be mad at me for this..." He sounds unsure of that himself before you feel his hands start to dry you off through the towel. It would be nice if it didn't feel so wrong. Even if it is through a towel, you're naked otherwise. The thought of what the driver said hits you, and you immediately begin to feel anxiety and shake against your will. He reacts by scooping you up and hugging you, still wrapped in a towel, trying to stop the shaking.

"Dammit, what's going on?" You hear him whisper, he doesn't seem to realize you're awake and aware.

More fur. Why is there fur? Also, why does it feel like there's something resting on your head? It's way too large to be his chin. His chest feels smaller too, and it feels like some type of plastic rather than metal. The more you feel the more questions you have, and the more you panic at the realization that you do not know this simulacrum. You reach your limit and perk up in his arms, opening your eyes, and silently gasping as you reel back from whoever the heck this is.

"Wait! Skinsuit! It's me!" He manages to hold your arms before you can fully pull away, and you meet eyesight with a chassis you do not recognize. He has a huge, artificial bovine skull with curling ram horns situated on top. Instead of his scarf, his new face is framed in a mane of deep bark-colored fur, matted into locks like a proper wild animal. The optics tucked inside his skull seem so much larger than his normal ones, and they're a brilliant blueish-white, unlike his normal yellow ones. His snout is long enough to have been what was sitting on your head. His body looks to be made much thinner, especially in the chest, and is clearly made with more plastics than metals. It looks significantly lighter. His arms are red with odd, jagged juts on them, but seem to have similar hand mechanics otherwise. His loincloth is replaced with another long patch of fur, as well as fur on his thigh plates. His legs look a lot more decorative, and his feet are scarier: detailed down to each individual talon. His feet actually look much more like the hands on his other chassis.

"Skinsuit?" You snap out of your trance at his voice. You must have been staring him up and down for a while. "Uh, here." He pulls the towels back over you, which had fallen off when you pulled away. He reaches out to touch you, but stops short in case you aren't all there yet. "It's me, I'm just in a special body for tomorrow. I didn't mean to scare you." He's speaking slowly and methodically; his fingers make contact with your hand, but don't go further. "You must have fainted in the shower. You haven't been eating enough, but don't worry, everything's okay now."

Your head starts to throb and you instinctively go to hold it, the stress of the situation is too much. Even though he's trying to be reassuring, he looks like some kind of robotic, big-horned, undead goat demon and honestly you just wanted to see a familiar face to go with the familiar voice. You're not scared now that you know it's him, but something still doesn't feel right about it. Since you don't know this new chassis, you find it hard to trust his comfort. It's weird. Any other time you'd be overjoyed to see him in something that looks so cool, but now you're looking for some semblance of normalcy.

"How do you feel?" His right hand moves again to rest on your knee, intentionally avoiding pushing any boundaries. You can't answer, you still can't speak. It gets caught in your throat despite your best intentions, and instead your words turn into a new burst of tears and sobs. Without thinking, you take his hand off your knee and pull it to your face, sobbing into it. He seems relieved at your acceptance, and tries his best to catch and wipe away the tears as they flow. He shuffles as if to hug you, but he stops, likely unsure of how you feel when you're essentially in nothing but two loosely wrapped towels.

"I'm sorry, I thought seeing my pack would help, but I should have realized you haven't been eating enough. It's not something I've had to pay attention to in centuries." Your heart hurts as he seems to take the blame himself. "I also didn't mean to scare you again... I promise I'm not planning on hurting you." You want to speak so badly, but you just cry harder instead. None of this is his fault. Literally none of it. The only reason you're so jumpy is because everything that pervert said has sent you into a spiral. You imagined Revenant hurting you for his own entertainment and pleasure, and this imaginary smoking gun has left you very gun-shy.

"I ordered food for you to be delivered to the room. I expect you to eat something, even if it's not much. I don't want you dying on me." You push his hand into your face, trying to dry the tears. "I ordered a lot. I'm not sure what you like." You nod to affirm you hear him and plan to try, even though you're too nauseous to be hungry at the moment.

He uses his free hand to grab the clothing he pulled from your bag and puts it in front of you. He probably wasn't thinking too hard when he picked things out, but an oversized tee and men's basketball shorts are as comfy as it gets, so he did fine in your book. He left out undergarments, but honestly you couldn't care less at this point. Whatever covers you is fine. You pull his hand away from your face and place it on the bed gently. You grab the shirt, and he immediately turns away to let you put it on. You're able to throw it on along with the shorts in a few seconds, and quickly retrieve his hand when done. He turns back, maintaining the boundaries he interpreted.

"Any better?" He wipes away a few trailing tears now that you've slowed down a lot. You nod, still not sure how your voice is doing.

There's a knock on the door and Revenant pulls away gently to go get it. You hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

"I've got enough Chinese for like, five people. Who is even in this room? Are y'all having a sleepover in the abandoned room? To be fair I'd do the sa--"

Revenant opens the door and Sherry has a long pause to look up at the recipient. She doesn't even notice you, but you see her put the bags on the floor slowly and take a step back, hands up defensively.

"Okay, so it's a demon summoning, my bad..." Her sass is ever present. "And here I made the mistake of thinking I was running into some normal kind of fun."

"Sherry!" Your voice cracks back into action and the perfect moment. She shoots a look past Revenant to see you.

"You're summoning demons now?! Did you dump the tinman and summon an incubus as a bounce back or something?!" She looks up at Revenant, still not sure who it is. "Also, do demons really like Chinese food this much?"

"Sherry, shut up! I need a hug!" The tears are coming back, and Sherry valiantly slips under Revenant's arm to run to you. Revenant seems to be in complete shock at her brazenness, but also unwilling to stop her since you invited her in. He picks up the bag of food instead and brings it in, setting it on the television stand. Sherry leaps into a hug and you accept it graciously. Sherry is the closest thing you have to a sister and you could use someone like her right now. Revenant sits in the computer chair, watching you embrace closely, but not speaking or interfering.

"Where's the Revenant guy? What happened? Did he dump you? Did you run away? Who is this guy?" She immediately starts getting to brass tacks mid-hug. Although with her the hug won't end until you stop crying anyway.

"That is Rev, Sherry. It's just a different body." You manage to get out. She shoots Revenant a discerning look before slowly recognizing the similarities.

"Oh, hey, you're right. My bad, mister murder robot... haha..." She trails off nervously, Revenant only responding with a grunt and a huff. Suddenly, she snaps back into a fiery disposition. "Wait! Did you do something to her, you doofy-lookin' Beelzebub knockoff?! You may be able to gut me, but I'll defend her honor to my grave!" Now you're hugging Sherry to hold her back from trying to start something.

"It was a complete accident. I wasn't keeping track of how much she's been eating and I didn't catch her starving herself; plus I didn't expect this body to scare her as much as it did." Revenant doesn't lose an aggressive posture, but his words are fairly soft and empathetic.

"It's not that! I promise, it's not any of that!" You hug Sherry hard enough that she winces, but sensing your desperation she holds you tighter and pulls your head into her chest with no regard for what that may look like. You're glad you don't have those kinds of feelings for Sherry, otherwise this might be a bit strange. You see Revenant cock his head to the side and his eyes sharpen at the sight.

"It was the ride back, alone. That stupid driver was--" you choke, you hate saying these words out loud, "--a perverted bastard. An absolute dog." It comes out and devolves into a half-sob, thankfully still understandable. You start to cry again, reliving the things he said, not sure how you'd ever be able to say them yourself, even just to explain what happened.

"What happened? Did he hurt you? Are you okay?!" Sherry barely contains her concerns, if at all, squeezing you as you cry.

Revenant stands very slowly and methodically out of the chair, and begins to make some kind of animalistic growl you've never heard him make in your life. He paces back and forth, slowly stifling his growl as he goes. Sherry seems a bit concerned by him, but she continues to try to comfort you, awaiting an answer.

It takes almost a full minute to catch your breath again and be able to speak again, but you do.

"He didn't touch me. He just said things that--" Back to sobbing. You thought too far ahead and started to repeat his words again to yourself.

Despite your crying, Sherry sighs in relief, significantly less tense than before. She starts to rock you in her hug and you go along with it. Revenant's intensity only seems to worsen. He paces faster for a few moments as you cry, before he calms himself down enough to approach the situation.

He sits on the edge of the bed next to you and Sherry, currently latched on to each other. He doesn't attempt to pull you apart, he simply waits patiently. He's completely calm and collected now, with no signs of previous rage apparent, but you're sure it's still there.

"What kind of things did he say?" Sherry asks kindly, no sense of urgency in her voice. She plays with your hair a bit, which might as well be one of the greatest feelings in the world. It might be just distracting enough for you to get it out.

"He said he wanted to buy tapes..." You inhale heavily trying to hold back the inevitable runny nose. "...of Revenant cutting into me and... using me." Sherry gasps through her nose in disgust, but squeezes you tighter in response.

"I'm sorry, that's terri--"

"He said I should sell myself afterwards, that people would like me better if I still had... stuff... inside me." You cut her off but you're not done. Sherry is starting to get tense, but more notably, so is a particular simulacrum only a few feet away. "He said he wanted to watch it all! And try me for himself, too." That's all you needed to say, you're back to sobbing and Sherry starts to cry with you, unable to help her empathy. You're latched on to each other trying to comfort one another, but instead both of you are just a sobbing mess.

Revenant sits, lifeless for a moment, before standing up and limping towards the door.

"Revenant!" You call out to him through tears, and he stops and turns towards you, revealing his eyes are voids. He's in reboot. "Don't kill anyone." You try to sound confident, but you're not sure how it comes out. He turns away again, and limps out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He didn't acknowledge what you said, but you hope he heard you.

Sherry perks up, wiping away her own tears and pulling away for a moment.

"Do you think he'll listen?" Sherry seems stressed.

"I hope so."

• • • •

"So, he's actually an average person, stuck in a body that drives him to be a bloodthirsty assassin via software?" Sherry asks, taking another bite of the sweet and sour chicken.

"As far as I can tell, yeah... Wait, did you not know what a simulacrum was before now?"

"I meant to look it up but I never did. I figured it was like a brand-name or something." She giggles at herself, but you sense there's a chance she may be joking. "So, you actually do really like this spindly metal guy, after all? And he's so much older! You have mature tastes." She goes straight to teasing, now that you're feeling a bit better.

"I didn't say anything about that, ma'am." You stare at the General Tso's chicken in front of you, not sure if you can eat a third piece. You still feel wrong somehow.

"You don't have to. I think he likes you too. I mean, he isn't wearing your innards as a scarf. For him, that's something." She prods.

"He's not as bad as you think, you know." You don't know how to convince her without potentially telling her something Revenant wouldn't want you to.

"Sure, he just kills people on live TV for the paycheck." She shrugs. "Oh! And maybe killing some pervert who sexually harassed you right now."

"I didn't tell him to do that!" You snap, you legitimately don't want to have even a drop of that blood on your hands. Sure, this guy was an absolute creep, but he didn't lay hands on you. That's your limit, and he didn't cross it. He isn't as bad as Forge. That guy did cross the line. He crossed a lot of lines.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset." Sherry sounds genuine. You sigh.

"It's okay, I really hope he's just running off some steam. I hope he knows most of my distress was just depression winning." You poke the chicken.

"That's not true, I would have been so scared too. I mean, you were in real danger. It's a miracle you held it together at all, I'm not sure I could have. I still can't believe--"

The door swings open and Revenant walks in, stopping all conversation in its tracks. He's hunched forward, looking somewhat disappointed.

"I hope you're happy. He'll live." He looks you dead in the eyes, waiting for your reaction.

You smile openly, glad he heeded your request.

"Everyone in his contacts now has a copy of the encrypted files on his computer, all decrypted for their viewing pleasure." He breaks eye contact with you. "At least one of them is sure to call the feds when they see their inbox tomorrow."

"Oh geeze, he was that kind of creep?" Sherry exclaims out loud, still eating chicken.

"Oh yeah, he's been collecting a lot of really rare porn. Honestly, I wish you'd have just let me kill him so I didn't have to expose myself to that." You feel a little guilty that he had to dig through it, it explains why he looks so dejected.

"I'm sorry..." You can't help yourself, you feel bad when he seems upset about anything.

"How much have you eaten?" He seems to have noticed how full your box of chicken still is.

"Two pieces of chicken, and maybe one piece of broccoli." Sherry rats you out with a cruel grin on her face.

"Snitch!" You shoot back at her. She closes her box with a mischievous smirk, hops up, and starts to leave.

"Nice to meet 'ya, you synthetic Wendigo! Have fun and be safe, you two!" She slips past Revenant quickly and is out of the door, skipping down the hallway as the door slowly shuts behind her. Revenant watches her leave with some mix of confusion and concern. You turn to reassure him.

"She's fine. She won't say anything. She--"

"Clearly is some kind of competition for me. I mean, she held you like you two were bonded for life." He's immediately free to tease you with her gone. Thank goodness Revenant seems too shy to gang up on you with her; that would be untenable. He throws himself down next to you where Sherry once was. "I want that same kind of bond." He barely touches your chin with his claws, being sure to growl the last bit out loud.

You emit a whining noise, paralyzed by the thought. You're a bit more sensitive to it all at the moment, considering the events of the day. Revenant notices your struggle and pulls back, reverting to his demanding style.

"Eat your food. I didn't intend for your girlfriend to run off with a free meal and you not eat anything." It still feels weird coming from his new body, but you're getting used to it.

"She's just a good friend, that's all. And I was just too busy talking to eat, I still don't feel great though." You poke at the food, it's lukewarm by now but that isn't your main objection to it. You just don't feel like eating.

"Oh, so we aren't close enough yet for that kind of affection? I'll fix that soon enough." His voice hums. You sigh.

"Oh please," You pet his snout and he seems to enjoy it, getting him off your case for a bit, "Not right now, harass me later. If you want me to eat anything, you can't be doing this." He really seems to enjoy the snout rubs.

"Alright, fine, you eat, I'll talk." You pull your hand away and focus more on the food. "I have quite a number of these special chassis to myself, all kinds of designs and colors and other nonsense. These are my special occasion outfits, per sé." You nod, it makes sense. "This one, as well as many others, are modded to the brim with all sorts of fun additions." He touches his snout, noting where you pet it. "I can feel every single aspect of this suit, even those that don't conform to the human shape. Even better, it's neural processors are exponentially faster, meaning everything feels much more vivid and vibrant." He pulls his fingers to the nasal cavity. "I have an entire set of cores that do nothing but olfactory processing, so I get to be the better Bloodhound while I wear it." His fingers fall to his jaw. "This luxurious suit even gets a jaw with clamping power, canine teeth to snag whatever I want, and a synthetic tongue to taste the blood I spill." He starts to snarl his words as he pulls open his jaw to show you his mouth. He points to his horns next. "These things? Silicone carbide sections with rubber impulse reducers between." You stare at him with a look of minor confusion, so he clarifies. "I can headbutt a skull into fragments without even leaving a dent in my own." You wince at the thought. "Not to even mention the use of polyethylenes instead of metals in the body with support weights in the limbs makes it so I can move faster than ever but still hit just as hard. Not to even mention all the modifications below the neck. You'll see how much I destroy in tomorrow's match. I will win, I promise you that."

"Wanna bet?" You're happy with how confident he is, but you can't help but want to start something.

"And what do I have that you could possibly want?" Revenant asks the opposite of what you expect him to. Isn't the question usually posed the opposite way? You close up your leftovers and start going over to the kitchenette to put it in the fridge.

"Well, I wouldn't mind money or just hanging out with the prowlers again. I could put money on it too, just not enough to make it worth your while. Did you have something in mind?" The fridge is nearly empty, spare for that water bottle and liquor. You throw the box down on a shelf, close the door, and plop down on the couch in a lying position.

"So, if I don't win, I have to take you to see my puppies again, or give you money. Neither of those are objectionable to me, but when I win I get to take something instead?"

"Yeah, that's how I'm framing it. The extra motivation can't hurt. I just don't know what you'd want. I have some savings, but--"

"Forget the money, I don't exactly have much need for it and I have tons anyway. What I want..." He pauses for a moment as his voice turns sinister. "...is to hear you call me 'daddy' again while I take a piece of you." He seethes with a sadistically erotic tone.

You stare into space, your face must be red again.

"C'mon skinsuit, it's not every day I'm in one of my few suits with the proper equipment for it." He's loving the look on your face, undoubtedly. He's acting like this is a cruel joke, but... How far would he take this joke, though? Better yet, how far will you force him to take it? You still feel ill at ease about the idea, but you're suddenly angry enough to buck off the shame.

"Alright, fuck you but sure." Probably the ballsiest thing you've ever said in your life.

Revenant is caught off guard for a moment, his eyes dimming until they're nearly off, freezing in a somewhat shocked motion. After a few moments, you hear him slowly return as he laughs out loud. He has trouble containing himself, and goes to rub his mask again.

"You're insane, but I love that." He finally contains his laughter. "Your friend, what's her name?"

"Sherry." Weird change in subject but okay.

"Who's her favorite?"

"Wattson."

"Oh, perfect. I'll send a special request for her to keep you company during the match. I want you both to watch. I got my assigned team not long ago." He stands up from the edge of the bed and meanders over to the couch you're on, looming over you.

"Oh, are you with Wattson?"

"And Wraith. It's perfect for what I have planned." He never did explain what his plan was that day he dragged you all over the arena. "Loba's little triumph will pale in comparison to my massacre."

"Try not to make it too--"

"It will be bloody, gory, and brutal. Sorry little skinsuit, but you used up your pardon." He chides you from above before reaching down to help you up. "Now come, I need to warm something."

You stand up, a bit confused by his request, until he pulls you into a hug and you feel how strangely warm his body is. You're a bit taken aback at first, but you slowly ease into him and the warmth he offers.

"Luxurious, isn't it?" You feel his chest rattle into a purring sound as he cradles your head against his warm chest. "I like it too." He gently pulls you away from the couch before leading you to the bed.

You don't protest, you just crawl into bed and shuffle to the middle, making plenty of room for him to follow. You see the lights flick off, then feel his warmth press up against your back, cradling you completely. His snout rests on your shoulder, breathing into your ear. It's comforting, something you really needed after today.

"Thanks, Rev." You barely manage to whisper. He huffs in your ear as affirmation before you fall asleep.

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serendipitous-posts · 4 years ago

Text

Sacrifice you for nothing

Tubbo and Ranboo get a history lesson

title from Ain’t No Crying by Derivakat

"Damn" Tubbo says, staring up at the ceiling. "That chandelier really is fighting you every step of the way, huh?"

"And it's winning" Ranboo adds.

Foolish, hanging from the ceiling as he fixes the corner piece, glares down at him. "It is not winning" he hisses "I won't let it win." That declaration would have been a lot more solid had he not squeaked as the chandelier rocked dangerously.

If that fell and broke he would actually lose it.

Tubbo has no mercy for him. "You must hate that chandelier right now" he mocks "must be your least favourite thing in the world."

"Nah" Foolish grips a small chunk of gold carefully in his teeth to avoid breaking it "that would be cults" he mumbles. There's a brief bit of quiet below and then;

"Oh yeah, I heard that the Eggpire wrecked your buildings or something."

Chandelier finally fixed (for now) Foolish drops to the floor, a fall that would have shattered anyone elses ankles but just leaves him slightly winded. "Nah" he says "I've run into cults before; one's way worse than this one."

"Worse?!" Ranboo exclaims "worse than the parasitic chicken embryo?!"

"Far worse" Foolish confirms body language completely relaxed despite such a dark topic

(but outside the seas begin to froth and bubbles, rapids forming and pushing and pulling, crashing against teeth sharp rocks and punching away at the cliffs surrounding it.)

"they seem to keep popping up wherever I go. I-

(hate them hates them with everything he is and everything he is supposed to be divine blood in his body but he can't save them can't protect everyone can't heal everything some things can't be reversed)

"really don't like them. They suck."

(I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry, I can take your broken pieces and stitch them back, back together and it won't be the same but it will be similar and that is all I can give you)

(the totem in Ranboo's back pocket begins to burn)

"I'll say" Tubbo agrees, then, with childlike curiosity and teenage macabre "which one would would you say is the worst?"

Foolish falls still.

(the sea falls still. the totems stop burning.)

(it is somehow worse)

"Probably the one made for me" he says at last.

The story goes like this; there's a village that prays to him daily. It's not that uncommon really; he's the God of the Ocean and the Undead. People pray to him for safe passage on the seas or to help them find a totem.

But the people in this village are- to put it bluntly- really fucking annoying.

It's not uncommon for people without totems to pray to him for hours on end, begging him to revive their loved ones, but these guys have turned it into an art form, any and all hours of the day, banging around in his head.

And when words don't work, they turn to physical ways to show their devotion to their God.

Silly little mortals, trying to gain his favour with dead animals and trinkets, trying to gain his favour. He already gave them a way to cheat death, all they have to do is grab a totem. Why do they want another?

They have all they need to survive. He painstakingly carved those totems. He will not give too much of himself.

(lord foolish please my mother is gone i want her back lord foolish you can bring my husband back lord foolish fix this fix her i know you can)

So he ignores the animal sacrifices and the pretty trinkets offered to him in exchange for reviving a daughter, a son, a wife, a husband. He cannot revive the long dead, he learned that a long time ago.

The only real bearable one in the village is the child, and he doesn't even think the child knows what he is the God of, really, which is odd considering the inordinate amount of statues in the town. Whenever the child prays to Foolish, it's never about a dead loved one or the sea, it's always about what the child did that day. Foolish feels more like a diary than a God in those moments.

And at least that's interesting

(mister foolish i learned how to spell flower the other day f-l-o-u-u-e-r mister foolish i saw a dead cat on the side of the road the other day)

(mister foolish are you ever lonely)

The humans grow more and more frustrated with his complete and utter radio silence, and while he's out their festivals to him grow more and more complex, the animals growing bigger, rarer, more impressive.

(i offer you this ender dragon egg this elytra this nether star this emerald ore this music disc)

He's not gonna lie; the person who built that beautiful cottage had him for a solid minute.

But he's not really paying attention to any of that; he's not the only God to have festivals and sacrifices in his name. Definitely not gonna be the last.

(what do we have to do to bring back our loved ones?)

He's just happy to build.

Bargaining is a stage of grief, but so is acceptance, and they must learn to accept this.

(except their not accepting it, the town is just growing angrier, more desperate, going bigger and bigger, hunting animals around them to extinction.)

The first time they kill a human, he's pretty sure it's an accident. An old man, long past his time, probably just died from shock or disease.

They put his body on the altar and offer him up to him, not to revive but as a sacrifice. He arrives, cloaked in illusions as thick as the fog around the town. He still sees Death though, watching sedately from where she's sitting on the wall, her angel beside her.

They're gone in the next moment.

The town never buries the old man, keeps him on the altar, and, after three days, Foolish takes him, takes him far away to an old field and buries him there.

(the leader of the town finds the missing body and smiles. their god has accepted their gift)

He hopes it's a one time thing

(because what did they do to that man how could they these humans these ants small and painfully easy to kill but flocking together working together how could they turn on one of their own)

(because what would he do then?)

(after the man disappears from the altar, the child prays to him again, telling him the man's name, and how he once stopped the child from getting a rash from poisonous flowers. he liked violets the child tells him)

(maybe the child really does know what he's the god of. maybe the child's just lonely.)

He doesn't know what exactly triggered it. Maybe they saw the child trying to make conversation with a God instead of praying to one. Maybe the child, in the way all children are, said something controversial, maybe about the man who was left on the altar to rot.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He isn't there when the child is dragged out onto the streets, and dumped at the feet of the altar in front of the whole town, trembling and shaking. And the child is a child but is no fool, has seen the sacrifices has seen what has happened, and does what any scared child will do-try to run.

And at the same time the child tried to back away, the leader swung his sword, and the whole town watched as the child screamed, eyes bloodied and slashed from the blade.

(he had been aiming for the neck)

(not a fighter, that leader)

"A life for a life!" The leader exclaimed and swung again.

(the child collapsed on the floor and the crowd pressed in, eager to watch as they choked and gagged on the blood spilling out of their torn open throat, arms scrabbling into the ground like a beetle like a cockroach like an ant whose colony had turned on it)

And- and then-

And at the same time the child tried to back away and the leader swung his sword, the child had had one last panicked, desperate thought.

(mister foolish, they're gonna kill me)

And at the same time-

And at the same time the leader slit the child's throat, a golden clawed hand grabbed him by his.

"So yeah" Foolish says. "Cults are, like, the worst."

Ranboo and Tubbo continue to stare at him. "Uh" Ranboo says, then promptly stops talking.

"Did you . . kill them?"

He nods, bouncing on his feet a little. "Yeah" he smiles "good times."

The two teenagers both look like they don't know what to do with that.

"Well, at least they deserved it" Tubbo offers up attentively, and Ranboo nods

"Can't believe they executed a child. Nobody deserves to die like that" Ranboo mutters and Tubbo winces beside him.

"Y-yeah" Tubbo agrees nervously, twining his hands together "that poor kid. Hope it was peaceful."

Foolish blinks at them. "Wait, what?" Then he replays their entire conversation and laughs.

"Laughing at a kid's death" Ranboo notes, before turning to Tubbo "why are we letting him near Michael again."

"No, no" Foolish waves his hands "you misunderstood me; the child didn't die."

"You guys do remember I'm the God of Undying, right?" He raises an eyebrow at them both. "I healed the kid's neck wound right up." Ranboo just blinks at him in that slightly unsettling way that only an enderman can do.

"I thought you didn't revive people personally."

Foolish glances outside, past the both of them. "This was different" he says "this was-"

(my fault my fault i turned a blind eye i could have stopped this sooner you choked and gagged and cried out for anyone to save you but in the end the motivation for your murder had to step in.)

"-an exception."

"Good for you!" Tubbo cheers, shooting his hands in the air vehemently "the whole stinking town is gone and you and the child lived!"

Foolish makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Except the other towns had heard about the towns rituals. And it began to spread."

Tubbo's hands drop. "Oh."

"Yeah" he agrees "oh. But the worst part was the damage done to the child."

"Let me guess" Ranboo says, dry as Egypt. "Traumatised?"

"To put it mildly."

(the child had turned blind eyes towards him, and when he had reached out to grasp the pudgy hand it had recoiled, the small body curling up away from him and he had burned)

(the child hadn't seen or felt the tsunami that destroyed the entire town. but the screams- they had ears)

"But uh" he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot "not just that. I'm the God of Undying, so I can heal other's mortal injuries."

A long pause.

"Their mortal injuries" he repeats.

"Oh!" Tubbo jerks back "oh God! The child's eyes-"

"I healed them" he says, then winces "tried to heal them" he corrects. Better. "But uh, because they weren't fatal they weren't exactly, uh, restored."

(the mirror is broken and the cracks will show even when it's put back together and you'll never see the same way again my fault my fault i'm sorry i'm so so so sorry)

(this is all i can give you i am so sorry only child lonely child i cant take all you pain away but i promise you here and now you will be lonely no more)

"Damn." The closest Ranboo will ever get to a swear.

"It gets worse" Foolish chirps "the other towns found out that a child had been blessed by the Totem God himself. Were very interested in what exactly this child could do."

A long pause.

Then. "Cults" Ranboo says faintly.

"Cults" Foolish agrees cheerfully, thinking of a child screaming in agony with bloodstained eyes and a gashed throat as others looked on, indifferent.

Cults Foolish thinks grimly as that same child is dragged up to be executed by the Eggpire.

#dream smp #c!tubbo #tubbo #ranboo #c!ranboo #foolish gamers #c!foolish #mumza #philza #like #it's not explicitly said but it's implied #eggpire #eret #c!eret #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic #dream smp fic

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nikkoliferous · 4 years ago

Text

Phase One: Avengers (Part One)

With everything being about the LOKI series right now and me dreading it, I figured I'd distract myself by finally posting my thoughts on the Phase One: Avengers novel, which I seem to recall somehow being way worse than the Thor novel? I'm not completely convinced this thing wasn't ghostwritten by Taika Waititi; that's all I'm saying. Anyways, here we go.

(Quick note: please be aware that this overview is significantly Thor-critical. If that sort of thing bothers you, I do not recommend proceeding. You've been warned. Lol)

Let's start off with a friendly reminder that SHIELD had four hours to evacuate before Loki showed up, shall we?

Dr. Selvig read an energy surge from the Tesseract four hours ago,” Coulson was saying.

“I didn’t approve going to testing,” Fury said.

Coulson nodded. “He wasn’t testing it. He wasn’t even in the room. Spontaneous event.”

So either they're grossly incompetent or grossly negligent, but either way those deaths are on them at least as much as they're on Loki. If not more so.

“It just turned itself on?” Hill sounded skeptical. Fury, as usual, was less interested in how they’d gotten there than in what they were going to do next.

[...]

Selvig acknowledged him briefly and then returned his attention to the monitoring equipment. “Director, the Tesseract is misbehaving.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“No, it’s not funny at all. The Tesseract is not only active, she’s… behaving.”

Fury didn’t comment on the doctor characterizing the Tesseract as female. He also wasn’t interested in Selvig’s notions about its personality. It didn’t have a personality. It was a cube containing energy, and all Nick Fury wanted was to know how to control that energy. “I assume you pulled the plug.”

Fury having no intellectual curiosity explains a lot, tbh. Like how he thinks Loki "kills because it's fun", even though nothing about their prior interaction indicates that. Like, at all. Loki killed only the agents who were attacking him. Because he felt threatened. If he indeed killed for the fun of it, he would have taken them all out and been done with it. Doing so would have both entertained him and made for a much smoother getaway.

“She’s an energy source. We turn off the power, she turns it back on. If she reaches peak level—”

“We prepared for this, Doctor. Harnessing energy from space.”

“We’re not ready. My calculations are far from complete. And she’s throwing off interference radiation.”

Fury watched the Tesseract in its circular containment shell. Eight separate energy sensors built into a frame supporting that shell were designed to measure and conduct that energy. Those sensors in turn rested on stainless-steel support scaffolding. The whole setup sprouted cables and conduits. These were there to supply energy to the Tesseract in a controlled fashion so Dr. Selvig could analyze its reactions. Now they were all shut down, as Dr. Selvig had said, but even so, the Tesseract glowed with a fierce blue energy. It was starting to spill onto the sensors, arcing like electricity. But it wasn’t electricity. It was something much more exotic.

I also find it curious/amusing/something that Fury later accuses Loki of "stealing a force [he] can't hope to control". YOU'RE DESCRIBING YOURSELF, NICK. YOU'RE THE ONE WHO CAN'T CONTROL IT AND HAS BEEN ARROGANTLY PRETENDING YOU CAN.

The man looked up at them and smiled as he stood. He was not a large man, not remarkable in any particular way. He had long black hair and wore black leather clothing, similar to what Fury was wearing. However, he wasn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Fury didn’t know where he had come from.

I beg to fucking differ lmao

Fury had the Tesseract in a steel carrying case and was taking a step toward the door when the stranger turned to him and said, “Please don’t. I still need that.”

Kudos to Loki for not forgetting his princely manners even while completely off his rocker. Lol

“This doesn’t have to get any messier,” Fury said. He glanced quickly around, trying to figure the fastest way out.

“Of course it does,” the stranger said. “I’ve come too far for anything else.”

TELL US WHAT YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH, LOKI. INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW.

“Loki?” Dr. Selvig said. He stood up from helping one of his fellow doctors, who was barely conscious. “Brother of Thor?”

“We have no quarrel with your people,” Fury said.

Loki acknowledged Selvig and then returned his attention to Fury.

By "acknowledged", the author means he rolled his eyes so hard he saw his own brain lmao

“I come with glad tidings,” Loki said. “Of a world made free.”

“Free from what?” Fury asked.

Turning back to him, Loki said simply, “Freedom. Freedom is life’s great lie. Once you accept that in your heart…” As he spoke the word “heart,” he turned and touched Selvig’s chest with the tip of his scepter, just as he had with Hawkeye. Selvig gasped, and the same change came over his face that Fury had seen in Hawkeye’s. “You will know peace.”

He's not simply deranged, you know. For Loki, this is actually true. He has never been free in his entire life, and won't be at any point after this either. Yes, there was also the torture and the mind control at play, but even underneath all that, is it any wonder he was vulnerable to the Thanos cult's brainwashing?

Hawkeye had been looking around the complex. Now he stepped up to Loki. “Sir, Director Fury is stalling. This place is about to blow and drop a hundred feet of rock on us. He means to bury us.”

Loki looked back at Fury, who said, “Like the pharaohs of old.”

“He’s right, the portal is collapsing in on itself!” Selvig called out from the monitors. “We’ve got maybe two minutes before this goes critical.”

Friendly reminder, once again, that Loki wasn't even aware the PEGASUS facility was on the verge of collapsing—let alone the cause of it.

“Well then,” Loki said. He glanced over at Hawkeye.

Without a word, Hawkeye drew his gun and shot Nick Fury once, dead center in the chest.

Two things:

1) Every time I see this scene in gifs, all I can think of is, "Pull the lever, Kronk." 🤣

2) So how does the direct mind control of the sceptre work anyway? Because Loki never actually gives Barton a command here. So does he sometimes communicate with his minions telepathically (sort of like The Other does with him), or does Barton just intuit his intent here, or what?

Maria Hill saw Hawkeye come out of the lab into the garage with Selvig, a liaison officer, and a stranger carrying a spear. He looked more like one of the people they’d been recruiting into the Avengers Initiative than an ordinary technician or S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. “Who's that?” she asked.

*sigh* In a just MCU, this would have been foreshadowing.

She jumped into a jeep and headed after them. Other S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles followed, filled with agents. They roared along the underground access road that led up to the surface in the New Mexico desert. She was gaining on them and firing as she drove. Sooner or later, she’d be close enough to have a good shot at the stranger.

He had other ideas, though. When he saw the pursuing convoy get too close, he pointed his scepter at them. The tip of it flared bright blue, and a bolt of energy lashed out from it, striking the vehicle in front of Hill and shattering the right side of its passenger compartment. The vehicle slewed around and flipped, rolling and landing sideways across the road. They were blocked.

Interesting of Loki to go for the passenger compartment instead of the driver. Was anyone even sitting there? Just one more example in a long string of Loki being inexplicably merciful to his enemies, I guess. 🤷

They got around ahead of the truck, and Fury leaned out of the helicopter’s side door. He fired, emptying his clip. He could tell from the sparks that some of the bullets had hit, but he was too far away to see if they’d done any damage.

His real target was Loki, but he was protected by the cab of the truck. Fury couldn’t get a good shot at him.

Did Fury already forget that Loki is bulletproof, or...? I mean, I guess that's fair. Earlier, Hawkeye goes to draw his sidearm only minutes after the narration points out that the bullets already fired at Loki had bounced away harmlessly.

Leaning over the truck’s roof and keeping low, however, Loki could get a good shot at the helicopter. A blue bolt lanced out and struck the helicopter’s rotor assembly. All the control mechanisms went haywire, and the helicopter spiraled down out of the sky. The truck drove underneath them as they were about to crash, close enough that Fury could see the gloating expression on Loki’s face.

Haha, good for him.

“Coulson, you know that Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me,” she said.

“Oh, I’ve got Stark,” Coulson said. “You’ve got the big guy.”

Oh, Natasha thought. That big guy. She said something in Russian. It wasn’t polite.

This has nothing to do with Loki. It just made me laugh.

Nick Fury had called an emergency meeting of the World Security Council. They needed to know what had happened with the Tesseract, and they needed to know what he planned to do about it. He brought up holographic images of all the WSC members, with their faces and locations hidden. He did not know who they were, but S.H.I.E.L.D. reported to them.

Well, that doesn't sound problematic at all, does it?

“The Avengers Initiative was shut down.”

“This isn’t about the Avengers.” That wasn’t strictly true, but Nick Fury was no idiot. He wasn’t going to show all his cards to the World Security Council when he didn’t even know who they were.

I'm glad he at least recognizes the stupidity of working for people he doesn't know, but uh... debatable, otherwise. Lol

“This isn’t about personality profiles anymore,” Coulson said. He wasn’t giving up, and that irritated Tony even more than the fact he’d showed up right when the celebration of Stark Tower was supposed to be starting.

*cough*DIVA*cough*

Loki watched Dr. Erik Selvig work, preparing the Tesseract for the next phase of his plan. Technicians and soldiers scurried about on various errands. Loki did not know the details and did not care. They were beneath him. He had his eye solely on the greater prize. It was time to consult with the Chitauri and begin the next phase of the preparations.

Really? You expect me to believe that Loki, the master tactician with "a cunning mind far exceeding Thor and Odin’s", couldn't be bothered to know the details of his own plan? Um, how about no?

Deep space and a field of stars surrounded this rocky world. Pale blue lights glowed where the Chitauri had built their fortress. They gleamed in a set of stairs that climbed to the topmost tower. That was where Loki had made his bargain with the Chitauri: They would be his army and he would open a path to Earth for them. Once Earth was his, and Asgard as well, he would turn the Tesseract over to them.

At least that was what he had promised.

1) Who said anything about Asgard...?

2) Indicator that Loki never planned on actually turning over the Tesseract? I don't know why you'd include this line otherwise.

“Let them gird themselves,” he said. “I will lead them in glorious battle.”

“Battle?” the Chitauri warrior snorted. “Against the meager might of Earth?”

“Glorious,” Loki repeated. “Not lengthy. If your force is as formidable as you claim.”

He had intended to anger the Chitauri, and he had succeeded.

Personally, I saw this less as intending to anger and more as "Loki has no self-preservation instinct and literally cannot help himself". What's to be gained by intentionally pissing off The Other here?

“You don’t have the Tesseract yet.” The Chitauri leader rushed at Loki and stopped just short of him, claws raised. Loki did not move.

“I don’t threaten,” he said, though he was doing exactly that.

LOL

The Chitauri leader backed down but only a step. “You will have your war, Asgardian,” he growled. Then he too decided to make a threat. “If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.”

Loki flashed back into his awareness of Earth. He took a deep breath. The Chitauri did not frighten him… but he would have been a fool if he had not possessed a healthy respect for their leader, the mad Titan known as Thanos. For it was Thanos who had given Loki the scepter, and Thanos who had rallied the Chitauri to Loki’s cause… and Thanos who wished to possess the Tesseract for his own monstrous ends. One did not bargain lightly with Thanos—and one certainly did not fail to meet the terms of such a bargain.

Love how this book just repeatedly glosses over the obvious fact that Loki was tortured. In the first chapter, it makes zero mention of his stumbling or other signs of being weakened. Here, it completely omits the pain WE ALL SAW The Other inflict on him. Fuck this narrator, seriously.

Steve had a moment to look around. The commanding officer appeared to be a woman with short dark hair reeling off orders from near the center of the bridge. “S.H.I.E.L.D. Emergency Protocol 193.6 in effect,” she was saying after a series of status orders and acknowledgments. Steve didn’t know what protocol that was. At the moment, all he knew was that he was on a flying aircraft carrier… and wasn’t that enough? Amazing.

[....]

The Helicarrier disappeared from view. From the inside, it didn’t look any different, but Steve saw monitors from satellite feeds, and on those, the Helicarrier had simply become invisible. He corrected himself: He wasn’t just on a flying aircraft carrier. He was on an invisible flying aircraft carrier. The future was pretty… cool, was the word everyone used now.

I'm not the biggest Steve fan, but I will admit to finding his childlike awe over the Helicarrier slightly adorable. Lol

Side note: is someone on this thing coordinating with Air Traffic Control? I... really hope so.

“What did it show you, Agent Barton?”

Barton turned to look at Loki. “My next target,” he said.

Loki nodded. “Tell me what you need.”

Barton took one his bows out of a case and snapped it into shape with a flick of his arm. “I need a distraction,” he said. “And a biometric ID.”

Why the change from "eyeball", I wonder? Seems random. Lol

Inside, Loki had been mingling with the crowd, taking on the appearance of an ordinary man with a walking stick. But as the president of the museum, one Doktor Heinrich Schäfer, began his welcoming speech, Loki decided it was time to make a dramatic entrance. He tapped the walking stick on the floor and it became his scepter. Immediately, to get the crowd’s attention, he aimed it at the nearest museum security guard and fired.

This... didn't happen?? At all??

Loki strode the rest of the way down the stairs and manhandled Schäfer over to a stone altar that was one of the museum’s prized ancient Norse relics. He slammed Schäfer onto his back, forcing a machine over his face. Schäfer cried out in pain and surprise as the machine shone blinding light into his face, holding his eyes open.

On the one hand, confirmation that Loki did not actually shred this dude's eye and he's probably fine. On the other hand, the author completely made up what just happened literally two sentences ago, so their credibility is a little suspect at the moment. Lol

A police car, alerted by the commotion, raced toward him. He blasted it with his scepter, and it spun out of control and crashed.

ACAB!

The crowd froze. Slowly the crowd knelt, and Loki reveled in their submission. “There,” he said. “Is this not simpler? Is this not your natural state? It’s the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel.”

He's talking about himself here. We all get that, right?

An old man in the middle of the crowd stood. Loki paused in his speech to regard this individual. Around him, all the copies of himself also looked at this old man.

“Not to men like you,” the old man said.

“There are no men like me,” Loki said.

No lies detected.

But Loki was tougher than he looked. He struck back with the scepter, forcing Captain America to parry until Loki found an opening and slammed the butt of the scepter into Captain America’s midsection, knocking him down. Captain America threw the shield again, but this time Loki was ready. He knocked it aside. It fell ringing to the stones of the plaza, and Loki had the tip of the scepter against the back of Captain America’s neck before the soldier could get back to his feet.

Correction: If he'd actually been trying to win, he would have used the tip. (Narrator: he was not trying to win).

A sudden storm rose around the Quinjet. Natasha looked at the instrument panel. There’d been no warning of heavy weather. “Where’s this coming from?” she wondered out loud.

At first, she thought that Loki was responsible. But that didn’t appear to be the case. He looked more nervous than anyone else on the jet.

Loki has Thor-induced PTSD. Understandable, tbh.

Thor let Loki fall well before they got to the ground.

Because Thor is an asshole.

So hey, as long as we're here, let's review how each member of Loki's family responds to the realisation that he's survived his suicide attempt.

Thor- manhandles him, angrily demands to know where the Tesseract is

Odin- refuses to even use his name, implies he should have either slaughtered him as an infant or left him to die

Frigga- tells him not to make things worse (fucking rich coming from the woman who exacerbated his trauma immeasurably by thrusting the throne upon him when he was at his most vulnerable)

Wild, man. I wonder why Loki's convinced his family doesn't give a shit about him. They seem like such loving people to me.

“I remember a shadow,” Loki said bitterly. “Living in the shade of your greatness. I remember you tossing me into an abyss. I who was and should be king!”

Because you would have destroyed Asgard, Thor thought. Just to impress our father, you would have annihilated all the Nine Realms. “So you took the world I love as recompense for your imagined slights? No. The Earth is under my protection, Loki.”

1) Actually, he was trying to save Asgard... from a war that YOU started, numbnuts. He went about it all wrong because he was having a fucking mental breakdown, but at no stage did he even really endanger Asgard, let alone come close to destroying it.

2) Um, what? Where the fuck in Loki's plan was annihilating anything other than Jötunheim? I see Thor shares his friends' impressive conclusion-jumping skills. Not surprising.

3) Thor, I mean this truly and without reservation: go fuck yourself.

Loki chuckled. “And you’re doing a marvelous job with that. The humans slaughter each other in droves while you idly fret. I mean to rule them, and why should I not?”

He... has a point.

“You think yourself above them?”

“Well, yes.”

At least Loki is honest about his condescension, Thor. You should try it sometime.

Suddenly furious, Loki raged at Thor. “I’ve seen worlds you’ve never known about! I have grown, Odinson, in my exile. I have seen the true power of the Tesseract, and when I wield it—”

“Who showed you this power?” Thor interrupted. “Who controls the would-be king?”

And he will never bring this up again. Ever.

Stepping right up to his brother, Thor shouted back. “Not here! You give up the Tesseract! You give up this poisonous dream!” Then he softened. “You come home.”

“I don’t have it,” Loki said. Furious, Thor brought Mjolnir to his hand, ready for battle.

Thor's sort of a one-solution kind of guy, huh? Somebody help me out here, because he's "changed" but his first instinct when he's not getting his way is still to react with intimidation and violence. Funny how that works.

Tony braked and skidded to a halt as the Asgardian rolled away from him, tearing up trees and brush as he went. He got to his feet and extended a warning hand. “Do not touch me again,” he said.

Oh, what's the matter, Thor? Do you not like being manhandled? That's weird because you sure do seem to enjoy doing the manhandling. 😕

“If he gives up the cube, he’s all yours. Until then…” Tony’s faceplate clamped back down. “Stay out of the way.”

He turned to walk back to a place where he could make a clean takeoff. “Tourist,” he muttered.

That was the last straw, apparently, because the next thing Tony knew, the Asgardian’s hammer had hit him about as hard as he’d ever been hit in his life. The force of the blow carried him through the trunk of a tree and laid him out flat in the dirt.

Please note that Thor was not being attacked. He once again used offensive violence against someone who hurt his feelbads. "Changed", my rear.

“Then prove it,” Cap said. “Put that hammer down.”

“Uh, no, bad call,” Iron Man said. “He loves his hammer—”

The Asgardian interrupted Tony by smashing him out of the way with a backhand swing. “You want me to put the hammer down?” he roared, and leaped high into the air, bringing his hammer down toward Captain America.

And again—not in any immediate danger, simply reacting with violence to something that made him angry.

“Oh, I’ve heard. A mindless beast. Makes play he’s still a man. How desperate are you, that you call on such lost creatures to defend you?”

“How desperate am I?” Fury echoed. He walked slowly over the catwalk to stand in front of Loki. “You threaten my world with war. You steal a force you can’t hope to control. You talk about peace, but you kill because it’s fun. You have made me very desperate. You might not be glad that you did.”

This is called 'projection', kids. Projection, and making up stories about your enemies so they're easier to hate. Fury needs to show his work.

Loki knew he had been heard throughout the ship. He could hear the echoes of the speakers, and even if he had not, he always knew when people were listening to him. That was part of his power, to make them listen… and to make each of them hear something just a little different. Just what he wanted them to hear.

This doesn’t mean anything, does it??

Perhaps he was in a cage right now, but he had been in cages before. Not once had one been able to hold him for long.

This... has to be a reference to his time with the Black Order, right? There's certainly no basis for such a statement pre-2011.

Or the author is just on crack. That's very possible.

Thor took a step toward Bruce. “Have a care how you speak,” he warned. “Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard… and he is my brother.”

“He killed eighty people in two days,” Natasha pointed out.

Citation needed, please.

“Well, I promise a stress-free environment. No tension, no surprises…” As he spoke, Tony walked behind Bruce and gave him a little zap with an electrical instrument.

“Ow!” Bruce said.

Tony looked closely at him. “Nothing?” He’d been testing Bruce to see how well he controlled the Hulk. The little shock hadn’t provoked any kind of unusual reaction, which Tony seemed to find a little disappointing.

Ok, but what exactly was Tony's plan if Bruce had Hulked out here? lmao

“Steve,” Bruce said, “tell me none of this smells a little funky to you.”

Cap looked back and forth between the two scientists. Bruce could tell he was struggling with something… but he also wasn’t going to share it. He was too much of a good soldier for that.

🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

“Yeah. I’ll read all about it.”

“Or you’ll be suiting up with the rest of us.”

Bruce shook his head with a regretful smile. “No, see, I don’t get a suit of armor. I’m exposed. Like a nerve. It’s a nightmare.”

Bruce has BPD. Lol

No, you guys don't understand. That's literally what it feels like.

Thor watched over Coulson’s shoulder as the agent showed him S.H.I.E.L.D.’s current files on Jane Foster. When he had learned that Loki had captured Erik Selvig, his first thought had been of Jane. Thor had destroyed the Bifrost to save the Nine Realms, but he had also cut himself off from her… or so he had thought. It was a terrible decision to make, sacrificing love for duty—yet Thor had done it. If necessary, he would do it again. He hoped it would not be necessary, though, and that was one reason why he had asked Coulson about Jane.

Oh my god, Thor. You spent like, three days with her, max. And people call Loki the dramatic one...

Thor looked out into the sky, gathering his thoughts. “When I first came to Earth,” he went on, “Loki’s rage followed me here, and your people paid the price. Now, again. In my youth, I courted war.”

“War hasn’t started yet,” Fury said.

1) Correction: when your daddy threw you to Earth like a sack of trash down a cosmic garbage chute. You were not here on vacation, bro.

2) No, Loki's rage followed your treasonous friends.

3) LAST YEAR. YOUR 'YOUTH' WAS LAST YEAR.

4) *committed mass murder over an insult

“You think you could make Loki tell us where the Tesseract is?”

This possibility hadn’t occurred to Thor. “I do not know,” he said. “Loki’s mind is far afield. It’s not just power he craves. It’s vengeance, upon me. There’s no pain that would pry that need from him.”

1) Opposing Thor = being crazy. Noted.

2) Not everything is about you, buddy. At the risk of repeating myself, this is the guy I'm supposed to believe learned humility? Really? Where?

3) Please note that Thor does not object to torturing Loki because it's immoral or because the thought of hurting Loki pains him. He objects because he doesn't believe it will work.

Thor held Fury’s gaze. It was not the first time he had looked at a one-eyed man who posed him a difficult question. “What are you asking me to do?” he asked, wanting Fury to be clear and to own his words.

“I’m asking what you are prepared to do,” Fury said quietly.

“Loki is a prisoner,” Thor said. He thought Fury was testing him, seeing if he would violate his ideals to find out something they all needed to know. But Thor would not.

"I'm okay with physically assaulting prisoners if they make me mad, but I suddenly draw the line at torture. Even though my 'ideals' didn't appear to be a concern two sentences ago."

If I feel like being generous to Thor, maybe he initially hoped Fury would back off if he just said torture wouldn't work, and then Thor wouldn't have to risk appearing... soft? Weak? I don't know.

“But you figured I’d come,” she said.

“After,” Loki said. “After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm. And I would cooperate.” It was a typical approach. Cause misery, and then let someone appear as a friendly face. The miserable person would say anything to keep this friend. Loki had seen strong men break this way, many times.

I'm not sure why the author felt the need to depersonalize this by talking about other men. Loki knows this experience intimately. It's what he's endured his entire life at the hands of his "loving" family. The torture just wasn't physical then as far as we know.

An interesting story, Loki thought. She has much to atone for. He could hear some of her memories, from before her first encounter with Barton. Little girl, he thought, you’ve done some very bad things. And now you think you owe Clint Barton your life… but there is more to it. Loki could tell there was something in her mind that he was not quite uncovering. He pushed a little more.

Is... is this text implying that Loki can read people's minds/memories even without touching them?

“Can you?” he asked. “Can you wipe out that much red?” He listed for her some of the things he knew she had done. “Dreykov’s daughter… São Paulo… the hospital fire? Barton told me everything.” This was a lie. Barton had told Loki certain things about Romanoff, but he was also guessing some others.

He... guessed the details of these very specific incidents? What? lmao

He pushed ahead. Now that he understood her, he could break her. “Your ledger is dripping, it’s gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? Pathetic. You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors, but they are part of you and they will never go away.”

He's talking about himself again. 🥺

For some reason, this book skips right over the part where Loki threatens both Barton's and Natasha's lives. Not sure why; the author clearly has no problem depicting Loki as an unhinged psychopath most of the time. Oh well, whatevs.

Loki couldn’t understand how she had gathered her composure so quickly—and then he did understand. She was a superb actress! Or not even an actress, for he could see through a conscious performance. She was something else. She had been broken down and remade so many times, with so many identities, that she could put them on and take them off at will. And Loki had gotten lost in those emotional costume changes.

He had been outwitted by a mortal. Unthinkable.

Yeah, phew, it's a good thing Natasha figured it out in time. Otherwise, something terrible might have happened—like Bruce Hulking out and rampaging through the Helicarrier. Oh, wait...

“I was wrong, Director,” Cap said. “The world hasn’t changed a bit.” He looked angry and disappointed. Captain America was a big believer in shooting straight and telling the truth. He didn’t like spies and he didn’t like lies, and now he saw he was knee-deep in both.

This novel's hero worship of Steve Rogers is going to kill me. 🙄

“I’d like to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction,” Bruce finished.

“Because of him,” Fury said, pointing at Thor.

“Me?”

“Last year, Earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town,” Fury said. “We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously, outgunned.”

Has anyone figured out yet how this line doesn't conflict with Captain Marvel? Is Fury lying to hide her existence for some reason? Or is this just one of those things that we're supposed to shrug and pretend wasn't retconned?

“A nuclear deterrent,” Tony said. “Because that always calms everything right down.”

“Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark,” Fury said coldly.

On the one hand, yes, good point. But on the other hand, he... stopped making them? So clearly, he no longer thinks they are a good thing?

And also, not to gloss over his past sins, but wasn't Tony born rich? Lol

“I thought humans were more evolved than this,” Thor commented.

Tony turned on Thor. “Excuse me, did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?”

Didn't Fury say this in the movie? Why did the author give the line to Tony instead? There are all these... weird changes in the story that are so minor I have no idea why the author made them. Very confusing.

Just like that, all of them were arguing. Cap and Tony were nose to nose, while Bruce and Natasha fired remarks back and forth. Thor stood off to the side, contempt plain on his face.

'Cause he also thinks he's superior to humans. 🙃

Tony and Cap squared off over an argument that they couldn’t even remember starting. Tony was still mad about the last thing Cap had said to him… whatever it was.

In case there was any doubt about the sceptre being the reason everyone starts losing their shit with one another.

Cap stood his ground. “Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?”

Tony had an answer ready for this one. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

Hey Steve? You know he invented the suit, right? Like. The suit is literally him.

“Put on the suit,” Cap said. “Let’s go a few rounds.”

Steve putting out big Joe Biden, "listen, fat..." energy here lmao

Thor laughed. “You people are so petty… and tiny.”

Thor, my dude. You literally started a war over being emasculated in front of your friends. I don't think you get to judge other people for being petty.

Fury could see things were spiraling out of control. He started trying to get them all back on track. “Agent Romanoff,” he said, “would you escort Dr. Banner back to—”

“Where?” Bruce interrupted. “My room? You rented my room.”

Nobody had said it out loud, but they all knew the cell currently holding Loki was designed for the Hulk.

What was their plan for containing the Hulk if necessary after sticking Loki in his cage, anyway? Did they even have one?

“Dr. Banner,” Cap said. “Put down the scepter.”

Bruce looked down. He hadn’t even known he’d picked it up.

Why does that sound familiar...?

Even though he could see what was going on, the hostility in the air was still thick enough that Bruce didn’t know whether he could back everyone down… or whether he could back himself down. He could feel tension rising inside him. He could feel the monster trying to get loose.

And yet none of them so much as considers the idea that the sceptre might be having a similar effect on Loki? Ok then.

But even though he was now refocused on the mission, the others still bickered. Loki had gotten into their heads, sowing discord and setting them against each other.

lmao I'd just like to note that Loki didn't actually do anything. This was all them and the effects of just being near the sceptre. #ThanksLoki

“The Tesseract belongs to Asgard,” Thor said.

Why, though?

“I’ll go after it,” Tony said.

“No you don’t,” Cap said, stepping into his way. He wasn’t ready to forget the way Tony had insulted him.

Ok, first of all, you started it. But also, seriously, Steve, that's your number one priority right now? Earth's mightiest heroes, ladies and gentlemen... lol

I have apparently managed to hit the paragraph limit, so we'll return after this short break, I guess. 🙈

↪️ On to Part Two

#there is a lot of salt here please remember to drink plenty of water #loki meta #loki #thor #tony stark #steve rogers #bruce banner #natasha romanoff #clint barton #nick fury #avengers assemble #mcu #phase one: avengers #thor critical

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qhostqizmo · 3 years ago

Text

Made To Fall In Love With You

Every creak of the floorboards reminded Essätha of a series of Eldritch Blasts going off as she tried sneaking her way down the hallway. The sorceress was no professional burglar; and despite picking her steps with care to where her weight would not awaken the shifted building’s quirks, each footfall was too loud in her ears. Every few steps her eyes trailed behind her, catching no sight nor sound of any waking murmuring or hobbled shuffling. So far, so good.

To her great surprise, no one manned the front desk as the sun peaked upon the horizon. The smell of bacon grease drifted from another room. It was distant; the Yuan-Ti woman assumed the keeper of the inn may be about while their help worked on preparing a meal for travelers willing to pay. Naturally her tummy grumbled and gurgled in a fit to the delicious aromas. Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment while hurrying the last few steps to the threshold.

By some grace of the Gods, the hinges of the door did not creak and it barely stuck as she pulled it open. The first rays of sunshine blasted her in the eye; a blinding array of dazzling white. Essie squinted for a moment, blinking as her sight adjusted to soak in her surroundings. The large front porch greeted its way to a gravel walkway, and down to the road littered with potholes out of town.

Her heart stammered in her chest uneasily. Licking her lips, she gazed over her shoulder once more.

Nothing.

An ill feeling of trepidation sank in her stomach, yet still she persisted on. The door sealed shut behind her with a click. It was a sign: there was no turning back now.

She took the steps off the porch in a hurry; twitchy that perhaps her sloth-like speed within the dwelling would have ripped precious seconds away from her escape. Rock and dirt crunched beneath her boots as she hurried for the street. The heaviness of her bag began to slap against her back; supplies giving a sturdy thump and rattle with each step. It fell in tune quickly with her rapid pulse. What was she doing?

What was best, she reminded the fearful voice in her head. It quieted, but did not release its grip on her conscious.

From the stoop, a figure raised its head as she paused, panting from street-level. The shape defined itself as a mastiff tilted its head; a solid swish of its tail thumping against the porch. The beast began to stand, shaking its mane of black and chocolate brown.

“Ssstay!”

Her hissed warning surprised the hound, which jerked its posture backwards and away a step down the stoop. It began to whine; deep and throaty and remorseful.

Essie licked her lips again. “Please,” she begged, insisting.

Again, the great canine whimpered, pacing the deck with uncertainty. Should it follow, or should it obey?

From within the structure, there was a rustle, and someone called out. The mastiff pricked his ears to swivel its gaze towards the door.

There wasn’t going to be a better distraction.

I’m sorry, Caesar.

Feeling a tear forming in her heart, Essätha let her feet fly. She knew how to push it; run past the point of lungs burning and the wobble in legs threatening a collapse. She’d been doing it all her life, after all. This was no different.

But it felt different.

Her throat jumped; swallowing around a great and heavy formation in her throat. All she could hear was her heavy breathing, her pulse pounding frantically in her chest, the pebbles and debris kicked up with each launch of her feet from the ground. It was a sprint against the sun; chasing shadows and disappearing between the sparse houses and closing in on wooded forest. The world was an endless blur of smells and colors around her; hues and spectrums of clean laundry hanging, flowers in bloom, tarry-pine trees freshly cut, the streaks of muted house-colors of greens and browns. A startled bird took flight before her into the sky, cawing. She didn’t look twice, but her dread thought that it may have been a raven.

She wasn’t going to survive long alone. Not like this. Not with two adversaries on her tail; one a personal vendetta, the other a vast network of cult members.

But it wasn’t her chances she was worried about.

Someone yelled at her in a startled voice from a smithery as she ran by, but her spare time had already been bought and sold. She beelined for the treeline that was rapidly approaching. At least her knowledge of untamed wilds would give her a clean escape. If she hit water, she’d even be able to throw off the dog perhaps if they decided to pursue her.

The timbers and undergrowth swiftly became a dense jungle too thick to traverse full-hurtle. Forced to pick her way around thorny bushes and clamor over fallen trees, progress began to waver. The sun rose slowly higher in the sky, little by little. Sweat covered her back from the fabric of the backpack, and her stomach growled and complained from lack of breakfast.

It couldn’t have been even an hour when her knees hit the ground, exhausted. She blinked, shivering from fatigue. A series of wet droplets hit the ground, and continued to fall from her face.

Lowering her head, Essie swallowed. Her forehead touched the dry earth; inhaling dust. An irritable bug bit at her arm. She could hear past her own heavy gasping, the sound of distant birds singing Pelor morning praise for raising the light into the sky once more.

A heaviness overtook her queasiness, and another whimper drew past her lips. She crumbled to the ground even more, falling to her side among the leaflitter, the weeds, the grass, the moss. Just the spot she belonged, among the mud and filth.

It seemed only a moment; and perhaps it was, that she closed her eyes. Breathe. Just breathe. However when she opened them again, the thicket was crashing and shaking; something large charging through and headed straight in her direction.

The sorceress reached for the hilt of one of her daggers, but didn’t grasp it yet when the barreling of fur and claws hurtled through the bushes.

“Caesar!” She exclaimed, dropping her hand as the beast scrambled just enough to stop before her. “I told you to stay-”

The mastiff whined, his butt wiggling with overzealous glee. He’d found her, and he was more than happy to lap his big, wet, sloppery tongue on her face.

“You might have told him to stay, but I told him hiruvalyë.”

A tremor raced down the Yuan-Ti’s spine. Her exhale rattled out of her like a last breath; uneasy and fearful. Goosebumps trailed and dotted down her arms with knowing as she lifted her head higher, spotting the void expression staring back at her. The man wearing the expression was dressed in a heavy garment cloak with a bear-fur mantle. She knew the texture of better than she recalled the memory of her own skin, or the feel of the kinks in her wavy hair.

“… What’s that mean?” she rasped. Her voice cracked, throat dry.

“It is Elvish; translated literally to ‘thou shalt find’.”

Essie dug her fingers into the dirt; lodging grime to the bed of her fingernails. She looked away from the nobleman’s sharp features and blankly staring eyes. Despite the fact he could no longer see her face, she self-consciously wiped at the tear tracks on her face now dusty dried-lined. Though she wanted to beg for forgiveness; to kiss the ground he walked on, she bit down upon her wobbly lower lip as he made his way to stand before her.

He took a knee, ushering the frantic and whining mastiff circling her back. Reluctantly but obediently, the massive dog sat where indicated and waited patiently.

Time slowed to a crawl. The pacing was worse than that of her break-out of the inn. Each breath came and went, with nothing happening. The quiet lingered. The guilt rose in her; mighty as the crashing of a thousand bison thundering hooves on the plains. The guilt burned into plumes of shame. The shame to self-loathing, like so many daggers stitched into invisible wounds on her skin.

When she did not move or speak after the seconds turned to minutes, finally the figure sighed ever so quietly. Essie did not flinch or shy away from the hand that reached for her face. She wished it would strike her, or push her, rather than cradle her chin as carefully as it did; guiding her to look skyward. She wished the thoughtfulness of this touch would hate her as much as she hated herself.

Instead; her eyes golden as the sunlight, stared up to find the red-rimmed void of blue and black staring hauntingly back at her.

If she thought she hated herself before, she wanted to succumb to Asmondeus’ themselves worst trails in the Nine Hells now. She deserved it. She deserved fates worse than death, for being the cause of such agony and hurt in such gentle eyes.

“… You promised you would never leave me.”

The words fell out of her faster than she could catch them: “M’lord Amon, it is safer this way, for all of us.”

More than anything, Essie wanted him to be angry. She wanted him to be furious; she wanted him to spit on her and tell her he despised her. That he had been burned and left too many times to accept this betrayal. That she was worthless. That she was a mistake.

Amon blinked; a fresh spring of tears in his eyes, and he looked at her with all the things she did not deserve. None of it she was warranted. He looked at her with reverence beyond any known language, and a gut-sense knowing wiser than the lifespan mankind could survive.

“I know you that you’re scared,” he whispered hoarsely and with understanding. “I see it in your eyes, I feel it in your body laid next to mine, I can tell by the way you breathe that you are terrified. But you never have to run from me, Essie,” Amon murmured. The rough pad of his thumb swiped away a stray tear that had fallen from her eye.

“I was so scared when I woke up, and you weren’t there-”

Her throat tightened, words barely audible as she wheezed, “Then I am a failure and a liar, and you should never have followed me.”

“I’m not upset with you.” She knew this, even as he spoke the words; reaching to hold her face in both hands now. “I’m not upset with you; I swear. I forgive you. I… I know what it’s like to push others away; to run from everything, to turn from hands that want to help you. I’m so relieved to see that you are safe. There was no note, no sign I… I didn’t want to believe or consider what could have happened… ” He swallowed; adam’s apple jumping.

“Neither of us is going to be if they find us here,” she reminded him, panic rising in her voice. Her gaze shift as though to search for the ghost of her past behind him, but his hands held her steady and true. It was out of habit to seek his eyes. She could not stay away long from them; they anchored her, completed her, soothed her like the lull of the ocean deep and true. Quietly mesmerized; fully enamored by the reflections of color off those shadowy eyes.

“I would die a thousand deaths, before I lived a day without you.”

The quivering in her lip returned, only time time it took over all of her body.

“I don’t want that, m’lord. I didn’t want to- to hurt you or to see you hurt or-”

With a conviction that he displayed only in private; only in brief moments, he moved closer to her and dropped to both of his knees. Amon’s face was alive now; emotions moving in his eyes, his browline knit, his mouth open wide and gasping for air as though he was avoiding hyperventilating. He shifted closer still; the smell of leather and firs, his eyes swallowing her into deep pools.

Essätha breathed him in, shaking, as his forehead pressed to her own.

The nobleman licked his lips. “If you have to go, know that I will go with you,” he swore, reaching for her hand. He brushed a kiss to the back of her knuckles, and heat inflamed her face.

“Amon-”

He ignored the desperation in her plea, continuing: “You can choose to flee but you can’t choose who follows you. You never left me alone in my worst moments; not when you found out my dark truths, not during trial, not when others warned you that I was nothing but smooth-talker, and I am not leaving you. We are in this together. I don’t care what dangers I have to face, as long as I am with you. If I am only allowed a second for a final breath, I would just die happy because I shared it with you.”

“You are worth the fight. You are worth whatever sacrifices I have to make, to make sure that you’re protected. Just as you have taught me, you do not have to face your demons by yourself, Essie. I’ve got you. I always have your back, no matter what happens. You don’t need to run away from me. Nothing is going to keep me away from you. We can get through anything as long as it’s you and I, remember? You told me that we could make it through anything together.”

The pressure of his hand interlocked with hers was a lifeline. There were no words to describe it; the coarseness of his palms; weathered, firm, rough. They should be almost frightening to someone like her; soft, delicate, weak. Where his struggles had lead him to his sharp edges, her own had lead her to careful hands and swift feet. There were opposite products of tragedies and misfortune.

“But I need you to live,” she wept, tears freshly falling to drip from her chin.

“Then let me live with you,” her nobleman urged, tenderly wiping tears from her face. “You helped me to meet a better version of myself I didn’t know existed. I’m stronger; kinder, more patient and merciful because of everything you’ve taught me, Ess’. I’m all of those things and more, when I’m standing by your side. You’ve taught me compassion and freedom and strength on a whole scale I never imagined. I never want to stop learning and growing with you; I never want to stop looking into those beautiful bright eyes and that warm smile, not for even a second. I can’t imagine an existence; cold and dark, after witnessing so much light that comes into the world when you’re in it.”

“I need you,” he crooned. “I need you more than air, or food, or water, or shelter. I need you; your persistence, your joy, your fearlessness, your heart, your drive and graciousness. You are everything to me. You mean everything to me. You and I Essätha; we can take on the world. We can do it, together. I look out for you, and you look out for me. You have nothing to fear; until the last fight is over we can stand side by side. I am not leaving you alone. Not… Not like this. Not until… Not until I’m sure you do not want me, that you…”

Heartbeat hammering in her chest, Essätha shushed him gently, wiping her filthy hands against her shirt. When she was certain they were clean, she reached to take hold of his face. He melted into her touch with such open want that she audibly exhaled unsteadily with shock.

“I am never going to forgive myself, if something happens to you.”

“It would not be your fault.”

“Amon-”

“Let me do this,” he insisted. “I can keep you safe. Forever, I swear.”

She hated the agony in his voice. The anguish. The desperation. He wanted her to believe; needed her to believe. And she knew his every word was true. She knew this; a fact, as the sky was blue, as the moon would rise even if there was overcast, as the grass was green and the days would continue on she knew.

It was what could happen that frightened her the most.

“You wouldn’t stop following me even if I told you not to, would you,” she mumbled. She knew the answer to this, too, even before he replied. Spoken as a statement, not a question.

“Not until I knew you were out of danger”

Another shudder racked down her spine, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was even closer; his breath now tangling with her own. Her thoughts scrambled dizzily; mind and heart buzzing with her pining.

Her nobleman licked his lips anxiously; eyes darting from her own to her lips and back again. “… What I would sacrifice to the Gods right now, just to kiss you, even once,” he whispered gruffly.

Her heart launched into the stratosphere.

Brushing her lips against his own, Essie whimpered faintly, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Groaning thickly, Amon pressed closer; barely restraining the temptation of her lips, but he didn’t have her consent. Not yet. He was holding back by the tiniest of margins, nesting her face in his hands.

“Essie… I love you.”

The sorceress’ breath hitched.

“Prove it to me, then, and kiss me.”

She should have known anything her nobleman committed himself to was going to be nothing less than perfect. His lips were light and soft; a stark contrast to the rugged feeling of his palms to her face. It was a kiss barely-restrained; chaste and longing but remarkably controlled. Gentle. Considerate. Giving. Something that lasted all of a few seconds, and it stole all oxygen from her lungs and left her there, eyes closed, reminiscing the moment over and over again. The pressure of his lips against hers. The tingles that it sent hurtling through her; humming in her veins like liquid fire. The taste of him on her lips as she tasted them.

Finally, she opened her gaze to meet Amon’s own, and his mouth hanging agape. He immediately looked between her eyes to her lips, and back again. His throat jumped.

“… I love you too, Amon.”

His years of patience must have snapped; the final thin hair-line fragment breaking. He did not wait for her approval for a second kiss, melding against her in a mess of sweetness and lingering want.

It was her weakness. It broke her. It was infuriating and exhilarating; she knew there would be no turning him away. She should have realized this would happen when she had been so careless and brainless to vanish on him as she had in the first place He was willing to chase her to the ends of this world, and beyond it if necessary. It made her heart swell, and it made her putty, and it felt like a blow to the chest all at once. Even after she’d left him; run away, his worst fear realized that once again he was alone, he came racing to her side anyway with a golden heart of amnesty and his endless yearning.

Essätha had been wanting this sense of completion for so long. She couldn’t believe she had wanted to deny him the very same satisfaction she so selfishly wanted of him just because it was the easier answer.

Caesar gave an exasperated ‘boof’ from his lack of attention as they fell into each other; gentle love-bites and muted gasps of ‘I love you’s between grabby hands latching on to each other. Desperate for something to hold; to cling and merge and fold into each other.

There was no separating Amon Thomas Illiad from Essätha Meduza, just as there was no breaking the cycles of the cosmos. In the end, they’d always seek out each other.

And that was more of a blanket of security than all the weapons she could ever own and all the years of isolation she’d ever have. The risk was worth it. He would always be worth it.

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #softly written #right in my honey nut feelios

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sarahjtv · 4 years ago

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BNHA Chapter 310 Spoiler Thoughts: “The First and Second Holders”

Some fan translations are out and it’s time to flex some thoughts out again! I couldn’t do them last night because I didn’t have all the scan images with me and I didn’t want to jump the gun with only text descriptions. Anyway, this was mainly an exposition chapter that properly introduces us to the second and third OFA Holders, especially the 2nd and what his relationship to the 1st is. This might not be as long as others “Spoiler Thoughts” I’ve written, but let’s see:

First off, we have a colored cover page by Horikoshi-sensei himself! It’s a solo page featuring Vigilante Deku and he looks badass! Deku looks ready to kick ass and take names. And, his Mid-Gauntlet is colored red like a lot of us thought and it adds to the theory that Melissa Shield did create it like she did with Deku’s Full-Gauntlet back in Two Heroes.

The chapter starts in a dark and rainy night. A large woman (she’s like maybe 10ft tall; she’s taller than All Might who I think is 7ft) with a mutant-type quirk who’s getting attacked by some civilians because they think she’s a villain. Deku jumps in to stop the attacks and the woman explains that she was just trying to go to one of the evacuation centers at a hero school. Deku is kind enough to give her her umbrella back and reassure her that things will be ok.

I gotta say that this whole situation is scarily close to real life right now. I don’t like getting too political, but we live in a scary world where discrimination is, unfortunately, alive and well... If you are a POC, you can be attacked from anywhere with the only reason being that “you’re a danger because of the skin you were born with”. It’s horrific, it’s disgusting, and it’s been around for a long time. Even in the BNHA universe, there used to be cults solely dedicated to discriminating against mutant-type people (we learned this back in the My Villain Academia Arc). So, like in the real world, this problem has risen again. Thankfully, there are people like Deku and All Might who are more than willing to help someone in need regardless of who they are. BNHA hits too close to home sometimes.

Anyway, going back to the BNHA story. Before All Might leaves to help the woman in his Batmobile, he hands Deku some Pork Katsu in a cute bento box wrapped in a bunny cloth! Deku is visibly happy and thanks All Might for the meal. This is so cute! I’m so glad to see that All Might is making sure that Deku is being properly taken care of. Boy needs to eat if he’s going to save the world. I’m also glad that Deku can still show signs of happiness despite, well, everything. I swear, if All Might doesn’t legally adopt Deku as his son by the time this series is over, I’m going to jump into this manga and force him to sign those documents myself.

The next panel shows Deku standing on what looks like Tokyo’s famous Sky Tree (or Sky Egg if we’re going off what Vigilantes showed us). He’s back to talking to the OFA Holders like they’re angels on his shoulders. Banjo talks about how it’s like the world’s reverted back in time when things were worse and Deku responds that if he doesn’t use all of OFA’s power, he’ll never be able to defeat Shigaraki and AFO. I know we’re in the final act, so Deku’s gotta get to 100% fast if he wants to win this war. Last we checked, he was at 45%, but he might be at a higher percentage now since he’s unlocked En’s Smokescreen. Also, Deku’s looking more and more like Batman each chapter and I gotta say that it really suits him.

Back to the Vestige Dream back when Deku was still in a coma after the war. The 1st Holder begs the 2nd and 3rd to corporate with him so that they can provide their power to Deku. The 1st calls the 2nd and 3rd “My Heroes” which causes some awkward silence lol. Neither one is responding, so Banjo breaks the silence by suggesting that Deku learn everyone’s Quirks so that he’ll get used to them once he starts using them. We learn why the 2nd and 3rd are the 1st’s heroes soon, but it’s actually a good idea for Deku to learn about all these different Quirks while he’s sleeping so that he’ll get a good idea on how to execute them when he wakes up. It’s kind of a way of training for Deku just without actually using the Quirks themselves.

The 3rd Holder (the one with the spiky ponytail and headband) starts to talk. He says that the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd came from the “Harshest era of history”. It was a time where AFO ruled all and peaked in power and control. He was going to take over the whole world if the first 3 Holders didn’t step in to stop him. My guess is that after AFO was defeated for the first time, society started to calm down and become more or less the world we knew before the War Arc. So, things weren’t as bad during the 4th Holder’s era and so forth. This would explain why Shinomori was able to hide in the forest for so long without being detected.

And now the big part of the chapter: the 2nd Holder. Who does in fact look A LOT like Bakugo. Big difference is that he has a massive scar across his face. I am aware of the whole “time travel” theory that people have going on with Bakugo and this dude, but I’m not on that train. Instead, I think that the 2nd Holder is one of Bakugo’s ancestors. Like, a really, really-great-grandfather. Horikoshi doesn’t just design his characters for no reason. The fact that the 2nd user looks so much like Bakugo, has a costume similar to Bakugo’s, and that future panels in this chapter straight up parallel that iconic scene with young Bakugo and Deku in the river only add fuel to this fire. Unless Horikoshi says otherwise, this is the theory I’m sticking to: this “Ancestor” theory.

And we know of the 1st user’s real name now too, which is Yoichi! If Horikoshi is keeping up with the “numbers in names” theme, then I’m positive that Yochi has the kanji for “One” somewhere in it. And, if we’re going to believe AFO at all, then that means that the 1st user’s full name is Yoichi Shigaraki. We don’t know AFO’s full name yet. But, again, AFO could be lying with his last name, so I’m taking this one with a grain of salt.

Back to the 2nd Holder, he tells Yoichi that a lot of lives were sacrificed in order to stop AFO back then. He believes that there is only victory or defeat in battle; that there’s no hope of saving their archenemy. He has doubt about putting his faith in Deku because of this. Given how the 3rd Holder still has his back turned too, I’m lead to believe that he also thinks Deku is crazy for wanting to save Shigaraki. I don’t exactly blame them. Really, none of us know if Deku will be successful in saving Shigaraki. He might have to kill him in the end. I think they should offer Deku help, but I don’t blame them for being at least a little skeptical.

But, Yoichi reminds the 2nd and 3rd users that they saved Yoichi back when AFO locked him up to die. They found Yoichi with the intention to kill him it seems, but the 2nd Holder showed sympathy for Yoichi and lent him a helping hand despite Yoichi being AFO’s little brother. This is the parallel panel I was talking about. Yoichi is kneeling down on the floor and the 2nd user is standing up extending his hand to help Yoichi. I don’t even need to look back in the manga to know what inspired this. Hell, I don’t even need to tell you! We all know what Horikoshi was doing when he drew and wrote this.

Yoichi convinces him that he should believe in Deku as Yoichi does think Deku will save the day. If the 2nd user didn’t extend his hand to help Yoichi, OFA wouldn’t have begun. I think that the trust between these two is ultimately the reason why the 2nd user finally agreed to help Deku; the same with the 3rd user too. And, kind of a tangent, but I really like how Horikoshi draws Yoichi and the 2nd user’s hands as they’re reaching for each other. Horikoshi has always been really good with drawing hands like they’re facial expressions (something my ass could never do 😭) and this one shows kindness and empathy. It’s almost like what would’ve happened if Bakugo accepted Deku’s hand for help when they were young instead of letting his pride and ego get in the way. Oh, the parallels!

Finally, the 2nd user speaks in present day telling Deku that they’re going full speed ahead now. My guess is that Deku’s going to have to improve on OFA and the rest of his Quirks quickly in order to find and beat the LoV. We are in the Final Act after all. The chapter ends at a good place if we want to switch to the UA kids, which is honestly what I’m hoping for. Again, I love Deku and his Vigilante adventures, but I miss the rest of the kids. The new BNHA Exhibition in Japan apparently has a giant drawing of the main class, All Might, Aizawa, and Shinso in his new hero costume! Which tells me that 1. Shinso probably took Deku’s place in the class for the time being, and 2. We’re definitely going to see the other kids again. I’m hoping soon. But, I wouldn’t be surprised if Horikoshi decided to continue focusing on Deku’s Vigilanteism and have him practice with he 2nd and 3rd Holder’s Quirks now that they’re working with him. We’ll just have to see.

So, that’s it! Solid chapter overall. I’m glad we finally got to see the 3rd and 2nd Holder’s faces. I think the “Kirishima is the 3rd Holder” theroy has been debunked at this point, but I’m still on the “2nd Holder is Bakugo’s ancestor” train. The similarities and parallels are too strong for me to deny it. Horikoshi-sensei, please confirm or deny soon 🙏. We are getting break next week for Golden Week BTW! All of Shonen Jump is actually, so no One Piece or JJK either (I’m not sure about Jump+, so we might still be getting some Spy X Family for example). So, basically all our favorite mangakas are getting a well-deserved break as they should! I hope they enjoy their vacation! Waiting’s going to suck tho, I’m ngl about that... Oh well, I’m willing to take the sacrifice if it means having healthy mangka. Thankfully, we still have the anime and the new exhibition to tide us over until then.

Edit: OR NOT SINCE THE EXHIBITION IS TEMPORARILY CLOSED BECAUSE OF A CERTAIN PANDEMIC GOING NUTS IN JAPAN AFTER ONLY BEING OPEN FOR 2 DAYS 😭

Edit: I went back to re-read the chapter and I completely missed the date for the next chapter (chapter 311) which is set to release on May 9th! So, we’re actually getting a 2 week break instead. Damn... Sucks for us, but it’s good for mangaka to get breaks when they can especially considering their absolutely insane schedule.

Me reading this chapter:

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127-mile · 4 years ago

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Welcome to Crystal Lake.

Pairing: Yuta x reader.

Genre: serial killer, summer camp | Fluff, angst.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, blood, like a lot of blood, explicit and non-explicit deaths, stabbing, injuries.

Plot: Summer has finally arrived, and after a grueling year, you are excited to return to work at camp Crystal Lake where you used to spend your summer vacations as a child. You are all the more excited to see the other councilors again, and to escape the tension of the city for a whole month.

This is your last time working there, and who knows, it might even be your last summer too.

Word count: +5.1k.

A/N: This was requested by the incredible @neo-cult-ure as part of Something in the shadows. My inspiration was American Horror Story 1984 and Friday the 13th. Oh, and happy October 1st

"Alright, listen to me! The rules are not only for the campers, they are for you too!" the new director of the camp says, and you sigh. You are not the only one to be bothered by a change of staff without having been warned, the other counselors are too, and they do not hesitate to show it. Johnny coughs every time she opens her mouth, and Yuta immediately goes to his rescue, speaking way too loudly.

"Mister Suh, should I send you home? You look sick." the director is annoyed, and you nibble on your lower lip so as not to laugh when you see Johnny straightening up, his arms crossed against his chest. "No, everything is fine, but thank you for worrying about my health, that's very kind of you." you roll your eyes, that's so typical of Johnny. "Mr. Suh, this is your first warning, I don't care that you have been working here for 5 years, I will not hesitate to kick you out."

It is true that it is different from the former director. The latter was nice, and much younger, her goal was for the camp to be fun, and for everyone to have a great month. But this one does not seem to have the same ideas. "And what are the rules ?" a voice rises from the crowd of councelors, and the director seems delighted with the question.

"So, the bathroom hours have changed. The girls will shower in the morning, and the boys in the evening, so are you. I refuse the entry of alcohol and any kind of drugs. For anyone. The curfew is now at 10 pm. The electricity will be cut to make sure neither of you decides to go out discreetly, I will give you flashlights to check if all of the children are in the cabins. Of course, it is strictly forbidden to undertake anything loving or sexual between your, or with the campers."

The counselors look at each other, grimacing, the thought of dating a camper has never crossed anyone's minds, knowing that neither of them is of legal age, it's disgusting. "A breach of the rules will give you a strike, after the third, you will be asked to pack your bags and go home, and you will not be paid for the time you have been here."

You frown, and you raise your hand to speak, but when the director looks at you and blatantly ignores you, you open your mouth anyway. "But that last rule doesn't sound very legal to me." the director shrugs her shoulders. "I don't care what's legal or not, you work for me, so I expect you to follow the rules."

"You can leave, the children will be arriving early tomorrow. I want you in front of the camp half an hour before." with these words, the director comes down from her makeshit platform, and she walks to her office, where she will certainly be locked up for the next few hours. Several counselors turn on their heels and go through the camp, but the last boys turn to you, they all have the same expression.

"This is bullshit, dude." Yuta mumbles as he walks over to put un arm around your shoulders. "At least, you're here." he rubs his cheek on top of your head like a cat would, and you laugh softly, pulling away from him. "I need the money man, there's no way I'm following you in the plans you've probably already made to annoy her."

Johnny laughs as he puts his hand on his chest. "You hurt me, Y/n, do you really think I could do something like this ? I didn't think you could be like that." he says, falsely offended, and you sigh. "It's true that you are, Johnny, a real angel. I'm sorry I thought you were able to do such things." Johnny smiles, and you can't help but do the same, and he nods. "Thank you, and I accept your apology."

Idiot, you think.

You take the direction of the caibe you share with several counselors, but before you can put a hand on the hangle, a hand lands on your shoulder. When you turn, you smile when you see Yuta. He hasn't change since last year, except for the color of his hair, he's still handsome. "Do you want to go for a walk ?" you thought you would get a little rest, but you are not going to refuse him, not after he has spent the last few months begging you for some time together.

You appreciate all the counselors, the friends you made over the years working here, and even coming as a camper yourself, but you always had a soft spot for Yuta and his smile. You can't deny him anything, and you know that at some point, it will cause your problems. "Yes ok, but not too long, I don't want to be stuck in the dark when she cuts the electricity." once more, he puts his arm over your shoulders, and he takes the opposite direction to the cabins. "Don't worry, I'm here to protect you."

Yuta takes you to the bridge which overhands the river, and he rests his elbows on the railing, his gaze lost in the sky who are turning a pretty shade of pink. "I can't believe this is our last year here already." Yuta's voice is so low that you have to come closer to hear it, and you nod. "Yeah, but it had to end at some point."

Okay, you really enjoy spending your summers here, but now you can do like all the other adults you know, go on vacantion, and enjoy somewhere quiet without having to worry about the survival of twenty children for which you are responsible.

"I like this place." Yuta begins. "It's like none of the horrors happening outside reach this camp. Nothing can happen to us here." you frown, he is right about the first point. The reason you came back this year, at the last minute, is to escape the tension of the city, but not the tension caused by the tourists and the cars, but because of the lurking killer. In the last few months, several murders with the same patern have been deported by the police, and as Yuta said, nothing is happening here. Nothing can happen in the middle of nowhere.

"Nothing is reaching this camp, but I'm not sure it really makes us safe." Yuta turns his head toward you and he frowns. "Hear me out. Imagine the killer shows up here, or any psychopath from Friday the 13th, ready to battle with the monitors he had some beef with when he was younger. The city is 30 kilometers away, the payphone works one in five times, and we're not going to beat a deadly killer with a plastic baseball bat."

"You really have to stop watching horror movies." Yuta chuckles, and you nod, he is right about that, you create a paranoia for yourself that doesn't have to be with the films you watch. "Anyway, you know, if a killer infiltrates our ranks, you always have to run away from him, and turn right, you never know what's on the left."

The lightness in Yuta's voice prevents you from thinking about the innuendo in his words, so you shrug. Yuta has always had an incredible imagination. "We should go, it's getting dark." he says, and you follow him without a word. The counselors are already all locked in the cabins, either drinking the reserve of alcohol they have hidden in their suitcases, or sleeping. When you stop outside of your door, you turn to Yuta.

"Please, you and the boys, don't do anything that might get you fired by the director. I don't want to be alone for the summer." Yuta laughs, and you can't help but laugh too, it's so infectious. "Do not worry about me." he leans over and places a soft kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and heading for one of the other cabins. "Remember, always turn right." he yells before disappearing from your field of vision.

Lying in bed, you turn several times. You can't sleep, it's way too hot in the cabin, and one of the girls is sleep-talking, and it's particularly annoying. You end up standing up with a sigh, you are not going to fall asleep, that's for sure.

You get out of bed, and pick up a jack before leaving the cabin. The electricity is not yet cut, maybe the director will give you at least one night without being afraid to go out to the bathroom. At least, it's not difficult for you to find your friends' cabin. The lights are on, you can see shadows begind the dirty curtains hanging on the windows.

You knock on the door, and suddenly, the movements stop. "Open up, you idiots, I know you're not sleeping." the door opens on Taeyong who smiles. His cheeks are already red, and he smells of alcohol, it makes you wince. "Can I come in ?" of course, the question does not arise, he pushes himself and you enter. The boys are either slouched in the beds, or on the floor. They all have a bottle of alcohol in their hand, and you wonder how many they've brought back.

"So my little one, were you already missing up?" Johnny asks, and you roll your eyes as you settle down next to him on his bed. "Yeah, you have no idea." you look around, and you are surprised not to see Yuta. "He's gone to take a shower." Johnny says before you have had the time to open your mouth, so you nod.

"I odn't know what he took, the Yuta, but he said weird things earlier." Jungwoo exclaims, and you turn your head toward him. "Y/n, I think you gave him your fascination for horror movies, because he was clearly off the rails." you sit up, picking up Johnny's beer bottle to take a sip. The liquid is lukewarm, it's disgusting. "Yeah, he told me weird things when we were walking earlier."

Eyes turn to you, and you would like to be swallowed by the mattress if that was possible. "He said you always have to run away from a killer, and turn right, because-" Jungwoo cuts you off. "Because you never know what's on the left." you nod, it's strange.

"No need to worry, it's Yuta, he's always had a weird touch, but we love him anyway." with your eyes closed, you are not sure which boy just spoke up, but you nod, maybe he is right. The cabin is hot, and humid, it's nasty, but you do not move from Johnny's bed, even when he is using your shoulder as a pillow.

"To another successful summer!" you hear a boy sream before a thud is heard, said boy has most definitely tripped over his own feet. You let yourself be lulled by the sound of bottles clinking and the laughter of the boys who are trying to be discreet. Well, that's a fail.

You wake up later that night and you frown when you notice that the cabin is dark except for a flashlight on and riveted to the ground. Johnny is no longer next to you, and when you sit up, you see several bodies near the window. "What is happening ?" a face turns to you, and he puts a fingers to his lips, indicating to be silent.

You get up from the bed, and you walk up to the boys. You question Jungwoo with a simple nod of your head, and he approaches you. "We heard screams." he whispers close to your ear, and your blood freezes. "Is that a joke ?" you ask in a low voice, and he shakes his head. His face is serious, even in the faint flow of the flashlight.

"Turn off the flashlight, turn it off !" you hear Taeyong's distraight voice, and the light goes off, plunging them into total darkness. A shadow appears behind the window, and you all try to make yourself even smaller. You hear movement, and you notice the shape against the door, trying somehow to block the entrance when the handle turns a few times.

You press your hand against your mouth, convinced that the sound of your breathing will be enough to get all caught, but it is nothing compared to the sound of your head pounding in your chest. Lound knocks are given on the door, and you slowly back away, never getting up. Jungwoo grabs your hand, and you try to stay calm. If you had been alone in your cabin, you most likely would have used the back door to run away.

It would've been a silly reaction that could get you killed instantly, you've seen enough movies to know that. But maybe it's just the joke of an instructor, or children who arrived a little earlier. It happened already that parents dropped them off way too early in front of the camp and they been left to fend for themselves until the early hours of the morning, and boredom pushed them to try and scare the counselors.

The banging stops, and you all wait to see if the person behind the door leaves. After a minute, the sound of footsteps echoes on the wooden square, and disappears a little further away, certainly ready to attack in the next cabin. "Yuta." you whisper, looking at the other boys whose eyes you feel are turned toward you. "We have to find him."

You wonder why he hasn't come home from his shower a couple of hours ago, he can't gave gotten lost, he knows the camp like the back of his hand. You wait five more minutes, then the flashlight comes back on and you see Johnny holding it. He gets up, and the others follow suit. "We also have to go see the director." Jungwoo says, and you nod. "We should call the police."

Your hear a sigh next to you, and your gaze meets Doyoung's who shakes his head. "No, we have to wait. If this is just a prank, we're gonna look stupid in front of the police." its true, the police don't like to be disturbed for something as simple as a prank, and even if it was true, they would take too long to arrive. "Y/n, Doyoung and Jungwoo, you're going to get Yuta. Taeyong, Ten and I are going to go see the director and wake the others up."

"Wait at the phone booth as soon as you have Yuta, okay ?" you nod, and you turn to the other two boys. Johnny opens the door and he look each side to make sure no one is waiting for you, and when the way is clear, he opens more to let the three people out. "Stay safe." he says, handing you another flashlight.

The problem with the camp is that it is surrounded by a forest, and the signal is practially non-existent except near the entrance, so you can't use your phone. You leave the cabine, looking around. No one. But the electricity has been cut.

"Come on, let's go to the bathrooms." you run through the camp, with the bathrooms set back a bit to provide campers with a minimum of privacy. You hate this stupid rule. You suddenly stop when a loud cry tears the peaceful silence of the camp. "Help me! He's coming!" Jungwoo is about to walk over to the person calling for help, but Doyoung holds him back, shaking his head. "We have to find Yuta, we'll go see what happened later."

Unfortunately, in this kind of situation, it is personal survival that comes before anything else. In this kind of situation, you have to be selfish, and Jungwoo hates that, you see it on his face. "Come on Woo, we have to go."

You start running again, and soon, you arrive near the bathrooms. You head to the men's side, and showers. No one is there, and you whine weakly. You trail the beam of your flashlight around you, and you suddenly stop on the ground. There's a puddle. It's red, and definitely fresh. Blood.

"Look." your voice is shaky, and you feel bile rising in your throat. The metallic smell is everywhere, or maybe it's just your mind playing a trick on you. "Oh fuck fuck fuck." you hear Doyoung whisper. It's not a joke anymore. You can tell fake blood to real blood, and this is definitely real blood. "We need to find Yuta, especially if he is hurt."

You walk through the showers, following the drops of bloog that have fallen on the tiles that were once white, and you shigh when you come to the door. "He went that way." in front of you, the forest stretches for several miles. "I do not like that one bit, I hate this forest." you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you gasp. "We're together at least, Yuta is alone, and probably scared."

Without a word, you set off to the forest. You find a small path that has been created by the years and the campers who like to venture there at night for a little rush of adrenaline. You are careful with the roots who almost make you trip more than once. You hear noises all around you, the sounds of the forest, the sound of threes moving, and the footsteps of your friends.

"We don't even know where we're going. What if we get lost ?" you ask, and the boys stop walking, they are thinking the same. You have never set food so far in the forest, because of the stories told by the counselors when you were still a young camper. According to them, the spirits of the people who died in the camp remain in the forest, and will attack anyone who dares to disturb their rests. You are not ready to see if that's true or not.

"Maybe we should turn around, maybe Yuta has found a way out of the forest to find the others." you turn to Doyoung and nod. Usually, he is the most reasonable, and the one you trust the most of all the other boys. You turn around, and you waste no time getting out of the forest.

"The infirmary !" you exclaim, and you run to the cabin where all the medical supplies are. You feel stupid for not thinking about it before, maybe you would have found Yuta by now. The door is open, and blood is on the handle. "Look." Doyoung goes first, and once again, you put your hand over your mouth.

What you don't expect is to find the director lying in a pool of her own blood. Her shirt is covered in dark blood, and it was ripped off where the blade of a kinde when through. "Oh no." the director's guts are as much on the outside as they as on the inside of her body, and it is too much for you. Tears run down your face, and you gasp. You need to take a deep breath or you're going to throw up. Seeing guts and so much blood in a movie is nothing for you, but the reality is so much worse.

Another scream snatches you from your torpor, and you turn towards the door. It is too much for Jungwoo who runs out of the infirmary and straight to the origin of the scream. "Jungwoo, no !" but it is too late, he is already out of reach. Doyoung does not waste a second in following him, and soon, you find yourself alone in the infirmary. Well, not really alone, since the director is there too.

You find a lanket and you put it on her body. Anyone who enters will not have to see the horror sight of the mutilated female body. You don't know what you are supposed to do now that you are all apart.

"Okay, think Y/n." you mumble, and you leave the cabin. The silence in the camp has nothing to do with the silence you are used to. The silence is heavy, its patiently waiting for something to happen. And you don't want to be there when it happens, but you have no choice, you can't just leave in the middle of the night without your friends. After a minute, you notice that your legs have led you further into the camp, and you come to a stop when you hear footsteps behind your back.

When you turn around, you open your eyes wide. Taeyong staggers towards you, his face covered in blood, and he is holding is stomach. He puts pressure on a cound. "Taeyong!" you walk up to him and catch him when he falls. "Yuta.." he whispers, and you shake your head. "We haven't found him yet." you pull his hair back from his face, and rest your hand on Taeyong's who cries in pain. Blood is flowing profusely from his wound. He was stabbed a couple of times in the stomach.

"It's okay, Yong, the boys will come back and call for help." you whisper, hoping to be convincing, but the boy shakes his head. His breathing is shallow, you notice it at the way his chest lifts. God knows since when he has been bleeding out, wandering the camp in search of help. "It's all right, I promise." when you can't hear the boy anymore, you look down at him and bite your lip hard enough to draw blood.

Taeyong is there, in your arms, his eyes wide open. If you hadn't noticed that his chest had stopped moving, you would have thought he was admiring the starry sky. But no, he is indeed dead. A sob escapes your lips, and you slowly release yourself from Taeyong's grip. You lay his head on the grass and delicately close his eyes. You'll have plenty of time to mourn him later, you must find the others, and get out of this bloody camp.

You walk through the camp, covered in blood. Covered in Taeyong's blood, but you try not to think about it. You try to clear your mind so that you can no longer hear the screams around you, they are just background noises, nothing more.

Finally, when you look up, you are near the phone booth. Someone is already there, and you tilt your head, narrowing your eyelids. The batteries of your flashlight are already dying, the light is weaker and weaker. "Yuta ?" you ask, and he turns to you. If you thought you were in a bad condition, Yuta is even worse. His hair is red and sticky with blood, his nose is probably broke, and blood is flowing from a bad cut on his forearm.

"Y/n!" he drops the phone and runs to you before hugging you tightly. He runs his hands over your cheeks, leaving a trail of blood at the same time. "The director is dead. Taeyong is dead. And I'm pretty sure the others are dead too." you sigh, and he shakes his head, a smirk on his face. "Yeah, Johnny is dead, Ten is badly injured and I believe Jungwoo fell into the river after being stabbed."

You look up at him, it talks about it in such a light tone, it's almost scary. You shake your head, before hitting his chest with your fists hard enough to make him whine. He grabs your hands to stop you. "Hey, that hurts !" he mumbles. "You moron! We were only there for the damn director, not the others!"

Yuta shrugs, forcing your arms around the back of his neck, his torse pressed to your chest. "Yeah, but I couldn't find you, so I had to keep busy." you roll your eyes, and he leans in to place a long kiss against your lips. It tastes like blood and salty with your tears, but you are used to it. Before you can slide your tongue into his mouth, he breaks the kiss and you frown. "Oh, look who's here."

Before you have time to react, you are turned around. You back makes violent contact with Yuta's chest, and you feel the coldness of a blade against your throat. Your gaze falls on Doyoung who runs toward you. He is limping, and he is holding a knife that he probably got from the kitchen. "One more step, and Y/n dies." Yuta says in a loud voice, and Doyoung stops dead.

You close your eyes, the cold of the blade is pleasant against the burning skin of your throat, but you can't take advantage of it, Doyoung must believe in your little game. You open your eyes, suddenly in pure panic. You try to escape Yuta's grip, but the blade only digs into your skin, making you bleed a little. "Doyoung, help me!"

"Stay calm." Yuta whispers in a voice as shard as his knife, the last thing he wants is for you to hurt yourself trying to lure Doyoung closer.

"Put down the knife, Doie." Yuta asks in a soft voice, and the boy does so before raising his hands prominently. He takes a step towards you, but Yuta tightens his grip around you. He tilts his head. "Why, Yuta ? Why did you do all this ?" Yuta shrughs.

"The director." he begins. "She's my step-mother." he remains silent for a moment, he lets his words weigh on Doyoung. "She cheated on my dad a few months ago, she had to pay." you refrain from rolling your eyes. He would have killed her wether she cheating on his father or not, Yuta always hated her. Even if she only had cross his path at the wrong time, he would have killed her. It's Yuta, he is like that. You learned to know him, adn to accept his quirks.

"But why the others ?" Doyoung asks, his voice broken with a sob. "I was bored." suddenly Yuta straightens up, and he released his hold on you, pushing you away with enough force that you fall onto the grass and Doyoung rushes over to help you. "I'll give you three minutes to run. After that, the hunt will be on."

It was not in the plan, you think.

Doyoung starts running and you follow him, not without picking the knife he had thrown earlier. "We have to find the others and leave before he finds us." Doyoung sayd, breathlessly, and you shake your head. "They're all dead, Doyoung, it's just us and him."

Doyoung stops, suddenly realizing everything. From the death to his friends, to the hunting party that Yuta has just started, and he falls to his knees. You stop in front of him. "Doyoung, we have to go, we can't stay here." you squeeze him, grabbing his arm to stand him up, but he doesn't move. He shakes his head. "What's the point ? If he killed everyone, we're next. Even if we run away, he'll find us." You hear Doyoung's voice dying out, he has lost all of hope of survival.

"Oh Doyoung !" You whine, and he looks up at you. "We can't stay here, we'll find a way to survive, please, I can't do this without you." the sob coming out of Doyoung's bruised lips could almost breah your heart, and he takes your hand which you offer to get up. "We have to get out."

You run nonstop for long minutes, and you start to feel the burn in your lungs, you won't be able to run any longer. But the moment that thought crosses your mind, you see the entrance of the camp.

"We are almost there !" Of course, Yuta is a smart man, he knew you would be heading towards the entrance, so he is already there, his back pressed against a tree trunk, he inspects the blade of his knife. And he smiles when he sees you. "Ah, finally !"

Doyoung stands in front of you, he wants to protect you at all costs, it is admirable. "Kill me, Yuta. But let Y/n leave." the killer laughs heartily, throwing his head back. "One of the rules for surviving an attack is to never turn your back on one of the killers." Doyoung doesn't understand, and he frowns, but when he feels a sharp pain in his back, everything lights up.

The blade of the knife digs into his back, and he crumbles to his kness on the groun, his cry is chokec by the blood pooling in his mouth. You turn around him, and with the tip of your foot, you push him so that he falls to the ground. Yuta stops next to you, his arm around your shoulders, he places a kiss on the top of your head. "You should do it more often, you look very sexy when you kill." You roll your eyes, nudging him slightly.

You retrieve the phone from your pants' pocket, and smile when you see that the signal is back, and you type in the emergency number. After several beeps, a woman answers. "Help me, please!" you scream, fake sobbing. "I'am at Camp Crystal Lake, and one of the monitors killed everyone, come quickly please, he's going to kill us!"

The woman asks you for the exact address of the camp, and you continue to sob under the gaze of Doyoung who is still on the ground, bleeding to death. You do not know if he can understand you because of the pain, but you hope he does. "His name is Kim Doyoung, he's picked on everyone, and.." you yell before hanging up.

Yuta laughs softly when he sees you throwing your phone on the floor hard enough to break it. "See, everything went as planned." the sun is already rising behind the threes in the forest, and you drop to the ground, you are exhausted. Physically, and mentally. You didn't expect to lose your friends tonight.

In less than an hour, the police will face a terrible scene. A massacre. And they will find the two survivors, ready to tell the story of Kim Doyoung, the surviving killer who snapped and decided to kill everyone one summer night.

#nct #nct imagines #yuta imagines #nct scenarios #yuta scenarios #nakamoto yuta #let's see if the tags work #and it's bad i'm sorry

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