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sincerelystranger · 3 years

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author: the high school track&field AU that no one asked for

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Lan Zhan likes to run.

He likes the simplicity of it. He likes the control.

From the depth of his breath to the length of his stride – whether he wins or loses, it’s really up to him and him alone.

Lan Zhan likes that.

He watches the track as he slows down from his cool down.

If pressed, Lan Zhan would admit that he likes the natural terrain of cross country over the strange rubber of the track, but he’s beginning to find that track has certain other appeals.

It’s fun to watch the other athletes, for one.

His brother on the pole vault, for example. The calm focus in his eyes as he runs. The graceful arc of his body as he flies above the bar. The split second of pure ecstasy that Lan Zhan can see on his brother’s face when he knows he’s made the jump – Lan Zhan never knew his brother could make that sort of expression. It makes him wonder what else he doesn’t know about his brother.

It’s fun to watch the sprinters as well. Everyone running on the track are called runners, but the type of running the sprinters do is foreign to Lan Zhan.

For Lan Zhan, running is like water. There’s rhythm – a smoothness – to it. For Lan Zhan, running is something to get lost in.

Not for the sprinters though. There is something violent about the way they run. The way the shoot out from the start and torpedo through the finish. There’s no time to get lost.

If Lan Zhan’s way of running is about holding onto control, sprinting is about losing it.

Lan Zhan watches Jiang Cheng tear down the track.

Jiang Cheng is the fastest sprinter in their school – probably in their entire prefecture actually. He holds the school records in the 100m and 200m and if sprinting if violence, there is no one more destructive than Jiang Cheng.

Lan Zhan’s a bit disgusted by it, really, if he thinks about it. Sometimes, he wonders why Jiang Cheng runs at all. As Lan Zhan sees it, there’s no joy in Jiang Cheng’s running. Even when he wins he seems dissatisfied.

So the mysteries of the track – the joy it brings his brother and the obvious dissatisfaction it brings Jiang Cheng – they are all part of the appeal that Lan Zhan is beginning to find.

The biggest mystery though…

The one Lan Zhan would never admit wondering about, even if pressed…

Lan Zhan squats down and stretches one leg forward. He tilts his head slightly towards his shoulder. From this angle, he can see his biggest mystery from the corner of his eye.

Wei Ying.

The boys’ cross country coach spent all of second year trying to convince Wei Ying to join the cross country team to no avail. Wei Ying said that long runs bore him.

Aside from Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying holds the fastest 100m and 200m times, but anything longer than 200m Jiang Cheng can’t even compete. (Sometimes Lan Zhan thinks that maybe that that’s why Jiang Cheng is always so dissatisfied.)

Lan Zhan knows Wei Ying doesn’t even like the sprints – he won’t run them unless someone is injured.

Wei Ying likes to run the 800m the best, and his time is so fast that the Olympic team recruits often come watch him.

Lan Zhan always likes to watch Wei Ying cross the finish line. He’ll come to the meet hours ahead of his race time just to watch Wei Ying.

Wei Ying sails through the end, the other runners far behind him, and when he crosses the finish, he always lets his arms swing back a little as he glides through.

It’s… beautiful.

If Lan Zhan was a little more stupid, he might admit that Wei Wuxian almost looks like he has wings in that moment. (He might admit that Wei Wuxian looks a little angelic - but he’s not stupid).

Lan Zhan knows more about Wei Wuxian than he’s comfortable admitting to, and it doesn’t help that Wei Wuxian probably only barely knows Lan Zhan even exists.

It doesn’t matter… Lan Zhan wouldn’t know what to do if Wei Wuxian noticed him anyway.

He brings his leg back in and turns to stretch the other side. He turns his head and keeps looking at Wei Wuxian from the corner of his eye.

Wei Wuxian is laughing brightly. Talking and laughing with the other mid-range runners.

He’s always surrounded by people. Always bright and happy and having fun… and that’s why he’s Lan Zhan’s biggest mystery.

Because the way Wei Wuxian runs is very…

Lonely.

Wei Wuxian’s steps are light and his strides are long and his breathing is always under control. But he doesn’t seem lost like Lan Zhan.

Or…

Maybe he’s lost, but he’s lost in a different way than Lan Zhan.

Running is a quiet place for Lan Zhan. An easy question with an easy answer. The one place Lan Zhan can’t be found lacking in effort or ambition or any other strange standard his uncle’s set for him.

It doesn’t seem to be a quiet place for Wei Ying.

Maybe Lan Zhan doesn’t know as much as he thinks he knows about Wei Ying, or maybe he’s seeing things that aren’t there, but when Lan Zhan watches Wei Ying run…

It looks like he’s searching for something.

(As beautiful as Wei Ying is when he crosses the finish line, he doesn’t smile when he wins either.)

Lan Zhan stands as Wei Ying walks past him.

He knows it’s silly, but he feels himself hold his breath a little – stand a little bit straighter. He does his best not to let his eyes follow Wei Ying as he walks past.

He would be mortified if Wei Ying found out that Lan Zhan paid him any attention at all.

Lan Zhan stays that way for a few seconds as Wei Ying walks farther and farther away from him. The shoulder that Wei Ying walked past feels a little bit hotter than the rest of his body. There’s a strange tingling in his back at the thought that maybe Wei Ying might have looked back at him.

He feels foolish, but also strangely satisfied with himself. It feels like a little achievement that he’s gone another day without letting Wei Ying know that Lan Zhan... knows anything about him at all.

It’s maybe creepy and strange but hiding his creepy and strangeness feels like an achievement so Lan Zhan decides to be satisfied with that.

He starts walking towards the bleachers to wait for his brother to finish practice, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan turns, quickly brushing the hand off his shoulder before looking at the face of his assailant.

He knows it’s not possible, but his heart feels like its stopped in his chest.

“Ow,” Wei Ying says shaking the hand that Lan Zhan slapped away. “No – don’t apologize. It’s my fault, I surprised you.”

Lan Zhan hadn’t made any movement or sound close to an apology at all but…

“It’s Lan Zhan, right?” Wei Ying asks, his brows furrowing at Lan Zhan’s continued silence.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan finally says with a nod. He feels a little bit panicked. He feels like maybe Wei Ying read his mind and came to ask him to stop stalking him so much. He feels like if he gives any more information Wei Ying might find out everything and…!!!

“I’m Wei Ying!” Wei Ying says brightly, uselessly - because could there be anyone in the entire school that could possibly not know him? – “We’re actually in the same year, but I’m in class 3.”

Lan Zhan just nods again, because this still feels dangerous and he doesn’t want to give any more information than he has to.

Wei Ying doesn’t seem at all put off by Lan Zhan’s continued silence. “Me and some of the other guys on the team were going to go to the pool hall to hang out after – I just wanted to see if you would want to come with us.”

It’s too much.

It’s really too much.

Wei Ying knowing his name is too much. Wei Ying saying his name is too much. Wei Ying inviting him out is too much.

Lan Zhan really…

Lan Zhan takes a step back. “Mid-term exams are next week and the pool hall is an improper place for runners to… hang out at… there’s too much smoke.”

Wei Ying’s eyes go a little big and round at Lan Zhan’s answer.

Lan Zhan wants to hide in a hole. He feels like the biggest loser in the world and oh gods, Wei Ying is going to think he’s the biggest xueba in the planet. Wei Ying is probably regretting even trying to talk to Lan Zhan. He probably regrets even knowing Lan Zhan’s name. Oh gods…

Wei Ying is quiet for a few seconds…

And then suddenly…

He breaks out in a huge smile and he… laughs…

Lan Zhan feels embarrassment crash over him in waves. He moves to walk past Wei Ying. He doesn’t want to be laughed at – even if the person laughing at him is beautiful and fast and…

“Oh please don’t get it wrong,” Wei Ying says, quickly grabbing Lan Zhan’s wrist so he can’t walk any further. His words are still decorated with laughter. As much as Lan Zhan hates it, he can’t help but find it… charming. “I’m not laughing at you – promise. I’m not!”

Lan Zhan doesn’t move. He doesn’t make any noise. He looks at Wei Ying’s face out from the corner of his eye and he finds that Wei Ying’s face is open and honest…

“I didn’t… say anything funny,” Lan Zhan says.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying agrees warmly, “But it was funnier because I knew you didn’t mean to be funny.”

The waves of embarrassment ebb a bit.

“What was so funny?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying scrunches his nose a little, as he shrugs his shoulder to one side. “I can’t really explain it,” he says, “It’s just funny to hear someone my age saying that something is improper.”

Lan Zhan tries (and fails) not to stare at the way Wei Ying’s nose scrunches. It’s cuter than Lan Zhan ever imagined and Lan Zhan wants to… save it to his memory…

He shakes his head a little to clear his mind and he pulls his hand away from Wei Ying’s.

“That’s… boring,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying smiles widely again. His eyes are prettier up close, Lan Zhan thinks. “I’ll find something fun next time,” Wei Ying says, “I’ll find a proper place to hang out so you have to hang out with me then, okay?”

He’s off before Lan Zhan can even respond.

Lan Zhan watches him as he runs towards his waiting group of friends. He feels little bit like he might’ve been run over by a truck. He feels more tired from this short interaction than he did from his practice.

He watches Wei Ying runs through the exit and out of the track.

Wei Ying crosses the threshold like it’s a finish line.

Both his arms swing back a little, his head tilts up slightly.

Lan Zhan knows it’s not possible, but his heart stops in his chest.

#mdzs #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #literally i have no idea why this happened #my arms have literally been too tired to type anything lately #but i hope this little thing will be the catalyst so i can start writing again this week lol #happiness always comes back around!#i always make highschool lan zhan this little anxious xueba and i just love that for me lol

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mrwinterr · 3 years

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Who Do You Love?

Pairing: David Budd x Female Reader

Summary: After some months that David’s been working for the Home Secretary, you notice he’s been acting differently. Not wanting to overanalyze the situation, the signs are just too hard to ignore, so when it’s time to confront him there’s only one real question to ask.

Warnings: Bodyguard (2018) TV series spoilers! Adult themes. Explicit language. Light smut. Infidelity/cheating. Mentions of war, PTSD, political assassination, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, paranoia, and attempted suicide. Sad vibes, probably. We’re not gonna have a good time.

Disclaimer: This piece goes hand-in-hand with All For You. It’s not required to read beforehand, but it would be nice. As far as the TV series, yeah, don’t even read these if you’re still planning to watch the show. If you don’t care, you may proceed.

Title Inspiration: “Who Do You Love?” by The Chainsmokers ft. 5 Seconds of Summer

A/N: I want a happy David, I really do, but I’m a heartless writer. I took a break from the smut, so it’s not a huge bulk of the fic this time. I hope y’all still like it! Happy New Year!

Another night alone was not unusual for you as of late, having grown accustomed to it ever since David had taken up the job of protecting Home Secretary, Julia Montague. Neither you nor David could’ve foreseen his courageous efforts in neutralizing the terrorist attack on the train back home would thrust him into his new position, furthermore the extent of its outcome in his personal life.

It wasn’t a hidden secret that David resented most politicians, and you knew of Julia from the news and her political ambitions in pushing a bill to increase security surveillance. David’s job put a big emphasis on confidentiality, so for his superiors to throw him into a public political warzone was a bit suspicious to you. There was something that didn’t add up, and you couldn’t just outright ask David whose side he was on in all this.

After neglecting the mountain of dirty laundry, tonight was dedicated to the domestic chore. It was nothing out of the ordinary mixing your batch with David’s, but he had a habit of leaving things in his clothes pockets, so it was routine for you to check everyone. You’d moved onto one of the costly tailored button-ups he wore to work and feel something protruding from the shirt pocket. You dig your hand in and fish out a tube of lipstick. Strange. You didn’t use this brand of cosmetics, and even more so the garment smelt different.

Under normal circumstances, this type of discovery would raise a red flag, but you recall one of David’s first days on the job as her bodyguard, the intern had clumsily spilt Julia’s coffee all over her outfit just before she was about to do a live interview, and David had offered her the shirt off his back, essentially saving the day. The man was just too dedicated to his job sometimes, so you shrug it off, but this wouldn’t be the first time you would notice something out of place.

It really started after the first assassination attempt that was made on Julia’s life. With the rate she was going at, her political status had made her a prime target to those opposed to RIPA-18. It was very frightening, you figured that much for her, David had seen worse in war. You just about had a heart attack when you reunited with him that night, the blood still stained on his clothes and missed splotches on his skin.

The both of you clung onto each other all night, lost within the throes of passion. It might as well have been one of the most intense nights yet, even then you could tell something changed by his movements. You didn’t think much about it at first because there’s already so much wrong with him, you’ve yet to learn all his mood swings.

Then one day you’d gotten sick, and discovered it was because you were pregnant with David’s child. One of the few things that made you forget about all the aches and pains that David unintentionally caused, was remembering the beautiful smile on his face when you revealed the news to him. You knew how much happiness Ella and Charlie brought him, you could only imagine what that would feel like, your own family with David.

He was so overjoyed in the beginning. He had quickly phoned his mother, who’d visited and even stayed a few days with you when David’s new position became more demanding of him, claiming she was worried about you being alone. You didn’t deserve to experience this alone, but it was sure heading that way.

Lately, you’ve found yourself occupying the Budd household quite more than often when David’s mom went back home. With David being on duty almost 24/7, you were completely alone, so the little family welcomed you.

Legally, on paper, David was still married to Vicky. It was something you weren't going to verbally admit bothered you, but oddly enough it did. What with the mood you’ve been in as of late, it ate at a part of you. They were separated and the divorce papers were well on track until David’s “promotion” paused the process.

There’s still not a hostile fiber in you towards Vicky. She’d moved on well, been on several dates with someone else, and things were looking great for her. It was lowkey, not even David knew about it, not that he even stuck around or bothered to care. It had to come out eventually because it would affect Ella and Charlie’s lives.

You watch as Vicky rounds the table after placing a cup of tea in front of you then sitting in the seat across and asking how you’re holding up.

You contemplate for a split second if you should be honest or not, but who else could you confine to at the moment? No one else could possibly understand. Vicky herself may not even, but she knew David more than most people did, so surely, she could see where you’re coming from to some degree, right?

Letting out a big sigh, you answer her truthfully, “I’m...not well, Vicky,” your eyes drop down to the cup in front of you, finger tracing the rim, the hot cloud of smoke of the concoction almost burns your skin.

“Oh, poor thing,” she says, extending her hand over to place it on top of your other one on the table, “it’s the pregnancy. It has to be. It’s taking a toll on you. I can tell.” You look up at her and almost want to cry. No one noticed it was more than symptoms of pregnancy. You were bottling up so much.

“Let me tell you, while I love Ella and Charlie, pregnancy was not a breeze…” she started to ramble, but you quickly cut her off, exhausted of people telling you the same thing over and over, unintentionally, blaming the innocent baby.

“No. I don’t think it’s that. I don’t want to blame anything on the pregnancy,” you say straight up. You got yourself into this mess, you went headfirst knowing the baggage David came with and you knew full well that protection wasn’t at the forefront in the affairs. Ready or not, you both went in this together and brought a baby into the picture.

Vicky stares, confused, but still genuinely concerned, “then what else could be wrong?” When you didn't immediately respond, she knew it had to be one other thing, or person, and you just didn’t want to admit, well out loud, “David?”

You only nod; you knew you were going to have to face the music sooner or later. So, you start listing things you’ve observed that have caused you to grow suspicious over the course of the last few months. You just hoped you didn’t sound like a mad woman in front of her.

The one time your phone had died, and he let you use his to place a food delivery. You couldn’t unlock his phone, trying every possible combined set of numbers close to David, only to come to a conclusion that the access code had changed. Visibly distressed, he realizes you were attempting to unlock his work phone. You knew that was his though. What work phone?

You didn’t even know he had one of those, let alone why did it have the same crack on the screen in the exact same spot as his personal one? You feigned stupidity and blamed it on exhaustion. Deep down David knew you were suspecting something was up, and he ended up placing the order for dinner that night himself.

The other time you confronted David about coming home smelling heavily of another woman. Whatever, whoever, her perfume was strong, and it made you nauseous. The pregnancy didn’t even do you any favors on this one with your senses heightened and overly sensitive.

Of course, he smelled of another woman, the person he was assigned to protect. You could see all the holes in his alibi. He was lying, and it hurt most when he indirectly admitted your mood swings were irritating him and then flipped it all on you, saying you were overthinking the situation and getting all paranoid for no reason. Accused you of not trusting him, when truth was you had the utmost faith in him, but not when the evidence was piling up.

There’s a solemn look that washed over Vicky’s face. She had expected more tales of David’s PTSD, but none of what you spilled alluded to it. This time David couldn’t blame the effects of war on your suspicions. However, Vicky knew that this was you and David, and if there was a pair that could survive love’s tumultuous doings then it was you two.

“There’s a lot of coincidences, yes, but this is you and David,” she says, grasping your hand for support because she could see the moisture in your eyes building up, “is it silly of me to admit I was always jealous of you,” she confesses, trying to steer the conversation a different route.

She didn’t want you to think she was brushing off your worries, but to remind you that everything you and David had been through to get to this point to be together, whatever you both were dealing now wasn’t anything you two couldn’t overcome. There were high hopes for you and David in Vicky’s mind.

A small smile cracks your face, and you bring your vacant hand up to dab at the inner corner of your eyes, just before the tears start to race down, “jealous? Of what?” It was almost shocking to think you had something she was jealous of.

“Every time you visited us,” she starts, “I could tell David held so much admiration for you,” and you know she’s not trying to hurt your feelings, but it’s taking a bit to figure out where she’s going with this.

“That’s silly,” you scoff lightly, “you both got married and had two kids, surely there was no doubt,” then bring the cup up to your lips for a small sip.

“But there was and look where we ended up?” she says. Your lips cave in to form a tight line in response, and carefully place the cup back down on the dish, before she follows up, “you two are finally together.”

“Vicky,” you pipe up, not knowing where to begin. It was never your intention to steal David’s heart away from another.

“I’m not saying any of this because I’m mad at you. No. I’ve never truly hated you. You’re a good person and you’re finally getting your happily ever after. Don’t ever stop fighting for it,” she comes out wholeheartedly, and this time you make no attempt to keep the tears at bay. It stung to hold them back anyways.

Vicky gets up from her seat, walking the short steps to yours, to wrap her arounds around you. You immediately cling onto her arms and just cry, finally letting everything out.

“Seriously, don’t think of the worst,” she starts advising, while rubbing your back, “David will always come back to you,” she pulls you away from her before reminding you, “you knew going into this wasn’t going to be easy.”

You feel so pathetic. What she said was completely true, you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. There’s no doubt you love David and want to be with him through the good, the bad, and the ugly, so you nod and try to keep your chin up. It wasn’t to appease her, you were going to get back up, because if not for David, then for the baby.

Suddenly, the front door busts open and Ella and Charlie are bustling into the kitchen, where you and Vicky were. Quickly wiping away the tears, you both noted that school had just let out.

They were ecstatic to see you, especially Charlie as he had currently been experiencing issues of his own adjusting to school. They lifted your spirits greatly; they were more fascinated by the baby growing in you and couldn’t wait to meet him or her. You absolutely adored them. They looked like David and the whole time they were talking your ear off; you wonder to yourself if your own kid will look more like you or David.

David’s thrusts were deep and good; you made no attempt to hold it in, letting him know exactly how he was making you feel. Nails digging into his firm buttocks, pulling him closer to you, wanting him to just keep going and going; the chase proving to be almost just as good as the climax. You feel one of his hands run up your side and his large hand starts groping your breast, adding onto the pleasure he was plaguing your body with, while the other held onto the small of you back, bringing your hips up to his.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, you could feel his hot breath fanning against your skin and hear his murmured swears and praises. The air in the room was thick, and for the majority of the intimate activity, the only sounds that travelled around the apartment consisted of heavy breathing, moans, gasps, whines and skin slapping, until the annoying distinct ringtone started screeching from a few feet away.

You’d learned to distinguish his work alarm since the supposed mix-up, and it pinged constantly, agitating you. David’s pace notably falters, and the rhythm you’d both built started dwindling, the needy side of you started to panic because he was going to stop and you desperately wanted to come, even more so come with him, but it looked like neither of you would be as you feel one of David’s hands leave your body and make an attempt to reach out to the device.

You grab a hold of his wandering hand and lace your fingers together, hoping to keep him close and forget about the alert. You buck your hips forward, urging him to continue. His grip tightens and cock twitches inside of you in response. Your strategy almost deems successful when he picks up momentum, each swivel of his cock gradually bringing out the starved woman in you. Not to mention, your sex drive had heightened too, you’d longed and craved any affection he could give you.

“David, baby…” you whine, holding a hand to his face, forcing him to keep his gaze on you and only you, the ringtone almost drowning out, “...don’t. Don’t. Fucking. Stop...please,” you resort to begging and hook a leg over his body, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper.

And just when you’re about to tip over the edge, the incessant ringing persists, and David’s halt unintentionally pulls you back down. He unwinds your sweaty clasped hands, no doubt in search of the phone once more, however, you had more leverage than he did, and your hand beats his hand to it. He wasn’t that far behind as his hand covers yours, and he tries to grab the phone to answer the call, but instead you swat it off the nightstand.

“What the fuck?” David says aggravatedly, while attempting to reach his phone on the ground, all while he’s still inside of you, pressing your body deeper into the mattress, but careful to not crush you.

“No, fuck you, David,” you spit back, and shove his body off of yours. You scoot over to one side of the bed and try to level your breathing. You were both so close!

“What is wrong with you?” He asks, forgetting the phone on the ground.

“Do you really have to answer that?” You ask, attitude on full display.

“It could be an emergency at work,” he tries reasoning.

“You’re not on the clock, David!” You dispute, sitting up, clutching the sheets to your body to conceal yourself.

“That’s not the point! It could’ve been serious. Julia could be hurt,” he says, the words just coming out of his mouth, giving each excuse little thought. His mind was in a frenzy and you didn’t miss a single syllable.

“You called her Julia,” you say just above a whisper, and suddenly you have an urge to vomit, but you do your best to control it.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what that meant at all to you.

It hurt more that he didn’t realize there was anything wrong and if he did, he was doing a good job at hiding something and making you look like the bad guy. You lightly shake your head, feeling defeated, and lie back down, settling on your side facing the opposite direction of him.

What was going on in David’s head? You tried so hard to understand him. It was like walking on eggshells, and even you had a breaking point. It was just sometimes too much because it felt like you were the only one putting in the effort to keep this relationship afloat.

The bed shifts significantly, letting you know that he’s gotten out of it. What felt like an hour, but were only a few seconds, the room was silent, tension still heavy in the room, and neither of you were willing to be the first to crack. You lie still, unmoving and making no attempt to stop him. It’s only when you hear the swing of the bedroom door creak, you allow yourself to blink the tears in your eyes away.

He didn’t leave the apartment that much you could rest assured of. Rest? That was what you were having trouble with. Things weren’t getting any easier with David and you even though you vowed to yourself that you’d go through Hell for him, the pressure was getting too heavy on your heart and in return, you knew the distress wouldn’t be good for the baby.

Maybe it was all just paranoia, the stress of pregnancy, and you were taking things too personal. You could be understanding about a lot of things in David’s life, his terms and PTSD, his kids, and his job, but was it too much to ask of him to be understanding of you? You suppose you were being selfish, and you were really tired. The only way to help you sleep was to swallow your pride and admit you were wrong.

The rush of the cold air instantly surrounds your bare legs the second you throw the covers off your body to get out of the bed. You throw on the discarded oversized shirt to be decent. Your steps are light, and you’re kind of nervous and, dare you admit, ashamed of how you overreacted that it drove David to the point of sleeping on the couch. After all, you made him feel unwanted in his own bed, and he certainly had enough respect to not steal yours.

Just when you’re ready to apologize and ask him to go back to bed with you, he’s already sound asleep, his legs sticking out from the mere blanket covering his upper body. You didn’t have the heart to wake him up for that. Sleep didn’t find him easy and he seemed just as stressed as you were, so you don’t disturb him. It can wait, right? You turn around and head to your room, shut the door and pray sleep finds you soon.

It didn’t and neither did the conversation.

News of the blast at St. Matthews College, where Julia was presenting a speech, rocked not only the political world, but it was the forefront of every news channel and medium. Tons left injured or dead, and as if that wasn’t bad, David was being told Julia had not survived the bombing.

He’s clearly distraught, believing he’s failed her, and on top of that, the weight of his lies started to suffocate him. He was going to have to come clean to you about everything he’s done behind closed doors with Julia. You wouldn’t forgive him, he was sure of that, and if by some chance you did, it would take a hell of a long time for him to regain your trust.

How many more lives does he have to ruin or lose under his watch? It was becoming too much, and it was sad, as he stared at the gun in his hands, that he’d contemplated his next actions more than once, but he really didn’t know what he had left to do anymore. There was a lot actually, he had his kids, a baby on the way, and a new life to build with you, but he was far too gone at that moment.

It’s Vicky that finds him back at the apartment, cleaning the brass fragments from the wound on the side of his head. She quickly puts the pieces together, the notes on the table addressed separately to her, the children and you, and the admission from David that these were brass fragments of a bullet casing.

“Dave, what the fuck? What about Ella and Charlie? What about-” she starts going on but stops when he visibly cracks because he knows your name is next to come out of her mouth, “I’m taking you to the hospital,” she decides and is quick to put away her tools.

“No. No one can know about this,” David says adamantly. They start to argue about his injuries and how David hadn’t been aware that he fired a blank round before he asks her to go back home to the kids.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” she says grabbing a jacket and tries to reason that he shouldn’t be alone right now and maybe being around the kids and seeing you will open his eyes and realize what he was leaving behind had he successfully ended his life.

He couldn’t pretend living like he was okay. What had happened to Julia was not his fault. All David ever did was do his best to protect, protect his country, his family and her.

“You need to tell her,” Vicky says while she hands David a cap for him to cover the wound on his head.

“I don’t even know where she’s been the last few days,” he admits pathetically. His own girlfriend, the mother of his unborn child, he can’t even keep tabs on where she’s been this whole time. It made him feel even terrible that he’d neglected you.

“She’s been staying with the kids and I,” she reveals.

“What? Why is she there?” He asks, and quickly puts the cap on and gets up from his seat.

She didn’t tell David of your whereabouts earlier because you’d asked her not to and she politely respected that, but she knew now was not the time to take sides anymore. You two had to deal with your issues now.

“She shouldn’t be alone, Dave. She’s pregnant with your child and yet she’s going through it all by herself,” Vicky tells him.

“I never meant to bring her into any of this mess,” he says heavily, full of grief. He brought you into the madness that was his world and now you’re trapped in it, bringing a new life along for the ride.

“She loves you, David, don’t sell yourself short. She just feels like she’s been left in the dark. You need to talk to her,” Vicky advises him, “it may not be pretty, but you have to hear her out.”

She knew you couldn’t stand being alone in the apartment without being reminded of David constantly. You weren’t in a good place either and she wanted to help you both before it was too late.

You’d been left behind at the house with Ella and Charlie in the other room watching TV, while Vicky was out looking for David. He wasn’t answering any of the phone calls she’s made, even ones made on your cell phone, there was no form of contact or communication from him. You knew he was there at the college; he was Julia’s bodyguard after all.

When you heard more than two voices return, you knew she’d brought David back and had told him you’d be here. You weren’t mad at her for ratting you out, it was going to come out eventually. Nothing ever stays hidden.

“You don’t normally wear a hat indoors,” Ella points out the cap on David’s head that stuck out like a sore thumb.

“You said it’s silly,” Charlie reminds his father.

“Then I’m being silly,” David responds as he watches his children chomp away at the slices of pizza in their hands.

While Vicky was on the phone cancelling her date tonight, you faintly hear the end of the conversation he was having with Ella and Charlie over their dinner. He still hadn’t even seen you. Then you hear his quiet, controlled sobs, but he couldn’t detain them enough and be strong around his kids.

“I just did something silly today,” he tells them.

“Wearing a hat?” Charlie asks innocently.

“That, too,” he replies as he clings onto them both in a group hug.

Vicky had just revealed to you of David’s suicide attempt moments ago. You’re numb. Clearly, Julia’s death had affected him rather deeply, so much that he thought killing himself was a solution.

He didn’t care about you or the baby. You both weren’t enough to save him or have anything to look forward to. You can’t even cry anymore. You wanted to lash out and get mad. She advises you to keep calm and think rationally, but you’re tired of thinking about all of this.

Without warning, David enters the room you’d been staying in. You’re like stone on the couch, arms crossed and starting straight ahead of you, mindlessly at whatever TV program the kids left it on before retreating to the dining area. Your eyes cast themselves on David’s demure stance. He cautiously steps forward and hesitantly takes a seat next to you.

“Is it true?” You ask, breaking the silence and finally turn to look at him. He only nods in response, his head hangs low, ashamed. You felt like your heart didn’t have any parts to break anymore. The confirmation alone just felt like him stomping on it for added measure.

“Ok,” is all you say, biting down on your lip to prevent you from saying anything else. It was petty, but you’d refused to show him any remorse or sorrow of any kind.

“Is this where you’ve been the past few nights?” He questions, rather awkwardly too.

“Oh, so you’ve noticed I haven’t been home?” You ask bitterly.

He was really going to push your buttons. You’re not sure if Vicky was right about you and David having to talk. This wasn’t going to go well at all. You were not in an ideal mental and physical state to be talking about your problems with him, but if not now then when?

“Of course, I have. Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, almost appalled by the accusation, and watching as you get up from the couch to stand in front of him.

“I hardly see you and when I do I find out that you just tried to kill yourself, so forgive me for not assuming I even ran as a mere thought in your messed-up head,” it was harsh, poking at his mental state, but you were so fed up, your mind was just as clouded, “...you didn’t think about me when you held the gun to your head,” you said ripping off his hat.

Your heart tightens in your chest as you stare at the wound and tears threaten to fall, but you don’t let them, “...and you certainly didn’t think about our baby when you pulled the trigger,” then chuck the cap at him, he makes no attempt to catch it as it lightly bounces off his chest and fall onto his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely and making no attempt to hide his tears as they raced down, “I’m so fucking stupid,” and he gets up on his feet, ”...I need help.”

He’s not even going to use the excuse of work and you’re not expecting him to rat himself out and come clean about Julia just yet. David didn’t work like that and you were absolutely done with it. No, everything had to come out now.

“I know,” is all you say at first. He thinks it’s some form of forgiveness, him acknowledging his problem, until you follow up, “just admit it,” your voice changes in tone from anger and hurt to an icy one, “who do you love now, David?”

All while asking him that question, you’re trying to get his eyes to focus on you, but you simply cannot. He’s looking everywhere but, and it hurts.

“It’s Julia, isn’t it? Tell me!” You shout at his face. When he doesn’t answer immediately, your lips press down together and you don’t hold back the tears any longer, “I can’t believe you,” you say in disbelief, almost struggle to breathe right, “this shit has been keeping me up at night!”

You back away from him and cover your mouth, just to conceal your sobs so the rest of the family doesn’t hear you cry. They most definitely heard you yell, but you didn’t want to further trouble them anymore or cause a big enough scene for them to burst right through.

There hadn’t been a doubt in your mind that David loved you before, but just seeing how he couldn’t open up enough to tell you there was someone else during, filled you with more heartache. Maybe it would hurt less, you wouldn’t know unless it came straight from his mouth.

David starts crying as well and you honestly want to slap him, but instead you start saying nasty things, cutting him way worse than anything you could ever do physically, and you certainly don’t hold back. Claiming you two were never meant to be together, and the baby doesn’t mean anything especially in uniting you both.

“I’ll be surprised if this baby even survives,” you scoff thinking about a past experience, and how cruel life was gifting you this baby.

“What are you talking about? You’re not thinking about-“ David starts getting all frantic suddenly, and not thinking, he grabs both your arms in his hands, holding you in place.

“God no! I would never!” You say in disgust and pull away from him, “I can’t believe you’d think I would…”

“Then what did you mean?” He asks curiously.

“I never told you why I broke up with him,” you don’t really mention your ex’s name these days. While you’d both moved on as civil as the both of you could, it still pangs you to reminisce about the relationship and how it ended.

“He couldn’t handle the long distance,” he said thinking he knew.

“He only couldn’t after...” you pause, trying to decide if now was the time to reveal this secret. David had the right to know, after all, an incident like such could happen again.

“After what? He was seeing someone else?” He grew increasingly anxious and almost ill towards the thought of another being unfaithful to you.

“No! It was my fault,” you don’t want to slander your ex at all. He couldn’t have prevented what happened to you across the other side of the world even if he tried. “I miscarried. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I woke up one day in my blood and the sharpest pain I’ve ever felt.”

You started reliving that day, how you were alone and the way your neighbors had to come to your aid. Your poor ex felt so helpless, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything for you, but the wave of depression afterwards had strained the relationship. It formally ended when you’d returned from studying abroad.

“I didn’t even know you were pregnant,” David says in shock. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, and if it was stupid to think all this time you could’ve easily had a life without him long before you two finally became a thing.

“It didn’t matter, David,” your voice finally regained strength, and wiped at the tears on your face of the memory, ”you and Vicky were so in love. There’s nothing you could’ve done for me.”

“That’s not true,” David persists.

“I would’ve turned you away, just like him,” you say so sure. David was your friend then, yes, but you didn’t need or owed him this before now.

“You’re not going to lose this baby,” he promises.

“You don’t know that,” and you’re not trying to be a pessimist about this, you wanted this baby, but you were more than aware of the possibility it could happen again. Bad things just always seemed to be happening lately anyways.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’d protect you both with my last breath,” he vows, grabbing your hands, desperate to feel any part of you.

“I don’t need your protection, David,” your words continue to crush him, that was your subtle way of leaving him and he knew it, “I love you, David. I love you so much!” you say with plenty of emotion, and lightly squeeze his hands in yours, “...but you can’t even tell me who you love right now,” you point out, reluctantly removing your hands from his.

“You need to get help, David. If not for your family, me or the baby, please do it for yourself,” you say last, before placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“I’m going to get help...for you,” you hear David say determinedly just before you walk out of the room. It wasn’t all you wanted to hear, you wanted him to tell you he loved you back, but you wanted him to live easy once again even if that meant him not loving you.

You could manage on your own, and work something out when the baby arrives, but for now it was time for you to go home.

A/N: Nope. Sorry! Whenever Season 2 decides to come out, maybe we’ll get a happier David, so for now I don’t think I can let these two ride off into the sunset…but I can if you send 2020 off with giving this a like, reblog, comment or all of the above!

#mrwinterr writes #david budd imagine #david budd x reader #david budd smut #david budd x y/n #david budd x female reader #richard madden imagine #richard madden smut #bodyguard imagine

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metanoiamorii · 3 years

Text

❛Peace through Power; Faith through Fire.❜

♧ Title: War of Wrath [WoW]

♧ Status: Brainstorming and Drafting

♧ Point of View: Third Person

♧ Genre: Fantasy, Action, Drama, Epic

♧ Warnings: Violence, War, Death, Nudity, Racism, Past Abuse, Generational Healing, Generational Trauma, Vengeance, Genocide, Colonialism, ethics vs morals, history erasure, history repeats itself, humans are the bad guys really.

♧ Featuring: Dragons, Dragons in themselves deserve recognition; found family, diverse LGBTQ+ characters, complex and complicated characters, fantasy religions, plenty of symbolism, complex world building, ethics vs morals, a whole lot of moral grey can be fit into this bad boy, there is some enemies to friends to lovers going on, and some enemies to friends to family too.

♧ Setting: there will be encompass of territories and areas explored. Few inspirations are Mongolia, The Incan Empire, Viking Scandinavia, Ancient Greece.

♧ Synopsis:

In Gri'lian, the gods have vanished and the mortals overstep their boundaries.

Long have been the years of war between human and dragekind. Humans kill the dragons for territory and control; the drage kill the humans in self defense. As time goes on, history proves the humans will not stop. They revel in the war they have instigated, they thrive on the power and authority they have taken by force.

It has been proven the gods have abandoned their creation, they are nowhere to be found. If they will not stop the humans... who will? Who will place the world back into natural balance?

What happens when a single dragon decides enough is enough? He makes the call, if the gods will not intervene, new gods need to be bore. He alone begins a collection of misfits, the most qualified to end the terror of humans and reinstate the drages; those he can trust to bring a new era.

They make their peace and take on their new role. They carve into their skin their sacred oath and adorn themself in the paint of their ancestors. Together, they go to war against the human. They go to war and fight like no one has before. They turn the tides of war and make a name for themself.

They have won every battle, but the war isn't won.

The only way to win the war, they come to realize in time, is not through violence, but through peace. By living in harmony with the human, not in war. They have to learn to live with the humans, to share the world and their lives with one another.

♧ Tease:

Faith through fire, peace through power; our souls bear written this vernacular. Our intentions we laid bare, yet all still cower in fear. To absent gods you make your prayers.... when we answer, you acclaim we give scare? If the help you wish to shun, why should we give chance upon chance to you anymore?

We fight for family, for it is our duty and sacred honor; with blood and fire, we will show you the price of war.

A battle you wished for, know a war you shall now pay for. The natural order we shall restore. Know, although bound to be ignore, our actions are only sincere. This war, by your hand, was it made so severe... For pride, a glut of greed, you were made a whore. Nay, your life we will not spare.

Why?

Why of your lives will we not spare?

Perhaps reminder is require.

The waters have turned red, from the blood we have bled. Of you, we pled, yet our mothers and fathers and our brothers and our sisters you behead. Of daughters and sons you have killed.

Your acts you dare to justify, lacking a shred of dignity?!

You have denied us as your friend, with caution you should have tread... for now? You are dead.

A warning:

They say, the red sun marks death, signal bloodshed beneath the light of its brothers and sisters in the passing darkness... know, for you it is coming.

♧ Excerpt:

"... Father." With only respect, Svihar greeted.

Violkoa shifted his hold onto his fan, blowing a light gust with it. "Svihar." He greets back, in a tone less than kind. "You are a rare one to come, what is it?"

It was no lie. He paid more respect to Kallai, sharing in her beliefs. But still... Here he was, kneeling before his father. "I seek your blessings, Father."

That scowl so neatly woven upon Violkoa's features nearly lightened. Bemused. He cocked an eyebrow and closed his fan. "What do you seek blessings for?"

"An honour battle." Svihar drew his head forward, daring his eyes from the floor to meet Violkoa's.

Now that scowl faltered, the rare smirk pulled onto that stoic and weathered face. "An honour battle?" Violkoa's repeated. "With whom?"

"Whomever I desire." It is a bite, with fangs drawn. Realizing his mistake, Svihar lowers his head and draws in a breath through his nose. "All that have broken their oaths to you, those that cannot adhere to order, the ones who know no law..."

Violkoa unfurled his fan. He shifts the arm he holds around himself and stands, fanning himself.

Silence.

Svihar keeps his head low, awaiting a response. He knows better than to raise his head and tempt a response. He waits. He waits.

He waits until the fan snaps shut in harshness, a gust of wind sent through the chambers. The fan disappears into Violkoa's sleeve as his arm raises, he plucks the center spine from the bun he wears and strides forward. He does not drop to his knees, but he lowers himself so he may spin his son's hair into a similar bun and tuck the spine into it.

To his feet, Violkoa rises. He turns upon his heels, his quilled tail dragging behind him as he disappears back into the temple. He gives a simple command, as Svihar rises to his feet, only when Violkoa no longer is in sight: "Go to war, My Son."

♧ Characters:

— The Lovers

Kaithrine Eve Flora; The First Dragonlord

Female • She/Her • Human • Pansexual • Demiromantic

The young woman that rules Virta'Niliq. Ruler from a young age, Kaithrine has matured faster than she should have. She understands the way of the world more than the adults around her do. As she ages, she meets her future husband, and she becomes the heroine of a story as old as time when she joins forces with the league of dragons that plague the humans. She leads by example and creates history as its known.

Eoin'fynil Sirenheart; The Blood Taint

Amab • Agender • He/They • Water Dragon • Pansexual • Demiromantic

A man with a legacy to uphold: his grandmother is the refined ruler of a sea with a ruthless reputation, his father is an enigma with a merciless reputation.... Eoin'fynil is a nomad, trying to put a distance with his family to raise his son. He puts distance with his family, but he can't outrun a young girl with high ambitions, and his role in history.

— The Order

Svihar Hopebringer; The Father of the Order

Intersex • Genderqueer • He/They • Rainbow Dragon • Asexual • Aromantic

The drage who has brought on a revolution. Although he carries a ruthless reputation to his name, demonized by the humans, he's a very compassionate man. He cares immensely and expresses deeply. He's faithful till the end to his kindred and protective of the family he has created.

Ryltar Flametongue; The Cinder King

Transmasc • Agender • He/They • Fire Dragon • Grey-Asexual • Demi-Homoromantic

The one Svihar trusts the must, and the drage all know stand as his favorite child. He's a drage without compassion that will raze everything before his eyes to ashes, if it means winning the war. He is one the humans fear, as they know he has no mercy to give to them for their crimes.

Dyiare Seawraith; The Wraith of the Sea

Transfem • She/Her • Water Drage • Grey-Asexual • Demi-Homoromantic

The grandmother of Eoin'fynil, known as one of the Sages of the Sea. She's a woman that doesn't smile, her mind fixed only on her responsibilities. She's serious and stern, she has no room to relax and laugh.

Syvtnr Venomtongue; The Enchantress of Reckoning

Afab • Nonbinary • She/They • Nature Dragon • Polyamorous Pansexual • Aromatic

A drage known to masquerade as a human. Famed for her beauty, she is a seductress who uses that weapon to bring humans to their knees. Apathetic, she does not regret using her tacts of manipulation to secure victory for her kindred. And yet, it's her price to bear few see beyond her beauty, she's not seen as a individual, but often only as a tool.

Ayros Golden-Father; The Heart of the Order

Amab • Agender • He/They • Light Dragon • Polyamorous Pansexual • Polyamorous Demiromantic

The trusted advisor, the one Svihar will most frequently turn to when he needs the truth, or advice. A quiet man, Ayros will keep to himself and not offer his unsolicited advice. He will most frequently stand back and observe; he will make himself known, his authority acknowledged, when necessary.

My'fel Frigidbane; The White Shadow

Amab • Demiboy • He/They • Snow Dragon • Bisexual • Aromantic

Simple-minded compared to the rest, My'fel is a drage with a one-track mind. He cares for his basic needs: food, sleep, reproduction, and the art of hunting. He's ill-tempered and reclusive, he doesn't care for companionship, and nothing seems to be able to make him change his ways.

Nyhmar Bronze-Heart; The Righteousheart

Afab • Nonbinary • They/Them • Earth Dragon • Demisexual • Demiromantic

Viewed as Benevolent, Nyhmar is anything as. Perhaps the most bloodthirsty of their family, they have earned a reputation for being amicable and approachable. History forgets how they reigned as a warlord before they joined Svihar, and they demand the blood of all humans, deeming no one innocent of their ancestors' crimes.

Rauor Savage-Heart; The Heartless Beast

Amab • Agender • They/He • Fang Dragon • Pansexual • Aromantic

The youngest of the family and it shows. He follows closely in the footsteps of his more heartless siblings, particularly My'fel. Known for his sadistic streak and apathetic nature, Rauor is an individual that never quite learned that you don't play with your food.

Za-Ylviar Nightstalker; The Eternal Nightmare

Afab • Agender • They/Them • Energy Dragon • Asexual • Aromantic

The most revered of their family by the humans. They favor the terror Rauor instills, the flavor of death Ryltar enjoys, and the dread Zivaryz embodies. They are brutal, erratic, dangerous. No one believes they are capable of compassion and thread with caution when their name is evoked.

Clyte Starforger; He Who Lights The Way

Male • He/Him • Star Dragon • Asexual • Aromantic

Compared to his siblings, Clyte is harmless. He's not violent, nor does he care for blood. He enjoys mischief, causing problems and reveling in watching others trip over their own feet. He's a trickster, to put it plain.

Zivaryz Endbringer; He Who Will Destroy The World

Intersex • Agender • They/He • Bone Dragon • Asexual • Aromantic

Viewed as an object, a weapon, Zivaryz is not viewed as a living and breathing individual. Although a dragon, both human and dragekind will vy to possess the weapon that is Zivaryz. Known to destory everything they touch, they will wither and drain the life of all things they can. A valuable weapon to have in a war.

L'ymra Spiritwalker; They Who Know All

Afab • Genderfluid • They/She/He • Spirit Dragon • Asexual • Aromantic

Perhaps the most soft of their family, L'myra is not a fighter, they do not care for blood and war. They desire peace, harmony. They wish to see the land heal, and the mistakes and crimes of the past be acknowledged. There is a long way to recovery, but they are adamant it will happen one day.

Blym Serenescales; The Guardian Beneath the Skies

Intersex • Genderqueer • They/Them • Air Dragon • Demisexual • Demiromantic

The most akin to their father, Blym puts family and responsibilities before all else. They hold the goals Svihar has set out for them. They aspire to be honorable and never be swayed, no matter the trouble they face for keeping a positive outlook on life.

♧ Taglists:

WOW: @lend-your-lungs-to-me, @wannabeauthorzofija, @northernrosewritings, @shadeshadow234, @necros-writings, @rhikasa

GENERAL: @endlesshourglass, @writerray, @poore-choice-of-words, @primusesgiantmetalballbearings

BOTH: @notugalan, @cecilsstorycorner, @little-boats-on-a-lake, @hazard-writes, @aligned-stars-writing

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eerythingisshaka · 4 years

Text

Wish Granted Pt. 2

[Yahya Abdul Mateen II x Black OC]

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I decided to make this a series and instead of reader, it is an original character. Strap in!

( Read Part 1 here)

That morning, Yahya and Corrine bask in the glow of the new morning sun, sharing a table by the front window enjoying eggs benedict, toast, with a stack of pancakes to share. Corrine dipped some of her bacon into the leftover egg and sauce along her plate, chasing it with the remaining orange juice in her glass. She goes to grab for more from the pitcher when Yahya’s hand surrounds hers.

“I have a flight tonight at 6,” he says.

Corrine nods slowly. “Ok.”

He looks sorry as he continues, “It got changed last minute.”

“Sure...can I ...pour my juice now?” Corrine asks, making Yahya awkwardly rest his hands on the table to allow you access to the pitcher.

“And with traffic, I should probably start getting ready to go now.”

Corrine sips her drink, wiping her mouth gingerly with the cloth napkin and sets it down. “I gave you back that ring, right?”

Yahya nods. “And your scarf is in your room at the hotel.”

“It’s not mine but...thanks.” Corrine says quietly. She pushes her fork around in the remnants of her plate, squeaking every so often against the porcelain.

Yahya leans forward. “I still want to stay in contact. Just because I live out of town doesn’t mean we can’t not see each other, you know?”

Corrine smiles with wide eyes like he just said something offensive. “If that’s what you think, that is fine. But honestly how would that work? I couldn’t keep a guy to get a proposal and I spent at least half of my 20s hanging with him. Don’t you think this is a bit much?”

Yahya sits back, looking out the window for distraction.

“I mean I am fine with a one night stand. Thank you for being what I needed at the time, it was definitely a night I will never forget but let’s not make this weird.”

Yahya sighs, looking around for presumably the waitress and pulls out his wallet. “I can’t believe you’re flipping like this.”

“It’s not a flip, just...this happens. Like, come on Yahya, we don’t know each other. Can you seriously say you want to try and make this a long term thing base don our track records?”

Yahya puts some bills on the table. “I thought you hadn’t done this before?”

Corrine shrugs. “Ok, truthfully, not since college had I done this before. Before...him,” she says with a cringe.

Yahya folds his arms across his chest looking at her with amazement. “So you really used me? I am your rebound and now you’re backing out? Or is it because I am not conveniently at your beck and call now that you’re scared to try something new?”

Corrine scoffs. “I don’t need to explain it, I made it clear. Long distance will not work. That’s it!”

“I disagree. And I want you to see that I am right and you’re wrong.”

“Yahya…”

“Corrine….” Yahya says, biting his lip playfully.

Corrine rolls her eyes, pulling out her purse to rifle through it. Not able to find a piece of paper, she takes an unused napkin and scribbles on the front with her dying pen.

“Look, I will give you my number. Do with it what you want, I’m not holding you to it though,”

She hands it to a confused look Yahya. “I could just give you my phone to put it in?”

“I’m old school. Plus, watch you accidentally use it and mess up the ink or ball it up thinking it’s trash. I wanna know you can be responsible with an important document such as that napkin with my number on it.”

Yahya looks at it, puts it down and grabs a five off of the stack of bills he had set on the table.

“Let me borrow that pen,” he asks, scribbling his number across the front of Lincoln’s face.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Corrine asks, leaning to get a glimpse for herself before Yahya gives her the defaced bill.

“And here is my number. If your theory checks out, it shouldn’t be hard to keep up with or lose, unless you accidentally spend it on some shoes or a new purse, right?”

Corrine glares at him. “Ha Ha. Here, let me at least put some money back on this since you probably just took the girl’s tip money for this.”

Yahya waves her off. “Please, it’s still 20% without it, we good.”

Corrine folds the five up in a side pocket in her bag. “Then that’s it right?”

Yahya stares through the table, nodding blankly. When he looks at Corrine he fights a smirk.

“I really had a good time.”

“I did too.”

Yahya and Corrine step out of the restaurant, parting with one last hug as his car arrives to pick him. Corrine holds him close, smelling the fresh soap from the morning shower he took just a couple hours ago. His shoulders and back solid under her hands, she imagines if she lifts her feet, he wouldn’t bend or fold even slightly.

His hands spread along her back before sliding slowly around her waist, kissing a spot behind her ear that makes her curl back and chuckle.

“I’ll call you,” Yahya says inches from Corrine’s face as she nods. “You gonna call me?”

“When you call me, I will,” she says, putting her hand to the side of his face, trying to memorize every feature and feeling it gave her. One last kiss would make her fly in the cab with him, so she backs off, waving goodbye.

A month goes by and Corrine has finally packed up all of James’s things in two boxes. She sits on the couch staring at them sat next to her front door. His life with her fit in just two boxes? They weren’t officially living together yet but he spent so much time with her that it seemed like there would be more things. Most of it is laundry that needs washing and DVDs he brought over because he refused to buy them on digital again.

Corrine scrolls through her phone absentmindedly as she waits. A message pops up that makes her jump out of the blue.

Hey, how’s your morning beautiful?

It’s fine for now. Still waiting on him.

Don’t let him bother you. Just tell him to the left and leave!

Of course girl. Why mess with a beyonce blueprint?

Works every time! Also, don’t forget to meet us for our lunch date after.

Sounds good.

Corrine gets up to check out of her patio door and sees his car park outside. James strolls across the grass, which instinctively makes her cringe. She always told him to watch doing that so he doesn’t end up walking in dog shit.

She waits for his knock patiently, not wanting him to know she saw him already. Her phone chimes again.

Outside, it reads.

Corrine groans at the rude tone of his one word text. As she opens the door he’s leaning on the frame in a way that reminds you of one of Danny Zuko’s boys from Grease. Leather jacket on even though it's 85 degrees out, distressed blue jeans that fit snug around his lean legs with some schmegular all white Adidas.

“I already packed your stuff,” she says, walking backwards to point to the left as practiced. James takes one step in with his hands in his pockets and looks to his right at the boxes.

“I could’ve done that,” he says in a bored tone, looking back at her as if she is visiting him without notice,

“I asked you every week for the past month to come get it. You think I’m going to wait for you to poke around here and find every little thing of yours on your own? I don’t think so.”

His fingers find their way around a curl of hair in his high top fade. “What’s all this energy about though? I thought we could be cool about it?”

“Why would I be cool about anything with you after you left me by myself in the city when we were supposed to be celebrating your promotion, right? But you recall what happened instead? After 5 and a half years together?”

“I wanted to talk to you in person-”

“You hadn’t done that either for a month, have you?”

James’ jaw flies open. “Because the only thing you got to say is about picking up my stuff! You never asked to talk and you didn’t answer my calls!”

“I shouldn’t have to ask to talk! I’m not the one that said I can’t do this no more!”

“Are you sure Corrine? Cuz you never acted interested in shit with what I got to do. You don’t listen to nothing I got to say.”

Corrine scoffs loudly as James kneels to look through the boxes.

“I never helped YOU? I got you into a respectable corporate job that paid BILLS for the first time in you life when your cooking career wasn’t pulling weight like you hoped it would! Now you can earn some capital so you can open your business steadily and not fall flat on your ass! I gave you so much more mercy than you ever did for me!”

James sucks his teeth and comes to a standing, towering over Corrine. “I stood by you while you worked to do this lawyer shit you got goin on. Long nights studying in the living room, out to the library, hell week after hell week to pass your bar. I barely got a kiss from you at your celebration party. You always doin the most!”

Corrine grips her temples, completely taken back. “I can’t believe you’re saying my ambition is a reason to leave me. I can’t succeed while you’re down and out or you feel less of a man? Is that it?”

James picks up his boxes in both arms. “Shut up.” He walks out the door heading for the steps.

“No, now I got it! You want me to just stay quiet and patient while you figure things out but I couldn’t carry our relationship for you! I needed your support too, whether I am studying for hours on end or you’re taking a month long business trip, only to come back unemployed!”

James was out the door about halfway down when he looks back at her.

“You think I wouldn’t know? I got you that gig, how would I not check into it? They said you never showed up. Why?”

James looked off, sighing deeply like a load was taken off even though he was carrying two very heavy boxes.

“You had to get away for a month? What were you doing for that long that you didn’t tell me?”

James continued to not look at Corrine. His mind battling with what to say and what not to say was killing her as she looked for him to speak.

“I won’t take you back James, I just want a good excuse so I can hate you less. I thought you were going to marry me when you booked that room for us at that fancy spot. But you broke my heart so bad.”

James continued to walk down the steps without a word. Corrine watched him pack his car and turn on the engine to peel out.

“Girl, and that’s what he did?” Simone exclaimed over her half eaten salad. Her pressed hair pulled back in a bun already gave her a naturally alert look, but Corrine’s turmoil made it that much more apparent.

Corrine pushed around a meatball in her spaghetti. “That is all he did. I have no closure to it.”

Bria pats you back gingerly. “You’ll be fine and he’ll be fine. It’s just because the break up is still fresh that y’all couldn’t come to an understanding.”

Corrine sits back and shrugs. “Maybe? But that’s a big ass lie he dropped on me. He was gone for a month. He could have a whole family in another state for all I know.”

Simone points at Corrine, big brown eyes bucking. “That’s why I told you he look like Cousin Skeeter if he were a real man. He is just as goofy too. Nobody should leave for a MONTH without saying anything.”

Bria nods, adjusting her tortoise shell frames. “He is not worth a thought but you take all the time you need to get past it. Just move on. You gave him chance after chance up until the last moment. It’s time you got to breathe on your own.”

“And speaking of,” Simone lowers her voice. “You hear from our hotel daddy yet?”

“Oh God, don’t bring that up now,” Corrine whines.

“Simone!” Bria hisses. “She hasn’t heard from him yet, and honestly by now, there would be some explaining to do instead of dating.”

Corrine lays her head on the table. “Why is life so hard? I can’t have a good time with nobody!”

Simone and Bria offer pats as her tears are absorbed by the tablecloth.

“Hey, you know what? You do still have his number…”

“Simone, no. I can’t.”

“But! Instead of cutesy whats up and stuff, you can tell him off maybe? Give him the lashing every wrong you’ve received deserves. It might not be constructive but a quick shot of feel good sounds pretty good, right?”

Corrine sits up, dabbing her eyes and feeling the avalanche of snot coming to her nose. Her cries put all ugly cries to shame.

“I just...it was...he said...he’d call!” Corrine squeaks out between sobs.

One month turned into two, and so on until Corrine forgot about that night at the hotel. Busying herself with work was the best thing she could do in order to keep herself feeling good from day to day. That and happy hours with her girls who vigorously scoped men out for her as her wingwomen.

Sometimes when she is turning in for the evening, she picks up the base of her little desk mirror to find the $5 bill under it that Yahya scrawled his number on. The more she looked at it, she wasn’t sure if it ended in a four or a nine, so it’s probably best she kept from calling in order to not look foolish on someone’s phone.

James and her never got back with each other either. But Corrine is more ok with that. She figures whatever skeletons he has are bigger than she can manage and she deserves a break. But Yahya seemed so good and promising, she couldn’t believe she got bamboozled that hard. He could’ve left that morning, allowing her to sleep away the future but he gave her hope instead and that got snatched away.

So Corrine filled her days digging into practicing law and running errands and not much in between. But she was ok. Without the extra baggage of men in her life she felt as if she might’ve unlocked a new level in life.

---

“As you all know, the construction on the new building is being negotiated with several architects in order to get a broad scope of what design would fit the future of our practice the best for years to come. Let me remind you all that if it weren’t for your dedication to your work around here that we would not be one of the most sought after and winningest law office in the state.”

Applause fills the conference room for Hogel of Garrett, Hogel & Truman as Corrine takes notes on the meetings main points. Most of the meetings are supplied with a bullet list of the main topics, but she does not enjoy just sitting and staring or she is liable to daydream.

When the meeting comes to a close, it is close enough to the evening and the weekend that she hopes will allow her to get off early and head straight for bed. Her feet kill her in the stiff three inch pumps she wears for ten hours straight, and her local Chinese spot was calling her name for some springfield chicken.

When she makes it back to her desk, her heart flips with joy as she sees no new files to review and archive, and since she got ahead of her projects for the week, it seems the weekend has finally begun.

She kicks off her heels to slide into her worn in athletic shoes, feeling her feet melt into the dips that the insole has created to mold to her feet. Her heart beats in the bottoms of her foot from being released from their patent leather binding which is both uncomfortable and satisfying. But even if they were chopped off at the shin, these feet would lead her to her car and get her to her home paradise.

Corrine walks down the hall to the elevators, hearing noises from people as she gets close. She feels a little anxious, preferring an empty elevator at her departure time but is willing to deal so that the exit is quicker.

As the group of voices rounds a corner leading away from her, she sees a man standing head above the whites that surround him. A navy blue suit fitting tailored to wide set shoulder funneling down to a slim but sturdy waist, made her knees buckle a moment, causing her to slow her pace forward. He walks away, laughing one of those polite laughs one gives to company they want to impress. He hits the elevator button, listening to one of the partners speak until his gaze travels over them and spots her.

She feels her brain black out and her heart fall out of her ass and flight took over in her fight or flight response.

“Corinne!” he calls after her, but she pays him no attention rounding the corner. Stairs would have to work, no matter how much her feet her from the day, anything would do over having to see him make up whatever excuse he had to not call her. And what the hell is he doing at her job? Is he a lawyer? Is he looking for counsel? What if he is a fraud that manipulates women and sues them for some old timey bullshit laws like alienation of affection.

She thanked God that coincidence didn’t find him in the parking garage as Corrine finally made it home but settled on some leftovers she had in the fridge instead of her beloved Chinese food. At this point she still hadn’t calmed down from earlier. What if he is at the Chinese place? Where the hell does he live anyway? To be in the same area as her work, he couldn’t be far. She couldn’t remember where he said he was from, if they even covered that much information but she was not going to entertain his presence, he is a ghost to her.

In her bedroom she takes the five and slips it in her purse to make sure she spends the bill, like it's the reason he is back. She will have to treat him like a ghost. He won’t know she ever waited for him or thought about him after that night.

#shakafic #yahya abdul mateen ii fic #wish granted

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yngai · 3 years

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one of the main reasons ada has survived this long working on her own ( outside her predisposition to manipulate people into doing her job for her, a paradoxical method of both minimising & maximising risk ) is that she essentially became her own handler / IT support . while she necessitated such aid early on in her career, especially during her time at umbrella, a naturally precarious mission which required years of preparation on part of umbrella’s rival corporations as well as several fellow spies implanted within the company that made way for ada’s hiring an assistant researcher in the arklay laboratory . the death of her handler by his own hand, discovered upon her arrival at their agreed meeting point at the apple inn, despite her securing a sample of the g-virus ( or scraping a tissue fragment off william birkin’s corpse depending on route or adaption ), the sudden, brief release from her dependency on his guidance + the organization during her espionage only reinforced a core aspect of her personal philosophy, that of all people in this world, the only person she can ever rely on is herself .

of course, albert wesker came to her rescue, but his gloved hand was an underhanded offer & even back then, before they would become rival agents of the organization, she knew all he saw in her was just another card in his deck, easily shuffled out when she is no longer of any use . it was an offer she couldn’t refuse & did little to dissuade her belief in self-reliance . it only bolstered it, truly, for when she will find herself in a situation like this again, if she even allows herself that uncertainty overcasting her life, her exit will be assured far in advance . if albert wesker was to treat her as a stepping stone for his own ambitions, she would only do so in return & their animosity grew from that initial meeting, an impersonal video call amidst a dying city .

ada wong’s shift in persona, from a scared woman trying to survive the hell of raccoon city, grasping at straws & desperate manipulations all in the vein hope of survival, to the fully realised spy whose status within the criminal underworld was akin to legend, was a multi-step process which the organization facilitated as her success retrieving secretive data & virus samples from within umbrella’s own, most well-guarded facilities was a display of realised promise, scouted for her talents & interests by the organization just as she had earned her degree . a strong foundation, natural talent, myriad potential careers ahead of her, an interest in the filed & a pretty face, beneath a burning determination to make something of herself . she was the perfect candidate & eager to commit to the life of an actress without audience, a lifelong dream without the one setback that halted it early on . she became a guarantee of completed missions of even greater importance to their goal of overthrowing their competitor’s hold on the pharmaceutical industry & the development of biological weapons of war, an entrée into a lucrative black market that would follow when umbrella’s trade secrets make their way into criminal hands .

she was an asset & fully aware of it, but left scarred & bleeding after setting two feet in hell . weak, bruised & fearful beyond imagination, there was a purpose here which she clung tightly onto, not the organization or their goals, she held no belief in them beyond wanting to see umbrella burn, but a chance to become something greater, something better . like the woman painted in the legends told about her, infinitely capable, deeply calculating, twirling the world on her finger . it would come at a cost, as all such matters often do, personal & moral in equal measure . too much of a danger for her to return home, a risk that the few people she cared for most would become a liability in her life as a spy & she would much rather they think her dead . allying herself with the organization’s heart will paint her in colours likened to umbrella, but the rest of the world does not often consider the reputation of a dead woman & in the long run it would not matter anyway, she was not planning on sticking around .

ada agreed to pay that price in full & thus, was given further training to account for how umbrella’s evil would mutate in the coming years, taken new, far worse forms as it exchanged shadowy hands . though the organization could only provide so much, training ada as an H.C.F. field operative with only few additions to account for her personal conduct, lacking certain skills which instrumental to her survival which she sought to teach to herself. while there are many facets to account for in the transition between ada’s initial equipment & skill-set in resident evil 2, compared to her much different, twice kidnapped notwithstanding, effortless professionalism displayed in 4 ( i went over her physical development in a brief ramble in the tags here ), i should probably return to origin & discuss her ability as a hacker . a talent she picked up quickly, almost second nature, coding her own malicious software, exploiting vulnerabilities within well guarded digital systems . already quick on her feet & adaptable, fast thinking translating from perilous situations to the computer screen, ada found hacking to be akin to the act of manipulation, finding & using a vulnerability against your target . people & their personalities were systematised within her mind, like code, their wants & desires, their history, all absorbed & accounted for to predict every future movement . not a perfect process, her own prejudices get in the way of fully perceiving others, her cynicism resulting from a sense of helplessness & of everyone else, she will never have access to her own code . she understands, she infers, she consumes information at a rapid pace & sometimes that is enough but she is not above making mistakes, pitfalls of her own mind & they each cost her .

during raccoon city, her closest equivalent was the EMF visualizer, introduced in the remake but a piece of tech i rather enjoy as a callback(?) to her future abilities in regards to computers while being deceptively simple & fitting for the 1998 setting . a fairly self-explanatory, rudimentary piece of technology that detects & interacts with the electromagnetic field generated by moving currents, though it is more apt at doing so with the force created by an electric field as opposed to a magnetic one, as the former is much stronger that the latter . it allows its user to scan & interact with circuitry by directing charges within an electric system, or short-circuiting any point along it . while referred to as hacking in-game, it bares very little resemblance to the real deal & quite limited . it was a portable, small-scale EMP generator that disrupts low-level electronics & can cause more complicated tech to, essentially, glitch ( thus bypassing NEST’s identification system ) . ada used it to destroy intake fans in raccoon city’s sewers, primarily & any access to umbrella’s internal database was acquired through her position as an assistant researcher before her credentials were erased &, would there be anything above her clearance level, the ID & passwords swiped off of dr. john clemens & dr. annette birkin, respectively . john, of course, was far more willing to part with his than annette, both because of his infatuation with ada & his plan to leak arklay’s darkest secrets to the world .

with the evolution of technology, the dawn of the information age &, i suppose, the slight discrepancy in its advancement between the ressie universe & reality ( though a lot of what we consider groundbreaking today was developed years prior for military use before going public, meaning both umbrella & the organization would have rather easy access to such advancements quite early ), ada’s only necessity in regards to cyber-security was a computer connected to whatever secure, private network she wanted to break into . for example, a pair of smart-glasses outfitted with such that are convenient, portable & fashionable, able to discharge a non-lethal explosive, the equivalent of a stun grenade, if activated . used to scan an encroaching environment, any digital system she wishes to interact with &, in certain instances, as the eyes & ears of anyone overseeing her mission from afar . hardly a replacement for a proper computer, but a useful tool nonetheless & easy to discard for fear of her tampering being tracked . as technology develops even further, ada does upgrade from bulky laptops to tablets, to phones & whatever permutations they might take in future, a weird cube . her abilities as a hacker, tied to a fictionalised rendition of the practice for the fun of it, grow with the tech & tie directly into how she becomes her own handler . information is a currency, after all, & before every mission ada does extensive reconnaissance on the people & places she will be tasked with visiting, sometimes relying on a web of contacts around the world formed after years of spy-work . anything too secretive & too hidden is relegated to field discovery, as she would rather her targets not be on alert after a potential cyber-attack . she prefers it this way, while she always steps into a new mission with an exit strategy already meticulously planned, there is fun & risk to be had in being physically present for a grand revelation & she never passes up the chance for that thrill . after the organization succumbs to internal conflict & she sets the stage to work freelance, ada begins carrying herself through her objectives & any outside help, predominantly in regards to transport & accommodation, different missions requiring different resources, is given to her by her various employers . a sort of guarantee, an advanced payment, if you will, though she is not above taking those in cash just as well . using any resource at her disposal, what is provided willingly, what is not, the people she encounters throughout her life, all to ensure her success, her survival .

a fun little headcanon to end on : between missions, ada has taken up a little side-project that blurs the line between work & leisure . leaking sensitive information between rival companies & criminal organizations only to sit back & watch them destroy each other, or to a hungry press looking for the next big story, satiating a starving public seeking explanation for the continuous state of disarray . gray hat hacking to pass the time, if you will . she isn’t looking to make waves, she takes no credit for her tampering, would be poor form for a woman wrapped in mystery, & rarely strikes businesses with an international reach, where the real damage is done . its merely a way to pull strings & watch the world spin, a performance she enjoys viewing from afar .

#* file // : OOC — ( 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐄 . )#* file // : 004 — ( 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 . )#* file // : 005 — ( 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 . )#this was originally just gonna be about ada's ability to hack things but once again i go on a nightmare tangent #i feel fucking insane what even is this supposed to be #just nonsense word vomit #sorry guys i can't be helped #sad brag #etc.#😭😭😭#ada wong is an epic girlboss

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theloneliestshipper · 3 years

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Boba/Leia AUs

Something like...oh four years ago I invited people to send me prompts based on a trope or an AU idea and I wrote various Boba/Leia scenes based on the prompts. I have reopened that collection for requests because they are a heckin’ fun writing exercise and so I’m kicking off Round 2 with a request by @nyelung for a Vampire AU.

AO3 Link

Vampire AU

Rated T

It’s dusk when Leia leaves her room, lamp in hand. With the curtains parted there is still enough light to see by, but in all common areas of the house the drapery is drawn tight. The master of the house suffers terrible headaches from light and so prefers shadows and gloom.

It’s a good story. She believed it once.

She slips quietly into Rey’s room first and tucks the blankets in around the sleeping girl. She never thought being a governess would suit her, especially after her uncle thwarted her true ambitions, but she has grown genuinely fond of Rey. She’s an orphan, as Leia is, both with solitary men as their guardians. She has her uncle and Rey has Mr. Fett, who took her in after both of her parents were slain in their beds by an unknown assailant.

The people of Mossbrook praise his kindness but all admit he’s a strange man. A handsome man, who apart from his headaches, gives every appearance of vigor. Yet he seeks no wife or companion. The only visitors to his manor house are the staff, who do not live on the premises and his attorney, who often brings along his son Finn along to play with Rey.

When Leia took the position, his instructions were explicit that Rey should not fall into his isolated patterns. “She must have an education and friends. She is an active child and she should be outside as often as the weather allows.”

This suits Leia well, as she was an active child herself. She takes Rey beyond the garden walls and they roam the woods. They climb rocks and wade into streams. They come home with muddy hems, hair askew and no one aside from the laundress looks askance. Every morning and evening Leia brings Rey to Mr. Fett’s study, a dire, windowless room she feels certain was meant to be a pantry. Rey doesn’t mind the stuffy atmosphere. She reports happily on their plans or activities and then wishes her guardian good night or good morning.

Sometimes she confuses the phrases, wishing him a good morning at night and a good night at morning, but he never corrects her. He responds in kind no matter what she says.

Leia would be more inclined to believe him to be a kind man if he were a man at all.

She suspects that he is not.

From Rey’s room she turns down the hall. His bedchamber is at the very back of the house. The lamp quivers a little in her hand but she keeps on, determined to persist. Perhaps if she were just a woman avoiding the title of “spinster” by seeking employment she would be content with her pay and the roof over her head. Perhaps she would not notice that she has never seen Mr. Fett eat or drink, and that he rides out at night and does not return for hours.

She has begun to track these occurrences. While Rey is at her music lesson in the village she reads the paper and takes note of any events within a certain distance. Disappearances. Deaths. People and animals found drained of blood. Strange markings found on the throats of people who don’t remember how they occurred.

The door creaks as she pushes it open. It’s a large room, well decorated, with a four poster bed. A fortnight ago she tucked a copper coin in the bedding, carefully concealed in a place where it would be easily dislodged by anyone using or making the bed.

She sets her lamp on the nightstand and feels for the crease in the brocade coverlet. The coin is still there, just where she left it.

There is a certain humor in the fact that Uncle Ben refused to train her in the ways of her ancestors, a long line of Skywalker monster hunters. It’s no life for a young woman, he told her emphatically. I cannot lose you as I lost your father. So she took a posting as a governess instead and now finds herself in the lair of a vampire.

He’ll have a coffin somewhere. That’s his true bed.

Her heart pounds as she looks down at the coin in her hand. If she slays this unholy being, her uncle will have no choice but to see her destiny.

“Miss Skywalker?”

She reacts on pure instinct and adrenaline, dropping the coin to the floor and reaching into the pocket of her skirts. Fett is behind her and then in front of her and then sprawled out on his bed with Leia on top of him and a sharp-tipped wooden stake poised over his chest.

She whittled it herself in the woods while waiting for Rey to climb down from the top of a tall fir tree.

The attack might have taken him by surprise, but once his eyes fall on the stake the transformation is instantaneous. Dark eyes heat to a glowing gold, like an ember in a smithy’s fire and sharp fangs emerge from his parted lips. “I knew you were clever,” he says. “It almost seems a shame to undo all of your hard work.”

“You can’t mesmerize me.” With her free hand she opens the hook that closes her bodice at the neck. Her hands are shaking and two more hooks pull free. Why should she care if he can see the top of her corset and chemise? The important part is the birthmark just below her clavicle. The same mark her father had.

“A trueborn hunter,” he says in a measured tone. “Remarkable.”

“I am Leia Skywalker, the daughter of Anakin Skywalker, slayer of demons. And today you will meet your end.”

“You appear to have me at a disadvantage,” he acknowledges. “But your mark only protects you from enchantment. At any point I could throw you into that wall and bury my teeth in your throat, but I have not.”

She would laugh if she weren’t still breathless. “You claim to have spared me while I hold a stake to your chest?”

“Aside from this unfortunate incident, you have been an exemplary caretaker. I would prefer not to deprive Rey of your company.”

“You have no heart or soul. How can you claim to care for a human child?”

“And yet, I have cared for a human child since the day she was orphaned. Her relatives abandoned her. The people of the village said she was cursed to madness because she witnessed her parents’ murder. I took her in and made her my heir.” A smile curls his mouth, baring more of his deadly teeth. “I also found the man who killed her parents. The blood of killers in a fine vintage, Miss Skywalker.”

“Do not speak my name, you monster.”

“What should I call the woman who has me in such a compromising position?” His hands move to her hips, a touch she can feel even through her bunched skirts. “Perhaps you would prefer ‘wife.’”

“How dare you.” She presses the stake into his shirt, her face flushed hot.

“Consider this, little hunter. Rey cannot legally inherit my estate until she comes of age. Kill me now and she will once again lose her home and security. If you can abandon her to that fate, you are the monster, not I.”

“First you question my honor and then you play on it.”

“I do not play with my daughter’s future, Miss Skywalker. You know the truth about me now. If you marry me you will have control of my estate and can therefore protect her.”

“This is only an appealing case for being your widow.”

“If you marry a dead man, what else are you? You may try to stake me again as often as you wish. I would not deny you the opportunity to hone your skills.” His tongue briefly appears, running along the edge of his fangs. “But in the future you should expect me to defend myself.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She should drive the pointed tip into his undead flesh. He’s a wretched, unnatural being who only feels warm and solid beneath her because he drinks the blood of other human beings. But she cannot argue with his logic. If she slays him Rey will be orphaned for the second time in her young life. And if she marries him-

No. It’s madness to even consider it.

Fett drops his hands to the bed and pushes himself up with no regard for the stake she still holds loosely in her hand. Their faces are inches apart and his eyes are still glowing with the fire of the immortal. “If it is monsters you want to hunt, I can help you find them.” One hand rises to touch her cheek and then lingers at her throat, caressing her skin just over her hammering pulse. “There are many in this part of the world, some human and some not. People want them gone, so badly that they will pay handsomely for their disposal. Marry me, and we will hunt them together.”

#boba fett/princess leia #rebelbounty #random au #vampire au #my fic #boba fett #leia organa #rey #really went back and forth about who was going to be undead #but couldn't pass up Boba with fangs

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faerytale-au · 4 years

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A Darkness Lingers Pt.1

Word Count: 8,805 Fourth Prompt Place: During and After “Promises and Tokens” Rating: M TW: Mentions of Past Abuse Part 1 - Part 2 Cross posted to Ao3 here!

(During Prom&Tok)

“So your brother’s getting hitched, talk about a shocker.” Papyrus casually gave Undyne the side eye as they walked. Why everyone kept repeating that he didn’t fully understand. Sans could be devoted if he wanted to be, after all he had helped raise him since he was young, even back when their father was still around.

“I SUPPOSE TO THE UNOBSERVANT EYE IT WOULD BE QUITE THE SHOCK YES.” Undyne could always tell when Papyrus was being sarcastic.

“Hey, I’m not the only one who thinks that, you have to admit Sans doesn’t really do much unless he absolutely has to. I wouldn’t call this a necessity either.” Papyrus stopped in place to stare at her.

“IS THERE A REASON YOU’RE BRINGING THIS UP RIGHT NOW?” When she’d all but demanded him to walk with her to work with the excuse that they were heading the same direction he’d been expecting some friendly chatter.

Not a cross examination.

Undyne stopped beside him and folded her arms, her expression turning serious as she seemed to contemplate something. “Is the wedding even going to be legal?”

Papyrus was offended. “WHY OF COURSE IT WILL BE! WHY ARE YOU EVEN ASKING THAT?”

“It’s just well...Frisk is a mage.” Undyne stated plainly as she placed both her hands on her hips. Papyrus didn’t see what her point was, and so narrowed his sockets at her suspiciously. He knew she was uneasy with the thought of mages walking around, but last he was aware Undyne liked Frisk.

“THE ROYAL FAMILY AS I RECALL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH MARRIAGES BETWEEN CLANS. THOSE ARE VERY MUCH STILL PERSONAL MATTERS AND DECISIONS LEFT TO THOSE ENGAGING IN THE BINDING CEREMONY.” Papyrus casually dismissed. But Undyne only seemed more reluctant about dropping the conversation as she frowned.

“That’s another thing, does she know what a binding ceremony even means Paps?” Ah, there was the crux of the matter, he could tell by the way her gaze skirted around him, but he was confused.

“I’D ASSUME SHE DOES, THE HUMANS MIMIC THE WHOLE PROCESS RATHER EFFICIENTLY IN THEIR OWN CEREMONIES.”

What was there to even know he wondered?

A binding ceremony meant exactly what it was called, the two participating became tied to each other usually until one or both parties fell down shortly before dusting. In the meantime their tokens they exchanged, powered through the upholding of their promises, would act like soft mood detectors and tracking beacons. They would be able to tell when one was in danger or had gone somewhere far away from the other.

But then again that was for Seelie.

Papyrus had no clue what rules would apply to his brother and Frisk, he didn’t even know if it would work the same for them.

He did know however so long as she stayed in the realm and remained a mage her lifespan was sure to endure as long as any other Seelie. However Mages and regular humans didn’t go through the falling down process when reaching the end.

For the briefest moment Papyrus felt a flicker of doubt and worry for his sibling.

What would it mean if Frisk was somehow killed or died before him? Most Seelie didn’t survive when their partner passed away, and there had been stories of the effects tokens could have on those that still lived.

He didn’t want to think about the implications a token from a powerful human soul could have.

So he didn’t.

But Undyne did have very good reasons to worry.

“AND IF SHE DOESN’T I’M SURE IT WILL BE EXPLAINED TO HER. ARE THERE ANY OTHER CONCERNS THAT ONLY INCREASE THE JOVIAL MOOD I AM IN?” Undyne didn’t want to voice it seeing how his expression went neutral, his sockets habitually going wide with an empty grin to match, just as Sans’s so often did when he was talking about a subject he was uncomfortable with.

Still it was a legitimate question that needed asking. “Yeah, last one Paps. Who’s going to bind them? Last I checked the job belonged to the clan elder, or to the oldest member and your dad is…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

Papyrus’s smile finally dropped completely. “AH, I WAS THINKING ABOUT THAT MYSELF. I AM AWARE I AM TECHNICALLY BY TRADITION TOO YOUNG TO KNOW ABOUT THE CLAN RITES, AND THAT SANS IS THE ELDEST BUT GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES I AM HOPING HER MAJESTY AND GERSON WILL BE KIND ENOUGH TO LET ME LEARN AT LEAST THIS ONE.”

“Is that why you’re heading to the castle with me?”

Papyrus forced his smile back on but it was so easy to tell for the other Seelie how fake it was. “ONE REASON YES.”

Undyne shifted in place awkwardly. She was never good with emotions when it came to someone other than Alphys but she was insightful enough to know when an invisible line had been crossed.

“Look, I’m sorry I brought up Ga--”

“IT’S FINE!” She jolted at how quickly he cut her off and Papyrus was quick to rub the back of his vertebra as he offered an apologetic smile. “IT’S NOT EXACTLY A GOOD THING TO MENTION HIS NAME, YOU KNOW THE POWER BEHIND SUCH THINGS.”

“...You mean the power for him behind such things.” She glowered.

Papyrus didn’t respond, simply stared at her, with all the patience many would have thought him incapable of. It was clear he wasn’t willing to continue the conversation. Her sigh of defeat was enough to make him silently grateful even as it irritated her.

“Sorry for the questioning. C’mon we’re going to be late.”

He smiled and went to follow, only to pause as a thick foreboding chill ran the length of his spine. Papyrus peered over his shoulder as the air around him became saturated with malevolent energy and the taste of sulfur.

If he focused long enough he swore he could see the minimalist movement out of his peripheral, the area usually reserved for wisps or other mischievous Fae that sought to cause havoc.

He was usually never bothered by such things.

But a clan member could always tell when their eldest was nearby, Seelie or Unseelie alike.

“PAPYRUS! ARE YOU COMING!?”

Gaster watched from behind the veil as Papyrus turned back around and sauntered off after Undyne. He could tell his magic was riled but the lanky skeleton kept it cleverly concealed as he chased after the blue fish Seelie.

It was almost impressive how his youngest’s magic control had developed he thought absently.

But then he lingered on what he’d heard.

So his oldest son was getting married? The possibility of such a thing never once crossed his mind, seeing how cold and distant Sans had become in the years following his departure, it was quite the surprise.

Someone made Sans happy, enough to break through his guarded detachment and a human no less. Oh what irony that was.

Gaster’s corrupted soul gave a sickening twist as a foul wave of contempt overcame him.

He supposed he wasn’t due an invite.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t by all rights allowed to meet the bride. He always knew his eldest had a soft spot for the other race that was simply his nature as it was all Seelie’s, but to go so far as to bind them to their family name?

What made this one so special?

Frisk wasn’t experienced when it came to cooking.

In her youth when she had to fend for herself she usually had a kind neighbor to help her, or if she was really lucky the town’s crops would already be just beginning to ripen and she’d pluck one or two fruits for a meal when she was hungry.

None of that required fire or pots.

So why it had been a good idea to Papyrus and her...fiancé...to let her make dinner she had no idea. She was even a bit worried she’d potentially end up burning the house down; how was she supposed to know when the meat was fully cooked, let alone magic meat too.

Her narrowed eyes flickered over to the cookbook Papyrus had set up for her.

It said to simmer the meat until browned...how did one simmer meat?

Magic maybe? Wasn’t that always the answer?

Frisk was so busy worrying and glaring at the food to notice as a thin shadow slipped from the kitchen doorway behind her, it’s shapeless form gliding across the floor to rest just behind her own feet.

It lingered still as could be while Frisk hummed and begun to look over seasonings.

Slowly the shadow darkened and grew upwards like a pillar of smoke, it’s ascent silent as the grave as it twisted and enlonged. It continued to grow until it was just tall enough it threatened to touch the ceiling and all the while Frisk was ignorant to its presence..

The sharp popping of the meat and a loud gasp from her was enough to cover a nauseous sound of rolling curd and dolloping phlegm, the crackle of raw magic, and the food’s smell of char as it burned was enough to mask a scent of coal and wood.

A face, white and round, cracked from the left corner of its mouth with a matching lightning bolt jagged like cut curving up from it’s right eye rolled out from the churning darkness to grin wide and maliciously at the human woman’s back.

So this was her?

Gaster tilted his head as he took in her appearance with an apathetic look. About average height, dressed simply in Seelie garb, but to his keen eye all together plain looking. He couldn’t see anything that would have coaxed his son’s attentions.

Nothing truly remarkable stood out about her that he could see. There were even faint scars dotting her arms if he looked close enough, a feature that normally would’ve been off putting among her kind he was sure, he could even see one or two trying to show from under the collar of her shirt.

Yet.

There had to be something he was missing.

A flare of brilliant magic circled his right socket as a monocle formed and his frown curved up into a smile both fascinated and intrigued. Right in the center of her being he could see a heart floating and radiating the aura of magic around her.

Her soul was the most vivid and bewitching shade of Red he’d ever seen, determination practically poured from her being in rivets. It made his hands spawn and itch. Even enclosed within her body as it was it gave off a sense of bewitching ambition and drive.

Was it truly a wonder his eldest had fallen for her then?

All Gaster could see...was fathomless potential.

Frisk mumbled to herself as she rushed over to the sink, her hands fumbling as she filled a cup and rushed back over before stilling as an icy shiver raced up her spine. She frowned. It felt as if she had eyes on her, someone watching her as she attempted to pour water over the smoking remains of her ruined dinner.

Gaster smirked.

Trying to keep calm she drew a shaky breath and tensed. Swallowing down her nerves she turned and froze, her body preparing for a sudden assault or unexpected visitor.

She blinked at the empty kitchen.

Frisk had been living in the Seelie realm for a while now, unexplained sensations or fluctuations of magic weren’t unusual or uncommon. But this felt off...as if whatever that was she had felt didn’t belong to the rest of reality around her.

Furrowing her brows one of her hands came up slowly to brush the air in front of her as if to feel something she couldn’t see before snapping it away to her chest. She started to breath heavy and glanced down at her palm.

A feeling, something magnetic had rebuffed her.

“Paps? Sans?” She waited, a clamminess overcoming her skin, but no one answered her. Mentally she started to count backwards from ten as she cast a wary glance around her, her eyes lingering in corners and doorways before finally she started to calm down.

Feeling reassured there wasn’t really anyone around she let out a sigh and nearly whimpered as she reluctantly turned back to the stove and saw the meat had turned solid as a brick and black.

She couldn’t even tell it had been meat anymore.

Looked like it was going to be takeout for dinner again, Papyrus wasn’t going to be too thrilled.

“WE’RE BACK!” Frisk flinched, talk about convenient timing.

Frisk smiled in relief as she called back, her eyes locked on the smoldering pan, and shivered as she swore silently to herself that she felt eyes on her again. Her hand clenched the cup she still held nervously as her heart verged on picking back up.

The feeling of familiar and warm arms encircling her waist relaxed her.

“wow, my favorite, charcoal.”

Her cheeks stung and the stiffness in her shoulders changed meaning at Sans’s teasing and the chaste kiss he pressed to her cheek. Her worry was instantly forgotten as she smiled at him in amusement. Her fiance had a habit of liking things just a bit overcooked.

A lot overcooked.

“Well, at least one of us will have a lunch for tomorrow.” She pouted.

Sans merely chuckled and slyly glanced over to the corner of the kitchen at the same moment as his brother walked in. Papyrus’s loud exclamation and Frisk’s apologetic stammering faded to the back of his mind as his eyelight flared.

Gaster and Sans stared at each other.

His hold on Frisk tightened.

“Sans?” He blinked and his father was gone.

Belatedly he took in the way he was standing, like a wall separating where Gaster had been from the rest of the room. His suddenly blurry gaze lingered on the empty corner with a hostile intent roaring through his bones.

When had he let go of Frisk?

...Why was Gaster showing up again?

Feeling unnerved he forced a grin and made sure to carefully control his tone as he turned with a shrug. “sup?”

“You okay?” Frisk drawled slowly, her eyes flickering from where he’d been facing and back to him. If he didn’t know better Sans would swear Frisk knew Gaster had been there too. Coming into her powers he knew she would start to be able to feel distortions just as they could, but he worried; Frisk wasn’t officially tied to the family yet.

Was Gaster so strong now that his human fiance, a simple mage, could sense him?

“fine, just wondering if we have enough ketchup to go with dinner.” Papyrus frowned.

“YOU NEED TO SEE A HEALER FOR THAT ATROCIOUS SENSE OF TASTE.” Sans inwardly sighed as Frisk giggled. He couldn’t help but to be thankful that his brother helped with the subject change. This wasn’t something that needed to be talked about right now, hopefully ever.

He watched as Papyrus stole a spoon and a new mixing bowl. He looked really determined to teach Frisk some skills in the kitchen and Sans wasn’t complaining, he always enjoyed a show.

Even if he was incapable of relaxing now.

(Post Prom&Tok)

Frisk blinked sleepily and let out a yawn, her heavy lids fluttering as she slowly sat up. She frowned as she looked down at herself to see her everyday clothing and cloak adorning her instead of the pajamas she’d worn to bed.

What?

She blinked, and then she was on her feet, Sans standing in front of her with his cloak billowing ominously in the wind whipping around the both of them. His sockets were void of light, and his posture was hunched, almost broken looking.

An echoing and child-like sob had her looking around to see no one in sight.

Was she dreaming?

Frisk didn’t know what to think as a low growl caught her attention. Confused, she looked behind her and froze.

A being of blackest night stood tall and imposing, their face horrifyingly cracked and grin maliciously wide. Eight hands floated around the creature, circling and moving with purpose.

She didn’t know how to explain it, but she could feel them staring at her, and it felt terrifyingly familiar. It didn’t take much for her to realize it was the same feeling she’d felt that one lazy afternoon in the kitchen.

Her blood began to race.

There was no doubt what she was looking at was an Unseelie.

“G U I L T Y.”

A stab of ice and terror raced through her at the word, Sans’s voice echoing around her and plunging her under a shroud of fear.

Guilty?

The next thing she knew it was an out of body experience. Sans and the Unseelie stared each other down and the scene darkened, turned to hues of grays and blues as a chuckle, low and fervent came from her husband.

It sounded nothing like him.

The Unseelie spoke, and his voice grated Frisk’s hearing like nails on a chalkboard.

“SuCh A dIsApPoInTmEnT...TRAITOR!”

She just barely caught the way Sans flinched but there was no missing how the air turned cold, how his smile impossibly grew but at the same time lost all hints of emotion.

It was like Sans became a shell, nothing but an empty vessel.

His voice was unusually quiet and subdued, “traitor...thought you hated jokes old man.”

Her heart skipped painfully in shock.

Old man? Was this...Sans’s father?

Her silent question was answered for her.

“YoU aRe No SoN oF MiNe…” With that something seemed to break, and the atmosphere instantly ran thick and suffocating.

Her husband’s smile dipped but quickly recovered and then--

Frisk watched as Sans charged, a blast of ice coating the ground as he propelled himself forward. His expression was haunting, a grin so wide with sockets to match. Her heart hammered as he brought a hand up, thick white phalanges coated in contrastingly beautiful frost and blue magic.

An animistic roaring filled her ears as she spun to see Sans’s father curling and shooting forward like smoke to meet him, the eight levitating hands bloating to gigantic proportions and surrounding him like a cruel halo.

Sans’s hand jabbed out in silent command and bones, both blue and white, formed to shoot forward; thick tails of ice and snow rending the air in their wake as they rushed passed her suddenly spawned body.

Frisk cried out as one came close to scraping her cheek but dodged out of the way in the nick of time and narrowly avoided being swept away with the attacks by a wide sweep of one colossal hand as it batted them away.

“What’s happening!?” She shouted in fear, her skin breaking into a cold sweat.

Frisk went ignored as the hand that had so easily dismissed her husband’s assault met Sans, his smile lifting in one corner before he vanished and reappeared above it, hand raised and then brought down in a furious snap that spawned two demonic looking heads.

Her eyes widened as their jaws unhinged and two jets of freezing azure light erupted, shooting out with deafening noise like thunder as they connected and shattered the levitating limb in a fashion like glass.

The Unseelie, let out a pain filled shriek.

Sans landed on one of the floating skulls, a light Frisk couldn’t make out from the distance between them flaring briefly in one socket as his cloak and clothing whipped violently around him. “heh, looks like you’re out of practice gaster, but what do i know? i never practice.”

Gaster looked up scornfully, something Frisk hadn’t noticed before around his wide socket blurring and glowing with an ominous aura as he grew in size and hissed nastily through his own demented smile.

“bUt Of CoUrSe, YoUr BrOtHeR wAs AlWaYs ThE PrOmIsInG oNe!”

Another sob, louder than the first drew Frisk’s gaze and it landed on a huddled child; a smaller skeleton bent over and tucked into himself with his hands covering his face. But there could be no mistake, not with the sharply red colored cloak around his shoulders, smaller but still as eye catching and attention seeking as it’s longer counterpart.

It was Papyrus, and Frisk’s heart ached.

Sans’s grin finally dropped.

Gaster whipped up and twirled into the sky like an arching bolt of smoke, his hands moving in front of his face in a circular formation as they begun to spin rapidly. A low whine turning sharp and high pitched snapped Frisk’s attention from where it rested on Papyrus to both of the combating fae.

“Stop it…” She didn’t know why but the words were leaving her mouth without her consent as a burning in her chest grew intense.

“Stop it!” She cried out just as Sans raised a hand and summoned another skull; this one bigger than the others with immense blue power rolling off of it in thick waves, causing thick icicles to form and instantly break into countless shards around it..

Dark and tainted cold light, pitched and subtly hued purple on it’s edges, burst forth from Gaster’s hands just as Sans pointed towards him, the gigantic skull unhinging it’s massive jaw and firing--

“STOP IT!” Frisk shouted till her voice cracked--

The world was engulfed in blinding light.

And then she was falling.

“Seems you did not like that little glimpse into my son’s past.”

She jolted as everything snapped into darkness, leaving her dazed and with a thick feeling of cotton in her mouth. Blinking, the area began to brighten as her eyes adjusted to reveal she was now looking at a stone wall.

From what she could tell she was in a cavern.

Swallowing nervously she took a step forward, yelping as a shape came from seemingly nowhere in front of her and forced her shockingly weakened legs to waver as she hurried to take a step back.

Frisk stared with her hands clutched to her chest, waiting for her heart to stop racing.

Was she still dreaming? It was difficult for her to focus on the thought, the issue slipping just out of reach every time she attempted to answer it. Why was it so hard to concentrate?

“Frightened? Not surprising for a human in the Unseelie realm.” She flinched at how close the voice sounded.

Twisting her head this way and that she couldn’t make out anything other than the abnormally dark spot in front of her. That feeling was back again, and it was just as present and unnerving as the first time she’d ever felt it.

“U-unseelie...realm?” Her voice came out shy and breathy, the air around her feeling chilly and cold. Now she understood what she felt; it was a feeling of being unsafe, so vulnerable. She was hyper aware of just how powerless she instantly was.

The voice, observant but yet somehow soothing in it’s tone spoke up, “Yes, you need not worry however. No one dares to enter my dwelling here.”

Frisk found no comfort in the mystery man’s words, instead she only hunched into herself as she tried to fight off the unending chill and frost threatening her skin. A moment of silence fell between them and it was if the entity knew she didn’t have the strength to respond.

“I forget how fragile your race is, allow me to adjust the space for you.”

There was no warning. The darkness just suddenly brightened and illuminated the space around her almost blindingly like someone had casually thrown a candle in her face, and warmth instantly replaced the abnormal glacial air that had had her teeth nearly rattling.

She didn’t even get the chance to adjust to the sudden flux in her surroundings and assault on her senses before the voice was back. “It’s bothersome how hard it is to read you. Usually I have no trouble in knowing what one needs or feels, but in this case it’s exceedingly difficult. Although I am enjoying it.”

Sucking in air through her nose she rubbed her hands over her eyes and focused on how clear the cavern was now, noticing with a start that the blacker than black spot still stood in front of her, the edges of it curling and coiling like thin tendrils.

Gradually it shifted and Frisk fisted her hands to try and fight off the wave of bizarre wrongness she felt as the top morphed into what she could see as shoulders before a face emerged, transforming into a taller and darkly elegant looking fae. The bizarre placement of a monocle over a wide socket disturbed her in just how menacing it made him look, but not as much as the cracks her eyes traced.

Right away she recognized him. “Are you...Gaster?”

He appeared satisfied as he smiled at her. “An accurate assumption.”

His gaze panned her form for a brief moment before looking back up at her confused expression. His monocle sparked with light ominously. “I would say it’s a pleasure to meet my daughter in law finally, but given the situation that would be a lie.”

A cold sting raced down her spine as he moved closer to her, his form so imposing and tall in comparison to her withdrawn statue it made her mouth go dry. He easily dwarfed her. “I always knew Sans had unusual tastes but a human bride no less. I see he still maintains his passive aggressive attitude.”

Frisk didn’t know how to take that but her heart gradually stopped racing as Gaster shifted a bit further from her, the oppressive feeling he radiated dulling with the small distance. It was enough to allow Frisk to gain her bearings, and one fact came slamming back down.

“You said we’re in the Unseelie realm!?”

The place Sans had vanished to for three years!? What was only three days to him!?

Frisk felt a wave of panic start to sink in.

How long had she been here!? Would anyone look for her? Did Seelie willingly send out search parties for vanishing mages? Did Sans and Papyrus know? What would Pap do--

Oh no.

Sans

What if he thought something had happened to her? Had thought she’d abandoned him?

“I-I need to get home!” Gaster raised a brow.

“Do you believe that a real possibility for you currently?” He sounded amused.

Frisk found sudden strength as she stood tall and faced Gaster down. No one was going to use her to hurt the ones she loved, especially the only one that had ever loved her when she’d needed it most, and Gaster wasn’t going to keep her here if she could help it.

He was surprised as Frisk attempted to look intimidating, her aura of magic spiking around her as small iridescent flames sparked in a bewitching halo to frame her body. Her emotional response wasn’t what he’d been expecting, in fact, he hadn’t even seen it coming.

Gaster was definitely enjoying this.

“What are you planning to do? In a one on one fight your chances of winning are low, I have centuries of experience next to you.” His words seemed to have the impact he desired as he watched her slowly wilt, her flames turning dim as the courage she found turned sour.

But then she perked up again, her flames blooming into raging infernos that wrapped along her arms to ball within her hands. It wasn’t hard for the scientist to imagine the flaring of her soul, to picture it brimming with her determination as she spoke with a tone commanding attention and confidence.

“It doesn’t mean I still shouldn’t try!”

Gaster shot her a disinterested look but all the same willed his hands into existence and watched her eyes go wide as they enlarged large enough that she could have easily fit through a hole in the center of one palm three times over.

Still she didn’t back down.

She was either a brave fool, or a desperate mouse wanting an out.

After a moment of Gaster trying and not so surprisingly failing to calculate the ramifications of the possible fallout if they fought he dismissed his hands with a blink. She looked confused as her flames vanished but he simply spoke as if the standoff hadn’t just happened between them.

“I have no desire to fight a battle I would easily win. Instead, tell me human, do you know what an End of an Era is?” Frisk frowned. She didn’t like how that question sounded, she didn’t like how much hearing ‘End of an Era’ made her skin crawl, and could only shake her head as he pressed the tips of his many fingers on his numerous hands together.

His one good socket narrowed as he spoke.

“Its when the Rulers lose their lives, the end of the current millennia, unlike normal Seelie and their dark counterparts their lifespans are shorter. An unfortunate drawback to being the anchor that holds the Realms very existences in place, to keep magic itself alive and flowing.” She tensed as he moved around her, his embodied darkness bending and flickering like excited vapor as he continued.

“At the Age’s end the realms temporarily vanish, and those fae, mages, all magical beings still alive are suspended in the Either until the previous ruler’s heir or another is selected to become the new anchor. In the meantime the Veil is what keeps your human world safe from the endless flow of magic until the reformation year is up.”

“Reformation year?” Gaster let his hand drop behind his back as he smiled. If he didn’t make her feel so uncomfortable Frisk could have seen the smile almost friendly, like a teacher to a student in a way. Why he was even speaking to her about this she didn’t know, but curiosity had her focusing on his words.

The derisive chuckle he let out quickly banished all temporary illusion of friendliness.

“You have a very interesting soul, Frisk.” Her hand instantly went to cover her chest.

“You have an interesting eye piece.” His sockets widened and she bit her lip. It felt so similar to when she’d first met Sans, she’d responded just as absent and truthfully when he’d commented on her eyes.

Was she...at ease...somehow?

Gaster stared silently at her. “...My monocle interests you…”

She looked hesitantly at him. “Is it how you were able to see me in the Seelie Realm?” He went quiet again and Frisk wondered what he was thinking as an emotion seemed to cross his face so quickly she would’ve thought she imagined it.

“...I see, so you knew I was watching did you?”

“I guessed…” She whispered.

Gaster was impressed.

Her heart began to race as he suddenly glided closer to her, close enough that she could see the tiny iridescent gems of rolling colors embedded in the monocle over his one working eyelight as it pulsed brightly.

“It takes a year of human time for the realms to reform and for the Either’s magical influence to settle in it’s new host, that’s why it’s called a reformation year.” He paused and seemed to contemplate Frisk’s befuddled expression before pulling back and cupping his bony chin.

He hadn’t expected Sans’s wife to be this intelligent. Gaster had been right to assume the amount of potential she had, and the soul she carried...Maybe there was something special about her after all.

“Are you sure you still want to know why I have this? Why I am able to see through the veil?” The way he tapped the eye piece, languid and slow made Frisk’s nerves shoot up. But she had asked, and despite everything she had always been too curious for her own good.

“Yes.”

Gaster’s smirk dropped and his sockets darkened.

“When fae and magical beings alike are suspended in the Either the Veil not only protects you humans but us as well. It puts us to sleep as many call it, though that’s far too simple a term and not as close to what it means, what actually happens to us.” His words faded out, went weak until silence swallowed them as he stared unseeing passed Frisk.

He looked haunted and beguiled.

She didn’t know what to make of that complicated expression but for some reason it hurt her to witness it. Gaster looked as if he’d seen things no other being ever had before. Frisk just didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing.

He blinked and refocused on her.

“The Veil coats us similar to a shield and blinds us as well. That’s what it’s supposed to do at least. The last occurrence, however, failed to protect me the way it should have.” Gaster watched as Frisk bit her lip and could easily tell how she automatically wanted to comfort him.

But he ignored it as flashbacks threatened to overcome his vision. Memories he didn’t have all but begging to drown him in their morose nonexistence. It always fascinated him how he could talk about them, but never truly live them, only feel their presence and the old ghostly burning of his torment as if he’d experienced it only seconds ago.

He took a carefully hidden breath and looked at her dully.

“I was awake, and the Either burned into my sockets and mind endlessly.”

Frisk felt an icy shiver run up her back as the unfathomable horror of his words struck her speechless.

He...had been tortured for a year…

Something about that statement resonated with her. It wasn’t the same thing that she’d gone through growing up, in fact it was worse but, she knew what it was like to feel hopeless. To feel as if the torment would never end and to sometimes silently beg to give just about anything to be free of it.

When she didn’t react Gaster simply shrugged. “A year of screaming with no one to hear would have broken a person, but I survived.”

That didn’t make what he’d gone through okay.

He didn’t give Frisk the chance to say it out loud though as he turned his back to her, the tenseness in his shoulders going lax as he stood straighter and let out a bored sigh.

“And when we woke up the first thing I did was shortcut to my lab where I took the Either, still filling and pouring from my sockets, and collected it in a flask. Astonishingly once it no longer clung to me but only to the cold and unfeeling glass in my hands it solidified, almost crystallized I would say, instantaneously.”

He turned to face Frisk again and this time there was a light in his sockets, something warm and full of curiosity that it shocked her to see in an Unseelie gaze.

“Of course I went completely blind in one eye and partially in the other. Though I began to notice how different the realm around me was. Where a pond or tree would rest all I’d have to do is blink and it would instead be nothing but cracked and brittle ground with an obsidian lantern in the tree’s stead. It was gradual at first but then became constant.”

He paused to give an annoyed roll of his eyelight. “And each time it would leave me with the worst of migraines! Even worse than my son’s ridiculous puns!”

How frustrated he sounded and the way a floating hand waved dismissively had Frisk struggling to not let out a giggle. Gaster looked so enthused it was hard for her to keep telling herself to be weary of him. His tone had gone fond and so eager with every sentence he spoke.

He suddenly seemed so normal talking about this.

“But then I had an idea, maybe I was glancing through the Veil, each vision was startlingly similar to what the Unseelie realm was described as in the texts, and this ability only manifested after the Either had affected me.” Gaster grinned sharply, his hands wringing together as he looked at Frisk with a sobering conviction that bordered madness.

She sobered.

“If the Either could take away my sight, why couldn’t it help grant me another?” She had a feeling she knew where he was going with this and she felt her stomach drop.

“The gems in your monocle, it’s the solidified Either?” He looked so proud at her answer that it did weird things to her chest. A sense of accomplishment, a feeling of satisfaction. Frisk had only felt that particular way once before, and it had been the only time her father had ever smiled at her.

Gaster...found himself wanting to be honest with her.

“...You’re more intelligent than I’ve given you credit for.” The feeling increased in Frisk’s chest.

“Excellent for a human, my son wasn’t completely clueless choosing a partner after all it seems.” And the feeling quickly changed to a mild offence as she frowned. Apparently Gaster was where Sans and Papyrus both got their mood ruining habits from.

“But yes, it turns out the gems when placed in a particular fashion can infuse objects. This eye piece not only allows me to peer easily through the Veil without repercussions but to choose when it happens. It offers me control.”

Frisk did not like the way his eyelight flared, the sheer malice and mania inside of it. But it didn’t scare her, if anything it made pity form a knot inside of her. She hesitated but found the strength to say what had been on her mind as he’d ranted and raved.

“It must be awful, being here alone?”

Gaster’s face for the briefest moment went lax. His built up excitement and sense of triumph shattered as if Frisk had taken a hammer to it and replaced the feeling with a cold sensation of apathy.

“I...can’t fully imagine what it’s like for you. You seem so…” Her words failed her but still she struggled to get her meaning across as Gaster leveled a detached stare so piercing it felt as if her very soul had been laid out in the open. “...like you’re meant to be around people, to create and discover and then share that with others.”

He slowly looked down at nothing and he didn’t know why he said what he did but found he didn’t regret it. For some reason it was bizarrely easy to confide in this particular human. “...It’s a similar feeling to being in the Either, only there’s no hope of it ending.”

Frisk’s response was instant.

“There’s always hope. Even if it feels impossible.”

Gaster looked sharply up at her.

“Such confidence when the evidence says otherwise. There has never been an Unseelie returning to their previous nature once banished and I stand firm on my belief even now. You humans are nothing but trouble, the very reason our monarchy and the magic in the world goes ignored and depleted.” Frisk flinched but stood resolute before him, squared her shoulders even as she clutched her hand to her chest.

“Beliefs can change…” Her mind flashed back to her parents, doubt and confusion trying to turn her voice hollow, but she pushed the vision down and said “People can change. If they are just willing too.”

Gaster turned to fully face her and his many hands vanished as his grin turned into a firm and curt line. He had never seen such fire in a being before, her determination shone so strongly it nearly emanated from the golden tone of her eyes turning them brighter.

He had never seen golden irises before in his many years of life, how was he just noticing them?

“Where does such hope come from? The conviction in your eyes?”

A smile, warmer than summer and brighter than the darkness he’d long become accustomed to slowly curved her lips as her thoughts instantly went to horrible jokes and a grin so expressive even in its perpetual existence. And her eyes softened as she thought on political rants and the smell of tomato sauce within loving arms.

“Your sons gave me that.”

His face crumbled and Frisk saw the way his already hollowed sockets emptied even further. Watched as his hands flickered in and out of reality as if he couldn’t concentrate enough to decide on summoning them or not.

Gaster looked pained and so remorseful that it felt as if it saturated the air itself.

She...wanted to help him.

“How did you end up here?”

Gaster didn’t speak and the air around them grew heavy and suffocating as his stature steadily grew dauntingly taller. Like a switch had been flipped his whole demeanor changed into hostile and violent, his monocle glaring white as he begun to approach her with corrupted intent.

Caught off guard Frisk took a step back and stumbled, her rear and hands stinging as she fell to the ground and continued to move backwards. Her mind raced to figure out what she’d done to cause Gaster to slowly corner her. Her blood was rushing loudly in her ears like a deafening roar and it took all her will not to cry out, only to continue in her retreat in a bid to keep distance between them.

Her heart was threatening to rupture in her chest.

Gaster’s voice was low but it was loud enough in the stillness engulfing them as he bent over her. “That is a story I don’t feel like telling.” it was laced with utter rancor and spite.

“Why don’t you ask that husband of yours?”

Frisk felt her lungs lock up as her back hit wall and tried to curl in on herself as he so cruelly leaned down and closer to her that the darkness of his form devoured the area and space around her. Like a vortex that consumed everything in it’s path.

Sans? Was it to do with what she’d seen earlier?

Her father in law gave an amused and mordacious leer.

“After all, you’re not even here.”

Her cry was cut short as the world went black and tilted, smoky darkness and the scent of something bitter flooding her senses and suffocating her. She tried to push back, tried to get away but there was no escaping.

It was the closet again--

Mom was home--

Shouting--

“frisk!”

She jolted upright, the piercing sob she let out loud and bloodcurdling right before she felt a pair of bony arms wrap around her.

For only the briefest second she struggled, the thought of Gaster’s enraged sockets and the sound of her mother’s voice sending her into a frenzy to escape, but quickly she relaxed as the smell of ketchup and the clothed ribs she was tucked against registered through the panicked haze.

She...she was in bed?

Blinking she tried to get her breathing under control as Sans rocked her.

“hey, it’s okay. shh was just a nightmare. i gotcha.” His words were so reassuring just as they always were when she had night terrors, but the feeling of asphyxiating darkness still clung to her skin like static.

It wasn’t just a nightmare.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not with how she clung to him and felt the sins and fears of her past rolling down the slope of her sweat soaked back. For now she was selfish, she only wanted Sans’s comfort.

She shut her eyes and tucked further into him as she relished the feeling of his phalanges running through her tangled hair and brushing away tears that had run down her cheeks. She grounded herself with how he began to hum a calming tune as he nuzzled her.

Gaster’s words echoed…ask your husband.

For the life of her she couldn’t figure out what that meant.

What was there she didn’t know about Sans? He never kept secrets...at least she didn’t think he had any to keep, he’d always been so open with her, said what was on his mind.

But then again she hadn’t known about Gaster.

G U I L T Y

She hadn’t known he could sound like that or look so...dangerous.

“Sorry.” Anxiety and curiosity made her hoarse reply come out a near whimper but her loving husband only chuckled lightly.

“nothing to apologize for, wasn’t really out. sleeping desserted me tonight.” Frisk weakly glanced over to his end table and snorted as she saw a half melted sundae sitting abandoned.

“Papyrus is going to get onto you for midnight snacking again.” She commented.

Sans gave a wink. “only if he finds out. going to turn me in?”

Frisk smiled and felt the last of her tension melt away. “Never.”

Tomorrow was another day and she’d ask him then, maybe with sleep she would have a clearer head for the upcoming conversation. There was not an ounce of doubt in her mind that it wasn’t going to be a sensitive subject for him.

And she was too haunted by her own demons tonight to try confronting his.

“Sans--we need to talk.” The words felt rough in her throat but she didn’t waver as Sans pulled up short of the door to turn and face her.

The look he gave her was one of mild confusion, he hadn’t heard her sound so uncertain since she was a child, and he let his hand drop from where it had risen halfway to the handle. He gave her his full attention as he widened his smile at her and forced his concern behind a wall of habitual patience as he responded. “sure, what’s up?”

“...Right now?” Frisk was a little taken aback at how quickly he relented. He was about to head off to work but instead he was delaying to make sure she was okay. Frisk forgot sometimes just how attentive and caring he was, how often he put her first before everything besides Paps.

It almost made her change her mind bringing the topic up in the first place. She really didn’t want to upset him. Not when he looked so ready to placate or fix whatever was bothering her.

He always did so much for her.

Sans was silent as he noticed her shuffle in place, his eyelights taking in how she shyly looked at the floor with hesitancy. Something was definitely wrong, maybe to do with her night terrors from last night?

He tried his best to give a lazy chuckle and added a shrug for good measure. “i have time. undyne isn’t going to say much.”

Frisk swallowed.

“It’s about Gaster.”

That was the last thing Sans expected to hear from her. His eyelights immediately went out and a chill permeated the air as all the light around them seemed to dim and fade out with how his aura flared and spiked.

Frisk tensed, her eyes going wide as she recalled Gaster and his suffocating darkness. Suddenly she was also recalling how Sans had looked in her dream and she wasn’t even thinking as she took several steps back.

Sans was quick to notice the retreat.

She never ran from him, Frisk never looked as if she might be at risk around him.

It hurt, it was a harsh slap from sanity.

Immediately he blinked his eyelights back into existence and the mood shifted, the light turning once more to its previous brightness as a drop of sweat ran the curve of his skull. His mind was racing and he found it hard to concentrate on anything other than his wife and how she cowed.

“i’m sorry frisk i--i didn’t mean to.” She quivered as he reached for her but she didn’t fight him as he embraced her. He swallowed down the magical saliva building in his nonexistent throat. “just...how do you know that name?”

Frisk’s tensed posture loosened at the remorse she heard in his voice, the fear. Sans appeared terrified, but rather from her knowing or from just who exactly Gaster was she couldn’t be sure.

“I met him.” Before she knew it Sans was holding her at arms length with his hands gripping her shoulders, not enough to hurt or bruise but firmly, as if she could slip through his grip and be lost within seconds.

His tone was hushed but stern, hard as iron and cold. “what do you mean you met him?”

She had to remind herself that this was her husband, he’d never hurt her and would be the last person who’d ever wish any ill will on her, that he loved her in order not to shrink under his aggravated gaze.

She’d never seen this side to him before. He was so...uncontrolled. “My nightmare…last night.”

Sans shook and gritted his teeth as he forced his hands under his cloak so that she couldn’t see the way his hands balled into tightly clenched fists. His sockets lidded in thought.

It had been years since Sans had even heard that name last and it angered him how now that he did it was from his own wife of all people. It was bad enough he’d seen him before they’d gotten married. He should’ve known that wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.

What was his old man up to?

“i don’t want you looking into this.” Frisk looked at him.

It sounded like he had just given her an order, not a request or even a soft plea, a command. And it made something harden in her chest, burn in rebellion. Out of the whole time she’d known him Sans had never made demands of her.

“What?” Sans leveled a look so empty and void of all his familiar softness it felt as if a stranger was standing in front of her.

“i’m serious. gaster is dangerous. stay away from him.”

She bit back the initial response that built up on the tip of her tongue. Why she had the sudden urge to fight him so fervently on the subject puzzled her, it was just a feeling; a boiling and simmering feeling of wrongness for her to listen and cut off all contact with the Unseelie.

Something was telling her there was another path she could take, a better one.

It couldn’t be wrong if her very soul cried for her to obey could it?

Unknowingly what she said struck her husband like a blow. “I want to help him.”

Sans...was outraged, frozen in shock.

Frisk didn’t know the implication behind her statement, how insulting it was to his role as Judge. In a way it sounded as if she thought there was a flaw behind what he’d done, as if there was hope for someone he’d deemed beyond any sort of salvation.

She wasn’t aware just how damning it sounded to throw her support behind a being who represented everything wrong and unnatural with the world and how it should be. By saying what she did Frisk might as well have just crushed a flower beneath her heel and called life itself disgusting.

But this was Frisk.

There were times he forgot just how pure she was. How determined and strong the woman he loved could be if she tried hard enough, of course she’d want to help someone if she could, that’s all she’d ever wanted as a child. Why wouldn’t she give that back tenfold as an adult?

He loved her, so much.

It was that fact alone that cooled him and made his voice come out weak instead of bitter. “you can’t.”

If his own dust and blood wasn’t enough what hope did she have? She was only going to end up hurt if she tried and Sans did not want that. He could already see the cogs turning in her head and he hated it.

He couldn’t think of a way to convince her.

Frisk didn’t believe him, she desperately wanted to after all as a fae he knew more about how his world worked, but she just couldn’t. Something in the way his shoulders slumped told her she couldn’t ignore this.

She let out a gasp of shock as he abruptly turned away and opened the door. He was going to leave? Just like that? They hadn’t even finished talking.

What was happening? “Sans--”

“frisk.”

He paused long enough to speak but didn’t even turn to look at her. “i have to go.”

Her heart felt like it broke as the door shut behind him. But she knew the pain was nothing compared to his, he’d sounded as if he’d been about to cry with how his voice had broken, she’d seen the way his shoulders had shook.

Frisk wondered if he even knew he’d reacted that way.

#frans #adult frans #prompt 4

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wingsofkpop · 4 years

Text

Hiraeth - I.V: Rise of the Primes

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, mentions of death and murder, violence, blood and gore, very brief depiction of magical torture, mentions of child abuse and other traumatic experiences, etc.

word count: 8,1k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

Mark remembers a time when he was much younger, much, much more naive, and completely oblivious to his magical roots.

And while he’s not usually one to look back into his past, nowadays, he can’t help but wonder about those clueless years where his sole care was passing dreaded calculus class and keeping his pot stash hidden from his mom. Sometimes Mark even misses those days—misses his mom.

Mark often wonders what would have happened if his mom wasn’t killed that night. He was only just beginning to learn the basics of witchcraft back then, barely able to keep his emotions in check without blasting a window to pieces. If his mom were still around, would he have done the stupid things he knew better than to do? Would he have sought for such ambitions he knew he could never achieve? Would he have been a better leader, witch, man…?

Yes. Mark knows that. He would be better.

It’s been years since Mark tried to talk to his mother, having given up trying to summon her spirit when he received a personal message from her telling him to stop—to let her go. Even so, he wishes that he can just have one minute. One short minute to see her face, to look into her eyes, and to ask her the same question that has been haunting his mind since he found her body in a pool of her own blood in their home:

‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now?’

As much as he plays the leader-card, and as much as he acts like he’s all-knowing—Mark has no clue what he’s doing. It’s as if he’s been inside a maze these past nine years, unable to find the right path that leads him to glory. Maybe if she was still here, holding his face in her wrinkled hands and speaking his name in her sweet voice, Mark would know what to do. He’d know how to get rid of the huntress and the witch without taking their lives. He’d know how to protect his people, and the rest of the town.

He’d know how to be better—to do better.

Mark shakes his mother’s face from his mind, attempting to focus on the passing scenery of the forest. He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel before reaching forward to turn his air conditioning on full blast, then adjusting his grip again.

It’s been months since he last traveled this way, yet all the sights are the same. The trees are the same trees. The shrubbery, the same shrubbery. Even the rocks haven’t changed save for a new crack or two. That thought actually spills anger through his veins. It’s as if the forest doesn’t realize something is missing—someone is missing.

‘And it’s your fault.’

Mark shakes the intrusive thought away, peering at his companion through the corner of his eye. Jinyoung, like Mark, is merely staring at their surroundings, dark eyes flitting around in every direction. Before everything happened, Mark would have never predicted that one of the Primes would be riding in his passenger’s seat with no care in the world. To be honest, he’s still having a hard time believing him and Jinyoung are on decent terms at all.

“My sisters and I used to play in these woods.” Mark is taken aback by the sudden, albeit casual comment from the vampire, nearly losing his footing on the gas pedal. He looks to the side once again, discovering Jinyoung’s gaze still fixated outside the window.

Mark clears his throat. “I… didn’t know you had siblings.”

“It was a long, long time ago.” Jinyoung shrugs, “Besides, we weren’t close anyway.”

“Why do you say that?”

His question is answered with silence, and when he turns to the passenger, Jinyoung’s expression is blank, almost cold. Mark decides not to press and focuses back on the road.

The cabin has not changed either, Mark notices as the structure comes into sight. A heaviness begins to settle within his chest as he parks in the gravel driveway, one that has his heart beating twice its normal speed and palms beginning to sweat. Trying not to dwell on it too much, Mark cuts out the engine and wipes his hands against his jeans. He’s prepared to exit the vehicle when a sudden realization enters his brain.

Mark turns to Jinyoung and sighs, “I think it might be best for you to stay in the car.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Jinyoung agrees, granting the witch a rigid nod.

“Just don’t steal my truck, okay?”

“This piece of junk?” Jinyoung chortles, “It’s practically falling apart.”

“Don’t piss her off. She still has to get us home.” Mark finds his chest a little lighter as a result of their banter, something he would never admit aloud to the vampire. With a silent farewell, Mark shoves open his door and steps into the bright sunlight, cursing himself for forgetting his sunglasses back at the mausoleum.

The log cabin casts a drowning shadow over Mark as he makes his way toward the figure waiting on the steps that lead up to a redwood porch. Overgrown vines and moss seem to inhabit every available spot of the cabin, winding around wooden supports and spilling down each roof tile. If it hadn’t been for the catch of the sunlight, Mark wouldn’t have been able to notice one of the grimey windows on the second floor had been cracked.

“Long time no see, hyung.” Mark finds his chest tightening at the tired tone of the figure’s voice.

He paints what he hopes to be a smile across his lips and nods. “It’s nice to see you, Gyeom.”

Like the cabin, it has also been months since Mark has seen his younger friend. Yugyeom has always been a giant, towering over him and basically everyone else in town since he hit puberty, but if Mark didn’t know any better, he’d say the wolf had grown even more. His shoulders are broader, dark hair longer, hands calloused and slightly marred with the throes of hard work. He must still be working for the town’s lumber service.

Yet another something that hasn’t changed.

“How… How are things?”

Yugyeom shrugs. “You know how it is out here. Not much excitement.”

“Right.” The silence between them grows heavier and heavier with each passing second. Mark searches his brain for something to expel the awkwardness, but can’t seem to see past the guilt and suffocating self-loathing swirling through his gut.

He thanks the universe when Yugyeom breaks the quiet himself.

“I know you didn’t come just to check in, hyung.” His gut sinks at the younger’s painfully true observation. “What’s going on? And why can I smell a Prime in your passenger seat?”

“I don’t if you’ve heard, but Nayeon was killed last week.”

Yugyeom’s eyes soften. “I saw it on TV. I’m really sorry, hyung,”

“The people who killed her—a witch and supernatural huntress—they’re after the rest of the coven.” Mark ignores Yugyeom’s sympathy, fiddling with a loose thread inside the pocket of his jeans. “Jinyoung has been helping us track them down. He’s gonna help us fight but…”

“But you’re not sure if it will be enough.”

“I know I have no right to show up here and ask for your help, Gyeom.” With a gulp, Mark dares to step closer to the small staircase. Even as far as scaling the first two steps to move closer to his younger companion. Mark shakes his head, “But—I’m desperate. My people are in danger and… and I don’t want anyone else to die.”

Another moment of silence passes, save for the violent beating of Mark’s pulse. Yugyeom stares at Mark, his gaze a cross between pained and hopeful. Just when the latter feels like his lungs are going to explode, Yugyeom releases a helpless sigh and shakes his head.

“I want to help you, hyung. I really do… but I can’t risk anyone in the pack. Especially against a hunter.”

Mark’s heart drops to his stomach.

Yugyeom sends him a sad expression. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” Mark nods, taking a rather clumsy step backward off the porch steps. He manages to save himself from the embarrassment of collapsing into the gravel before offering Yugyeom a weak smile. “I… I would do the same thing. If it were my people.”

“Hyung—” Yugyeom moves to follow Mark, descending a single stair just as the front door swings open. The embers of Mark’s self-loathing grow to flames at the sight of various familiar faces crowded in the doorway, and he wishes nothing more than to cast a spell that makes him completely disappear.

“What’s going on?... Mark?” Chan emerges behind Yugyeom, his features a mixture of confusion and surprise. Another few bodies join the younger man, each set of eyes reopening a mess of old scars in Mark’s soul.

“Mark-oppa!” He barely has time to prepare when a smaller figure dashes down the staircase and collides with his body. His arms catch the figure’s waist before her form falls to the ground, supporting her weight against his own form.

He releases a heavy, yet silent breath. “Dahyun.”

“Where the hell have you been!?” Dahyun pulls from the embrace with a fierce, yet playful spark within her dark eyes. “It’s been months, Mark! Months!”

“I know… It’s just been kind of… weird lately.”

“We’ve missed you… I’ve missed you.”

He winces. “Yeah. Me too.”

“What the hell is he doing here?” Mark recognizes the familiar gritty tone, turning his eyes from Dahyun to a seething Changbin. The animosity in his glare deepens Mark’s wounds.

“Changbin. Don’t.”

“He has no fucking right to be here.” Changbin ignores Chan’s warning, narrowing his eyes to poisonous slits.

“Changbin! You asshole—”

“It’s okay. I was… just leaving.” Mark interrupts Dahyun’s scold, peeling himself away from her arm like a bloodied bandage. He spares a glance and a nod to a pained Yugyeom, “Thanks, Gyeom. I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Dahyun reaches for Mark again. “But you just got here. You can’t just—”

“Dubu…” Dahyun turns at Yugyeom’s call, watching the sad shake of his head with glittering eyes. “Let him go…”

Mark’s heart practically cries out at the pure devastation written across the younger woman’s face as she helplessly drops her arms to her sides. He chooses not to linger on her expression, nor Chan’s, nor Yugyeom’s, and with a final nod of his head, makes a break back to his beat-up, rusted truck.

In mere seconds, Mark is driving away from the cabin—driving away from the pain. It’s not until the cabin is completely gone from his rear-view mirror is he able to inhale a full breath without his lungs screaming out.

“No one else is going to die.”

Jinyoung hadn’t said anything at his frantic entrance, nor that he hadn’t paused to throw on his seatbelt. In fact, Mark had almost forgotten the vampire was in the vehicle at all. He turns to find Jinyoung staring out the window, just as before. And if he hadn’t spoken again, Mark would have thought he imagined the voice himself.

Jinyoung turns, sending chills down Mark’s spine at the intensity of his gaze.

“You have my word.”

Mark can’t find it in himself to respond, stuck between unwanted memories and the nostalgia of uncured heartbreak. He instead swallows the bile at the back of his throat, carefully throws on his seatbelt, and turns up the radio.

The music does nothing to drown out the cruel thoughts raging through his mind.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

The scenery outside the car window passes by in verdant blurs, settling a slight wave of nausea in your gut. Not desiring to vomit up the Chinese you ate beforehand, you turn your attention to the young driver instead, meeting her starry-eyed gaze in the rearview mirror.

“How much longer?”

“The estate is just up this hill, miss.” The driver assures. “It should be no more than a couple minutes.”

You nod your thanks, peering out the window before remembering your sickness in the first place. With a silent sigh, you abandon the prospect of any sight at all and close your eyes, leaning into the comfort of the headrest. The slight pressure actually somewhat relieves the throb in the back of your brain. The headache that has been present ever since you stormed out on Mark and Jinyoung.

It’s been almost three days since you learned the truth about Moon Dye Bay and all its supernatural offerings. You’d think by now you’d be able to process the fact that your best friend is a witch, and the charming man that saved you from likely death is a vampire—one of the oldest vampires in existence at that. But alas, you’re still having a hard time believing any of this is possible. Even with all the evidence, and proof, and general rules of logic.

Then again, vampires and witches and werewolves and hunters and whatever other creatures aren’t exactly logical… considering they go against everything that is the basis of nature.

Anywho, neither Mark nor Jinyoung has even tried to reach out since that afternoon. In fact, Mark hasn’t returned any of your calls or texts. Though you’re not exactly surprised as both he and Jinyoung made it very clear of your position on the sidelines.

Too bad you’ve never been much of a player who likes to miss the action.

“We’ve arrived, miss.” Your eyelids snap open at the sound of the driver’s lilted voice, jaw almost dropping at the sight that awaits. You shimmy forward, greedily taking in the expanse outside the car window as the driver maneuvers the vehicle up the cobblestone-paved driveway.

If you had to use one word to describe The Project Estate, it would be massive. Completely fucking massive. With a single glance, you can only imagine how many acres of land make up the entire lot. The mansion itself is bigger than any building you’ve set foot inside, resembling that of a miniature castle without the turrets, walls and moat. You’re pretty sure it’s at least four times the size of your apartment building.

“Beautiful place, isn’t it?” The driver marvels, craning her own head over the steering wheel to take in the view. “The Project Brothers are crazy loaded to be able to afford anything like this… What do you think they do?”

Rob banks with their vampire super strength? Steal artifacts and masterpieces with their vampire super speed? Accumulate millions and millions of dollars in wealth after being alive for centuries?

You shrug. “They probably own real estate or something.”

Once the driver stops in front of what you hope to be the front door, you quickly bid her farewell with a generous tip and exit out onto the stone pathway. The purr of the engine grows fainter and fainter as the vehicle turns back the way you came in, leaving you stranded in the shadow of the towering mansion. You can only hope Jinyoung is home.

An old fashioned, golden door knocker rests on the door, fashioned into the shape of a growling lion. You ignore the goosebumps forming across the skin underneath your jacket and pick up the knocker. It’s heavy in your palm, striking the door with such powerful strikes, it must be impossible for anyone inside not to hear.

You visited the cemetery earlier, prepared to convince Mark of your resourceful and beneficial addition to whatever little team he’s gathering, but you only found an empty mausoleum, and an even emptier feeling inside your gut. So you figured you would pay Park Jinyoung a visit at his personal place of residence instead—the same residence him and his brother have resided since 1770.

Your mind races as you wait, thinking over the long speech you prepared to argue your competence and readiness. You don’t know how long it will take, but you do know that you are not leaving until Jinyoung accepts your help, or at the very least, acknowledges your newfound importance in the situation.

The killers are your roommate’s friends after all.

After what seems like minutes, but is probably only a couple seconds, the large, mahogany door swings open. Although, the face that appears in the doorway is not the one you were hoping to see.

A young woman appears behind the door, her babyish features practically exuding the forefronts of her age. She couldn’t be older than twenty, you find, at least, definitely not with a face like that. Her eyes are rather bleary when they meet your own, borderline crimson red. You wonder if she just woke up from a deep sleep after a long night of drinking…

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for Jinyoung?”

“Jinyoung is not home right now.” The woman’s voice is blank, monotone like your boss whenever he’s giving out a lecture. It deepens your concern. You’ve seen your fair share of hangovers between Jihyo and Sana’s party-animal habits, but never one that renders your body so… zombie-like.

“Do you know where he went? Or maybe when he’ll be home?”

The woman doesn’t blink. “No.”

“Okay, um…” You gnaw at your bottom lip, carefully thinking over the next plan of action. Due to the woman’s state, it’s pretty obvious you are not going to be able to get much out of her. Maybe you can try Youngjae’s cell, and eventually badger an answer out of him—

“What’s taking so long? Who’s at the door?” The woman steps aside to reveal a familiar face—one that sends gooseflesh budding across your skin.

Jaebeom’s eyes widen in surprise. “You…? What are you doing here…? ” His expression reminds you of your previous encounter outside the town hall, where he confirmed his and his brother’s vampiric nature. Beneath the surprise in his gaze, you can still make out what seems to be apprehension… almost fear.

“Is Jinyoung here? I need to talk to him.”

“He’s not here.” Jaebeom crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway. “He went on some field trip with that Tuan kid. I have no clue where they went.”

“Well… do you at least know when he’ll be back?”

He narrows his eyes. “Why do you need to see my brother anyway?”

“I told you. I need to speak with him.”

“Are you sure he even wants to talk to you?”

The agitation spreading through your veins grows at Jaebeom’s obvious indifference. You swallow down the frustration before sparing a glance back toward the silent woman. She’s staring in your direction, but her eyes don’t seem to be looking at you. Instead, they seem to be looking through you.

“Is she… okay?” You ask softly, earning another wave of surprise from the Prime.

Jaebeom leans down to murmur something into the woman’s ear, before she turns on her heel and disappears back inside the house. It might have only been a trick of your mind, but hidden beneath the collar of her shirt may be a wound—a wound that looks strangely like a bite mark.

Your stomach violently turns as you’re reminded of the other night. Jaebeom was going to feed on you, possibly kill you… but he didn’t.

You murmur aloud before you can think, “Why?...”

“What?”

“Why did you stop?” Jaebeom’s face pales at your questions, indicating he knows exactly what you’re talking about. His throat visibly gulps before he uncrosses his arms and steadies himself back on his own feet.

“So you know…”

“Know you almost killed me?... Yeah. Kind of hard to forget something like that.”

Jaebeom shrugs. “You’d be surprised what people can forget under mind compulsion.”

“Mind compulsion?” Your eyebrows furrow as your head tilts in curiosity. “Don't tell me vampires can control minds?”

Jaebeom raises his eyebrows, his surrounding features contorting to a mixture of shock and amazement. His eyes shine, lingering over the planes of your face. As if you activated a switch, a sly smirk pulls across his lips. Perfectly complimenting the dangerous mischief swirling inside his dark brown irises.

“So you know what I am then…” Jaebeom chuckles. You don’t like the way his eyes seem to deviously flicker in the sunlight. “Your witch boyfriend must have you on vervain. That explains why my compulsion didn’t work.”

You ignore his mention of Mark. “Vervain? What’s that?”

“An herb. It’s poisonous to vampires.” He explains so casually. “It dulls our abilities, makes humans immune to compulsion, and burns like a fucking bitch.”

“How do you stand in the sun? Shouldn’t you erupt into flames or something?”

Jaebeom’s smirk seems to widen. “You ask a lot of questions, little dove. That can get you in trouble.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“And what makes you think that?” In a flash, Jaebeom is standing right in front of you, his hands threateningly cradling the sides of your head. His eyes bleed pure sadism and malice as he speaks, “I could break your sweet, fragile neck right here, and no one would even know…”

Any other person would be scared to death. But you know better.

“If you wanted to kill me, you would have in the alley.” You shake your head, reaching up to grab his wrists and tug his hands from your face. Prowess spills into your chest as his gaze grows surprised once again.

You nod. “Now, since Jinyoung isn’t here and I really don’t want to pay another hundred dollars to haul my ass back to town, you’re gonna help me understand how this whole vampire thing works.”

“I’m going to… what now?”

“You heard me.” You step past Jaebeom and enter the mansion, following the same pathway the previous woman took. You’re barely able to hold back a gasp at the regal interior that greets your entrance. Swallowing your awe, you peer over your shoulder at a rather confused Im Jaebeom and hum delicately, “You don’t happen to drink coffee? Do you?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I finished the boundary spell, Mark-hyung. No one can get step foot into the cemetery without us knowing.” Jinyoung watches Jisung step outside of his ritual circle, crafted from salt and the burning essence of various herbs. From across the way, Mark provides the younger witch a nod of encouragement before turning to face the Choi duo.

“You stocked up on enough energy, Youngjae?”

Youngjae disentangles his hand from Lia’s grasp, his skin ceasing the magical glow Jinyoung has seen many times in siphoners long before anyone in this particular coven was born. The witch hums, “Yes, hyung. I should have plenty to last.”

“Don’t count on it.” Mark shakes his head, tossing another smoldering herb into the center of the salt boundary. “We have no idea what we’re up against. Everyone needs to keep on their toes, and stay together.”

“Have you… fought something like this before?...” It takes a whole moment of silence for Jinyoung to realize Jisung had directed the question at him. Peering at the youngest witch with his usual blank expression, Jinyoung inhales a deep breath, attempting to push away the whiplash of memories that rage through his head.

Jinyoung answers, “I have faced many hunters and witches… but never as a pair.”

“So you’ve fought dark witches?...”

The inquiry surprises Jinyoung, but for what reason—he doesn’t know.

“It is not the witches who are dark—it is the magic.” He finally sighs after a long period of silence. “Dark magic plagues the mind like a parasite, laying its eggs in the user’s morals and logicalities until it builds into an infestation, and completely takes over the witch’s sanity.”

Jisung’s face visibly pales. “Does it… kill the witch?”

“In more ways than one.” Jinyoung catches Mark’s eyes. Inside them is an emotion he knows too well—guilt.

“Don’t worry, Sung.” Lia sidles beside the youngest witch, weaving her fingers with his own to provide a comforting squeeze. “Everything’s gonna be fine… right, Mark?”

Everyone’s eyes immediately trail to the head witch, and though he doubts anyone else could see, Jinyoung notices the aura of fear and apprehension oozing from Mark’s tense body. He can only imagine how Mark feels—terrified for the lives and wellbeing of the people he calls his family… Jinyoung hasn’t felt that pain in centuries, but it’s impossible to forget.

Especially when it comes to those you love.

With eyes of pure, determined fire, Mark nods.

“We do this for Nayeon.” He gathers the witches close, reaching across to take Lia and Jisung’s joint limbs in one hand while the other goes for Youngjae. Something inside Jinyoung’s chest seizes at the heartwarming sight… A memory of both him and Jaebeom suddenly rushes into his thoughts where their hands are tightly clasped between their bodies. Where they stand as brother’s united against the world.

Where did those times go…?

“—For Nayeon!” Jinyoung returns just in time to see the group disband from their minimal embrace. Lia and Jisung head back toward the mausoleum, probably to fetch more supplies for the battle just waiting over the horizon, while the remaining two witches approach Jinyoung. Each with a sullen expression along their features.

Jinyoung clears his throat. “You’re certain they’ll attack tonight?”

“It’s a new moon. Mina’s power will be it’s strongest.” Mark says, providing Jinyoung a grim frown. “Which is why all of us need to be careful. Like I said, we have no clue what to expect.”

The corners of Jinyoung’s lips slightly turn. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were actually concerned for me.”

Mark shakes his head, completely ignoring Jinyoung’s attempt at humor before shifting his focus to Youngjae. “Anything from Minho?”

“No, hyung. But Jisung left him a message to tell him to stay far away from the cemetery tonight.”

Mark releases a heavy breath and drags a hand down his face. “That douchebag is gonna get himself killed, goddamn it…”

“They will be looking for the entire coven, not a lone witch.” Jinyoung assures, feeling the need to expel the head witch’s anxiety. “Minho will be safe. Wherever he is.”

Mark meets Jinyoung’s gaze. “I hope you’re right.”

“We should go over the plan of action again.” Abandoning the intensity of Mark’s stare, Jinyoung turns at Youngjae’s offer, discovering the siphoner to already be looking in his direction.

There’s a subtle waver in Youngjae’s tone as he asks, “You remember what you have to do?”

Jinyoung nods cooly. “Once you immobilize the witch, I go for the huntress.”

“And you’re sure you can take her by yourself?”

“I’ve encountered and destroyed dozens of supernatural hunters over the years.” Jinyoung replies to Youngjae, earning a silent, but visible eye roll from the other witch. He ignores Mark’s annoyance, nodding again at the younger siphoner. “I’m strong enough.”

Jinyoung only hopes that will be true.

“Good.” Youngjae turns to Mark. “Once Mina steps foot onto our grounds, the spell will immediately take effect… She’ll be in pain. Immense, torturous pain.”

Jinyoung notices how Mark’s shoulders shiver at the description.

He gulps. “This will work. It has to.”

“It will.” Jinyoung offers again, placing a gentle hand against Mark’s elbow. The latter grows surprised for a moment, before a weak upturn of his lips signifies his gratitude.

Jinyoung immediately pulls away from Mark as a loud shriek erupts through the graveyard. The first to wake out of the alarmed stupor is Mark, who immediately shifts on his heel and dashes for the entrance of the cemetery, where the noise had previously erupted. Youngjae runs after him, followed closely behind by Jinyoung.

“Mark-hyung! Wait, don’t—”

“There’s someone here! Get Lia and Jisung out here!” Jinyoung provides Youngjae a nod, assuring the witch to follow his leader’s demand. The siphoner makes a break for the mausoleum while Jinyoung scales the rest of the distance toward the head witch, who’s standing mere feet from the iron gate that acts as the only access point into Eclipse Cemetery—where a shadowy figure is helplessly squirming on the graveled-earth.

Jinyoung grabs Mark’s wrist before he can lunge at the figure, frantically shaking his head. “Are you trying to get yourself killed!?”

“That son of a bitch murdered my friend—” Mark hisses, wrenching his limb away from Jinyoung’s grasp and pushing his body away with a hefty shove. “You don’t want to test the reliability of my self-control right now… so I suggest you back off and do your own damn job!”

“Wait for the others, at least!” Jinyoung urges, “Be smart about this, Mark! Trust me—!”

“Don’t tell me what to fucking—”

“Mark-hyung!” Surprise mirrors itself along both Jinyoung and Mark’s features. The head witch quickly leaves Jinyoung to kneel beside the figure hidden beneath the darkness of the moonless night. Jinyoung hurries to Mark’s side, his eyes widening to saucers at the familiar features he can barely make out in the obscurity.

Mark gapes. “Minho…?”

“Wh-What is—ha!.. Hap-happening?...” Minho manages to spill through gritted teeth with much struggle. Jinyoung recognizes the writhing and twitching of his limbs, as well as the wild nature of his gaze—Youngjae wasn’t lying about the pain.

“Shit, Minho—” Mark hurriedly mutters a counter-incantation beneath his breath, pulling the younger witch to lean against his chest. Even with the spell lifted, Minho continues to spasm and moan at the phantom waves that send pain through his form.

Mark shakes his head. “What in the actual hell are you doing here!?”

“What… What the fuck are you talking about?” Minho gasps, clutching onto the sleeves of Mark’s shirt as another wave passes through his veins. “You… called me, asshole!”

“What the fu—? I never called you! Jisung told you to stay home!”

“I-I… talked to you earlier.” Minho inhales something close to a wheeze before lightly poking Mark’s chest. “You told me to… to come to the ‘maus’ at mid-midnight…”

Jinyoung feels his blood run cold, but his tone is even colder:

“They knew it was a trap…”

Mark’s eyes are wild with desperation and fright as he meets Jinyoung’s gaze. “The others—” A loud, high-pitched wail cuts off Mark’s speech. Neither him nor Jinyoung waste any time and make a mad dash for the mausoleum, Jinyoung’s heart racing in his throat. The first thing he notices is the door of the structure—wide open and practically torn off its hinges.

“Youngjae! Lia! Jisung!” Mark screams, sprinting inside the mausoleum with no hesitation. Jinyoung pauses in the doorway, watching as the head witch frantically surveys the place, only to find it completely empty save for himself. Tears are glistening in his eyes as he shakes his head, “Where the fuck are they!? Oh my fucking god—”

“If the boundary spell caught Minho, then they could have gotten in anywhere!” Jinyoung steps aside just in time for Mark to race outside again. “We need to be careful! Especially if they have—!”

“Mark-hyung!” Youngjae’s call carries through the nightly breeze, brewing even more uncontrolled fear in Jinyoung’s chest.

“Youngjae!” Jinyoung can barely keep up with Mark’s frantic pace as he tears deeper into the graveyard, skipping over headstones and rounding tall statues with the skill of a professional athlete. He somehow manages to keep up. Just in arms reach of the head witch.

“Youngjae!? Youngjae!?” Mark sobs, pausing to peer through the continuous hills of graves and monuments for the forgotten. “Jisung!? Lia!? Where are you!?”

Through the very corner of his eye, Jinyoung notices a speck of movement emerge from behind a nearby tree. Time seems to slow as he focuses closer on that tree, immediately noticing a human-like shadow holding something between stoic hands—holding a loaded crossbow pointed directly at Mark.

Using every bout of vampiric strength in his possession, Jinyoung sprints toward the head witch just as the bolt leaves the barrel of the crossbow.

“Mark! Get down!”

“Jinyoung—!?”

Jinyoung can hear nothing but screams and the ringing of his own ears as he shields Mark’s body with his own. Somewhere deep inside, as the crossbow bolt pierces his flesh, he can hear something that fills his soul with immense warmth…

It’s your voice—telling him to go to hell, as he immediately succumbs to a violent wave of darkness.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“So you’re… a werewolf and a vampire?” Jaebeom watches your eyebrows raise to the heavens over the rim of his glass, swallowing the sweeter-than-sweet liquid before licking the remnants from his lips. He can’t remember the last time he sat down and had a cup of coffee, much less drank something that wasn’t straight from the vein.

To be honest, he’d much rather be feeding from the blonde woman waiting in his bedroom. But something about being with you is too addicting to pass up… and that scares him.

You shake your head. “Isn’t that like… ironic? Considering vampires and werewolves are sworn enemies?”

An amused chuckle spills from his lips as you fumble with your own teacup, barely managing to save its matching saucer before it clatters to the floor. Your annoyed glare pulls more laughter out of him, and it takes a good portion of his self-control not to smile.

After taking another sip of his coffee, Jaebeom shrugs. “I was born a werewolf, and it carried over when Jinyoung and I became vampires.”

“How did that happen anyway?” You lean back in your seat, crossing your legs at the ankle with a tilt of your head. “I mean, did you and Jinyoung choose to become…what you are?”

“Yes and no,” He hums.

“So you chose to become monsters?”

“You consider my brother and I monsters…?”

Jaebeom doesn’t like the serious expression that pulls across your features. “I know you’ve killed a lot of people… and have done some pretty fucked up things.”

“A millennium is a long time to be alive, little dove.” Your obvious distaste at the nickname fills his chest with comedic pleasure. He smirks, “You get a little bored after a while.”

“Normal people read books when they’re bored, or find a new hobby.”

“Killing isn’t a hobby then…?”

Your response is a look of pure disgust.

Jaebeom howls in laughter before inhaling the remainder of his coffee in one gulp. He heaves a sigh, peering out the large, stained-glass window. Partly to recollect his thoughts. Partly to allow the obvious tension to dissipate between his and your forms.

Now inside his own head, Jaebeom wonders whether or not he should have said such a barbaric statement in the first place. If it were anyone else, Jaebeom would care less about protecting his image—but it’s you. And something inside him warns him to be careful around you… Very, very careful.

“Jinyoung and I were children when we found each other.” Jaebeom sighs, feeling the weight of your surprised gaze on the side of his face. “After my own caregivers abandoned me, he convinced his parents to take me in… It wasn’t until I lived inside their home did I realize how cruel they were.”

“Cruel…?”

“Jinyoung was a bastard child.” He explains, “His mother had an affair with a village merchant. After his father found out, he murdered his wife’s lover and made Jinyoung’s life a living hell.”

Jaebeom rises from his armchair and grabs his empty cup before heading for the liquor tray in front of the same window he was previously staring out. While pouring himself a drink, Jaebeom makes sure to raise his voice so you can still hear:

“For years, I watched that asshole beat the shit out of Jinyoung while his mother and sisters sat back and didn’t do a goddamn thing.” He downs the brandy in one sweet gulp before selecting a stronger bottle of scotch. Not bothering with his cup, Jaebeom unscrews the cap and takes a long, drawn-out swig from the container. Fire erupts through his belly, sending the beginning of a pleasurable buzz through his veins.

“One day I got fed up with it all, and when the fucker tried to lash Jinyoung for refusing to shoot a fawn, I took that belt right out of his hands, wrapped it around his neck, and squeezed and squeezed until the light left his eyes…”

Through the corner of his eye, Jaebeom notices how your body grows tense at his confession.

He whirls around to meet your gaze, pushing away the pestering emotions without so much as a blink before continuing, “We were banished by his family and the other villagers, but we didn’t care—we had each other, and we needed no one else.

“We encountered a witch one day, as we were walking through the forest.” Jaebeom says after another sip, “She told us she could give us a gift like no other: Eternal life. We only had to take part in a ritual, and death would never come for us.”

You shake your head. “Why? Why would you want to live forever?”

“If you were given the chance to be invincible against everything, even time, wouldn’t a small part of you be somewhat interested?”

He allows you a moment to ponder his question. After maybe a minute or so, you release a silent huff and gesture for him to continue.

“The witch tricked us though, and in trade for immortality, we were forced to sacrifice our humanity.”

Your eyes widen. “So you didn’t… choose to become vampires?”

“No.” Jaebeom sets down his bottle with one hand while carding his fingers through his hair with the other. “Anyway, Jinyoung and I spent decades learning how to manage our newfound abilities, and even longer on how to handle the lifestyle.”

“If you and Jinyoung were the first—the Prime Two—did you create more vampires?”

He chuckles with a sigh, “Yes. Though it was by accident how we found out.

“Fledgling vampires branched off from our bloodline are different. They’re not as fast, nor as strong, nor as powerful as us.” Jaebeom explains, “Jinyoung and I can compel humans and other vampires, but vampires can only compel humans.”

“Are fledglings immortal too?”

“To some extent.” Crossing back across the room, Jaebeom lowers into the armchair beside your own. Now close enough to see the curious spark of wonder in your irises. “It is possible for a fledgling to live forever, but unlike Jinyoung and I, fledglings can be killed with a wooden stake through the heart.”

“Nice to know that much is true.” Jaebeom relishes the borderline amused chuckle that leaves your lips, playing the odd elation off as the effects of the alcohol. “Is it also true that a bite from a vampire turns you into a vampire?”

He snorts, “Let me guess… Got that from Twilight?

“Just answer the question.”

“The only way to become a vampire is if you die with vampire blood in your system.” He hums, “After you die, you’ll wake up in transition, and will need to drink human blood to complete the transformation.”

“And if you choose not to complete it?”

“Then you die for real.”

You shift at his answer, finding interest in the chipped edge of your cup. Jaebeom wonders whether he should change the topic of interest, but before he can think up some possible options, you steer the conversation yourself:

“You never told me why.”

His eyebrows raise in confusion. “What?”

“Why you left me in that alleyway.”

For the first time, Jaebeom feels vulnerable underneath the scrutiny of your eyes. He fidgets uncomfortably, and like you, searches the room for another object to hold his attention. However, whether it’s because of the whiskey, or something else, his gaze returns to and remains rooted on your own.

What is it about you? The thought spirals through his thoughts like a 2-seater plane with broken wings. Maybe he should have listened to Jinyoung, and stayed away from you in the first place. Because whatever game you’re playing, whatever spell you have him under… it’s messing with his head.

And he doesn’t like to be fucked around with.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Jaebeom shakes his head. “I don’t kn—”

A sudden crash emerges from the foyer, effectively interrupting his explanation. Jaebeom leaps from his seat and speeds in front of where you’re sitting, shielding your form from the entryway where the noise sounded. His protective stance vanishes, however, at the figure that appears in the doorway.

Jaebeom tsks. “Oh. Look who finally decided to show up.”

“Jinyoung…?” Jaebeom steps aside to allow you to step forward, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He moves to fetch himself another drink when your exclaim stops him, “Holy shit! What the hell happened to you!?”

Upon taking care to really look at his brother, Jaebeom understands the reason for your concern. Jinyoung’s usual clean-cut and formal appearance is nonexistent. From head to toe, he’s covered in dirt, and his dark hair is far past disheveled. His clothes are badly torn and wrinkled, and practically soaked in fresh blood. Jaebeom quickly realizes the blood does belong to Jinyoung, noticing the large, thick bolt protruding from his chest.

Jinyoung winces, “It’s a long story… but if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down first.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

The gleam of the awakening sun rising over the horizon sears Yugyeom’s eyes, but he keeps his gaze fixated on the entryway of the cemetery. No matter how much the newfound sunlight burns his eyes, he continues to watch the shadows of the night disperse in fear of the approaching morning. He knows pain all too well.

“Gyeom?”

Yugyeom greets Chan silently, with a curt nod. His stare remains frozen on the gate.

Chan sidles up beside him until they are shoulder to shoulder. His own gaze glances at Yugyeom’s point of interest for a moment before he turns to look at his companion in the early morning glow. Through his peripheral vision, Yugyeom can spot Chan’s grim expression.

“How’s the coven?” Yugyeom asks after a long bout of silence.

Chan shrugs, “Minho, Jisung and Lia were all sleeping when I left. And Youngjae, he’s…” When his voice trails off, Yugyeom doesn’t urge Chan to finish his sentence. He knows exactly how Youngjae is right now.

Terrified.

“What should we do with the body?”

Yugyeom barely blinks. “Probably best to burn it. Can’t leave anything up to chance.”

Chan hums in agreement, seemingly ready to return to the mausoleum, but to Yugyeom’s surprise, Chan remains in place. Another long, tense round of silence carries between them, filling Yugyeom’s head with even more heart wrenching memories. After another mind-spiralling hurricane or two, Chan breaks the silence again:

“We made the right decision. If we got here any later, that huntress would have killed everyone.”

Yugyeom shakes his head, “The huntress was working with a witch, and we only found the one… We should have gotten here sooner.”

“Youngjae thinks the huntress was working alone tonight.” Chan says, lifting his palm to shield his eyes from the blinding sunrise. “There were no traces of unfamiliar magic… nor did we catch anyone else’s scent in the cemetery.”

“Then where is the witch?” Yugyeom moves his attention away from the graveyard entrance, and with aching eyes, turns to meet his Alpha’s downcast gaze, “And more importantly, where the hell is Mark-hyung…?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

You hold back a wince as Jaebeom literally tears the bolt from Jinyoung’s chest, earning a pained grunt from said victim. Dark blood splatters from the now open wound, painting across Jaebeom’s skin and adding even more stains to Jinyoung’s unsalvageable shirt. Disgust fills your gut as Jaebeom offers Jinyoung what seems to be a glass of blood—probably from that blonde woman you encountered at the door.

Jinyoung shakes his head and pushes the drink away. “No. I’m alright.”

“You would have healed by now if you were.” Jaebeom tries again, “Just take a sip.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Your eyes widen in both surprise and revulsion, watching Jaebeom knock back the glass and down the blood in one large gulp. Fighting back a wave of nausea, you carefully approach the wounded vampire, holding forth a clean towel.

Jinyoung takes the garment and sends a grateful smile in return. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

You nod, “Sure.”

Jinyoung presses the bunched fabric to his gaping wound, hissing through gritted teeth at the sudden pressure. You wonder whether or not you should grab the emergency Tylenol from your bag… Does pain medication even work on vampires? Aren’t they technically dead?

“We were ambushed at the cemetery.” Jinyoung explains, pulling you from your foolish thoughts. “After the huntress shot me, I must have hit my head and knocked myself out.”

“Sounds like a pretty unfortunate story.”

Jinyoung chuckles at your joke before continuing, “When I came to, the wolf pack had killed her and Mark was gone.”

Panic immediately spreads through your veins like flames to dry wood. “Mark? What do you mean he’s gone?”

“I’m not sure. We searched the entire graveyard, but there was no sign of him.”

You open your mouth to inquire further, but Jaebeom’s loud exhale cuts you off. Both you and Jinyoung turn to peer at the hybrid, finding him staring out the large window while drumming his fingertips against the red- and blue-stained glass. After a quiet moment filled with the rhythm of his fingers and Jinyoung’s marred breathing, Jaebeom peers over his shoulder—his eyes glaring daggers straight at his brother.

Jinyoung shakes his head. “Hyung—”

“I told you not to get involved with Tuan.” The dark, bitter tone that leaves Jaebeom’s lips sends a harsh shiver down your spine, more so since the comment included mention of your best friend.

“And I told you I’m taking care of it.”

“Can you not just do what you’re fucking told just once? Just one goddamn time—?”

To both your and Jaebeom’s surprise, Jinyoung suddenly leans forward in his seat and retches violently. You rush forward, splaying your hands across his back while asking about his condition. Your response is another retching noise, and in just the nick of time, you manage to step out of the way before Jinyoung vomits red across the carpet.

“Fucking god, Jinyoung! What the hell is wrong with him!?” You call out to Jaebeom, squeezing Jinyoung’s shoulders as he heaves again. After another gag or two, you help Jinyoung to lean back into the armchair, wiping the bloody remnants from his lip with a towelette. Your knuckles brush the arch of his cheekbone—his skin is hot to the touch.

“He’s burning up! What do we do!?”

“It’s… werewolf venom.” Jinyoung gasps, weakly pulling your wrist away from his face.

You shake your head, “W-Werewolf venom?”

“A werewolf’s bite is deadly to vampires.” Jaebeom explains, barely batting an eyelash as Jinyoung lurches forward with another gag.

“But he wasn’t bitten? How the hell—?”

“The crossbow bolts must have been poisoned.” Your anxiety skyrockets, worriedly staring as Jinyoung begins to choke on his own blood. Jaebeom glances outside the window again, murmuring, “He won’t die… The effects will pass in a day or so.”

“But can’t you heal him!?” You jump to your feet, narrowly avoiding a puddle of dark blood before dashing over to Jaebeom. Your fingers desperately latch onto the lapels of his leather jackets, tugging him down to meet your eyes. “You’re a hybrid, so your blood should technically flush the venom out of his system? Right?”

Jaebeom’s lips twitch. “You’re smart, little dove. I’ll give you that.”

“So you’ll heal him?”

You wait in utter agony as the hybrid considers your request, staring blankly at the features of your face. You can only imagine how much you resemble a crazed, mad woman, but you can care less. Right now, your sole focus is on Jinyoung and ending whatever horrible fate awaits. Jaebeom wouldn’t let his best friend—the man he calls his brother—suffer in absolute anguish…

Not when he killed Jinyoung’s own father to protect him.

After a miserable moment of silence, Jaebeom releases a heavy exhale through his nose before meeting your gaze. The bubble of hope expands inside your chest when the hybrid offers a weak smile, lifting a hand to brush a stray hair from your forehead. You shiver as that same hand lightly grasps your chin, guiding your face closer until you can taste the alcohol on Jaebeom’s breath.

All in a matter of seconds, that bubble of hope pops at Jaebeom’s curt answer:

“No.”

You watch in horror as Jaebeom releases your chin, turns on his heel, and leaves you by your lonesome with a wounded Jinyoung, and even more wounded soul.

59 notes · View notes

danddymaro · 4 years

Text

Only Reversing Time | Aizen Sosuke x Reader

Summary; Only with reversing time could it have all been different, because he had already made his choice.

A/N: So Kyouka Suitgetsu is basically Aizen in a sense, a piece of him.

She knows how he feels, but he’s too stubborn to admit himself even to her. He’s too proud to admit that in his heart he has regrets.

- She was cruel, but it's out of love...

It’s all because of love.

Edited/Fixed

Warning : I can’t say there's any real romance in this, but I really just like writing. Even if it’s a stress at times, it’s nice rolling out new ideas. Anyways, I own nothing but the story itself.

Mentions Of betrayal

Flashbacks

mentions of the Vizards

Maybe some Shinji x Reader , but it can easily be platonic.

Angsty

Word Count: 6021

Only reversing Time

The soft, clicking sound of small, pointed heels was produced, and soon echoed throughout the empty room, seizing the attention he’d granted his earlier musings.

He had been caught in thought, once again suspended in time, and it was a momentous event brought forth by the small piece held within his right hand.

- Something he had yet to let go of.

Within his hold and laying at the center of his palm was a small silver piece, a hairpin to be precise.

The lovely gemstones which had once been on it for decoration were now gone, leaving behind small, black vacant holes where the small colorful crystals once were held down. Moreover, over what was once gleaming silver, colors of rust had formed, the coppery tint taking over a good portion of the hairpin.

While in such an ugly state that it was currently presented with, it was hard to imagine such a thing was ever considered lovely, but he knew that at one point in time it had been vibrant, co-existing with the most prepossessing beauty he’d ever seen in his life.

‘A beauty unparalleled,’ He thought to himself before he paid any heed to the coming visitor.

Lazily, his dark-toned eyes drifted up to his new company, looking towards the guest that had come to see him, all with a rather stoic glance, giving her only part of his focus.

At his slight attention, she seemed pleased, joyous to have captured even a fraction of it, even if it was distant or cold.

Because If even a small part of him drew towards her, she knew she had him where she wanted.

“Sosuke...” she sang grinning joyously, stopping suddenly to gaze up at him from where she stood, just beneath the many steps leading up to his throne.

Her hands clasped behind her in a childish manner while she shifted in her spot as though she wanted to tell him something, something she was too bashful to voice. Her cheeks bloomed with a touch of rose as she gave him a small giggle before shaking her head, keeping whatever she wanted to say secretive and deciding that perhaps it wasn’t the best time to tell him.

- Years and years of knowing her...and she never admitted to him why she’d showcase such a sweet demeanor.

But he always wondered...

- Always thought of all the possibilities.

‘ I never came to know what secrets you held...’ He thought to himself as he stared at her. ‘ What was it that you always held from me...? What had you been hesitant to say...?’

Rather than speak more, she grinned, her smile radiating through the dark room as she peered her eyes up at him. However, a soft glimmer resonating from the piece in his hold stopped her charming ministrations, making her expression melt.

Her shoulders dropped and the perk she had presented herself with died down.

“Oh Sosuke…” she murmured, her eyebrows creasing. “ You’re still holding onto that old thing?” She asked with disbelief.

“ Could it be because you missed me?” She questioned him, a notable lingering of amusement hidden within the words which came through as mockery.

It was a question that needed no answer, because she already knew.

She knew every one of his secrets now, but he understood why she asked. He knew well enough why she acted the way she did.

Why she came by so frequently...

why she behaved in such a way...

“You know, you shouldn't,” she stated, ” Don’t think of me Sosuke.

Don’t...because soon you'll have everything you want.” She said with an uplift of the corners of her mouth, spreading her arms out wide, the downhearted expression that had come over her now gone.

She spun around, twirling as a small hummed tune came from her, a song which had been all hers.

And before, during their time spent at the soul society, it had been a mindless little melody he found strangely comforting, and something close to a warm lullaby.

In the past, he had found the halls filled with that sound whenever she walked alongside him, their hands both filled with large stacks of paperwork their captain had been too leisure to finish himself.

And on occasions which were very scarce nights beneath the lovely moonlight she so loved to gaze upon, he heard the same sound, her little song traveling through the night air, the tranquil peace being uninterrupted by her mellow sound.

He remembers it all so vividly...

He remembers the way her body swayed left and right as she sat across him, her light hums causing his knotted shoulders to melt. Too many times he’d stop, finding his eyes glued to the woman as she paid no mind to his peeks at her.

And he wondered if she ever came to realize that he stared far too much for it to have been normal.

Did she only choose to ignore him? or had she honestly paid so little mind to his wondering eyes that her blissful ignorance was all she could pay him back with?

The tune had once been beautiful, the sound once lovely to him,

but now, it made his skin chill.

It haunted him, echoing throughout the empty room and haunting him.

With a seldom look to his eyes he watched her move as something in his chest began to respond to her presence, more specifically to that damned sound.

And it felt torturous...

What did he really want?

What was it he truly desired?

He asked himself what it was this was all for...

- if it was truly worth it.

‘Why?’ He continued on with uncertainty, but as the question came to mind, he stopped in his tracks, going no further into those pondering thoughts that would only lead to more doubt.

“Damn it...why now...?” he asked himself, “ Why now of all times?” he asked her with a tight press to his two rows of teeth as he glared at her harshly.

He had done something he hadn't done in what was an entire millennium, and that was to second guess.

He doubted his moves, questioned his logic... his gain.

He asked himself if it Was all really worth it.

He asked himself what would have been had he simply let go of his ambitions.

Moreover, he wondered if she would have been enough to keep him happy, if perhaps that lovely woman from his past was enough to give his mundane existence of before meaning.

He closed his eyes for a moment, a small breath leaving his parting lips as he tried to envision it.

- Her soft painted lips on his, her hands both lovely and warm taking hold of his own to kiss with tenderness as she peeked up at him through her fanning dark lashes.

And in her eyes adoration would shine.

Sweet words, all addressed to him, would come from her as she accepted him as he was.

Would she have accepted him if he had shown her just part of who he really was? and if so... what would she had thought of him if he had given her a full taste of his true self?

would she have still taken him in with the same tenderness?

- Would she have loved him?

In his small moment of wonder and thought, the (h/c) haired woman had traveled to him, standing before him now, closer than she had ever come to when she made her unexpected drop in’s.

Her hands went to touch him, moving to caress his face with a loving look of tenderness making her eyes glow with warmth.

And when he came out from his daydream, he saw her close, just as she had been in his musing.

His fair skin warmed, soft tickles of imaginary feathers teasing his insides and stupidly he awaited the touch, closing his dark eyes with a small shutter.

‘Would it have been like this?’ He asked himself.

Unwillingly his heart skipped a beat, remembering just how beautiful a feeling she could inspire within him and that it hadn’t always been painful.

‘ Would something as minimal as a touch been enough to sedate me?’ He continued on, and he waited for her, wanting to find out, but instead of the expected touch, he felt nothing.

He waited until the gentle heat touching his insides settled, inwardly cursing himself for letting her control so much of him.

Retracting back when she couldn't connect with him, she closed her eyes, tears coming out from her two (e/c) drops.

And during her suffrage she stared right at him, her melancholic face set before him, wordlessly showing her sorrow.

“Sosuke...” she said with a heave, reaching out to him again, “ Please Sosuke, look at me... please,” she begged him as his eyes shut tighter, his lips also pressed together harshly because he knew that without the pressure they’d tremble.

His two hands were both balled, ignoring her, using every fiber of his being to cast her presence aside.

- Discard her like she was common garbage.

“Sosuke, why?” she asked him, “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked him, her frantic pleas being disregarded by him.

She reached out to grasp at his collar, but her hands went through him, not reaching him for the answers and attention she begged for.

“What did I do wrong Sosuke?” she asked him, making his teeth grind against each other to the point it hurt.

‘Nothing...’ He thought to himself.

She hadn't done anything wrong, she had been perfect.

She gave in with her head hanging, stepping farther from him, the beautiful mirage before him cracking.

And in the truth that's all she had been, a mirage, nothing but a simple illusion of his.

She was a visual representation of his deep regret, a secret he held grave and still pondered over, revisiting far too often.

More than he should...

He would have wanted nothing more than to have her with him, right at his side, watching as all the pieces fall together perfectly. He would have wanted nothing more than to have someone he could truly trust, someone loyal to him rather than a snake that followed his every move with the goal of laying its venom.

He then decided to gaze upon her, finally looking towards her to find her staring at him with melancholic (e/c) eyes, ones he found utterly mesmerizing in every single way.

“Sosuke,” she started, taking a long breath, “ Did you love me?” she asked him, the white gown she wore changing before his eyes, morphing into the familiar uniform she had worn during her time in the soul society instead.

“- No.

...Do you still love me?” She said with wait, correcting herself.

His hand began to rise, going to touch her, but remembering just what would happen if he continued, he stopped.

“Yes,” he answered her, finally admitting to it with a single nod accompanied with his low voice.

He loved her,and much more than that, he missed her.

He ached for her.

A small smile, one that was plainly bittersweet went on display over her lovely face.

She said nothing afterward, but even with silence, she struck him.

Her (e/c) eyes stared right at him, focused on just his existence and nothing more.

They both knew what came next, and she didn’t beg him to keep her alive, to do what he hadn’t done in the past and spare her.

She didn’t do such a thing, because she wasn’t intent on staying.

- It had never been her plan.

Unlike before, he showed his inner turmoil, facing (f/n) with the same grief he had felt before, the one he swallowed down whenever there was remembrance of her.

He never let himself go so vulnerable, but because it was a final time, he wanted to give in just once.

He wanted to let himself give in to what he truly felt.

He wanted to be vulnerable and small for just a moment.

He knew it wasn’t really her. He knew (f/n) wasn’t really there, and even then it pained him. Even when he reasoned that it wasn’t the woman he loved and just some illusion, he still hesitated, his hands shaking.

‘ It must be done,’ He thought to himself, gripping the hilt of his sword, fingers curling over the emerald handle wrapping.

He would destroy her again, and this time for good.

And he’d make sure that this time around there was nothing was left.

“Don’t you want to know why?” He asked her, the question making the woman shake her head in refusal. “ It makes no difference,” she replied, “You know why Sosuke,” she added. “And I know why as well,” she said with amusement, her character doing a complete turn.

Because she seemed no longer saddened, but instead, happy... proud even.

A small smile curled the corners of his lips as he released a dry chuckle, “ Of course,” he said back.

“You wouldn’t let it go would you?” he asked the woman.

“I only follow you’re example,” she reminded him.

“So call my name, “ she told him, “ Call my true name and finish it off,” she advised, seeing the man’s hand begin to shake with how strongly he held the sword.

“It must be done,” she continued on, convincing him.

“Kyouka Suitegtsu, “ He said lowly, “ Shatter,” he muttered.

‘Shatter it all, finish her off,’

And with his command, the beautiful mirage shattered before him as his zanpakuto did as she was told.

‘Sosuke,’ Kyouka Suigetsu said softly, the voice going back to the one she normally used as she once again shared his body.

‘ You know It had to be done,’ She reasoned. ‘This pain shouldn’t be held...You must destroy everything that is hers, even the piece of your heart that holds her dear...’ She advised.

More than anyone else she knew of his suffering, but she also knew of his desires as well.

He couldn’t come so far to simply foil his own plans by simply doubting, making everything he’d done until then meaningless.

She was cruel indeed, but only because she loved him.

‘There’s just one thing that remains, ‘ She reminded him, urging him.

Nodding, he agreed.

His open palm closed, tightly clenching over the small pin in a mighty hold, using everything he had and crushing it easily.

There was a barely audible sound of it snapping, breaking into many pieces, tiny ones that not even the best craftsmen could piece back together, because only with only reversing time could he bring back the former beauty.

He couldn't have a weakness, and he couldn't have something to lose.

He could have the world in his hands, but in that existing plan, there wasn’t room for (f/n) to be kept there. So with his own mighty hand, he destroyed the last piece of the beautiful memory he had of her.

He destroyed what little part of his past that made him regret and feel sorrow.

Because there wasn’t room for her in his heart any longer, she could no longer be a desire of his.

The Hogyoku wouldn’t allow anything else but his full will.

- To regret was to falter, and to falter was to lose, giving up all he had worked for.

His clenched hand spread out, letting the shattered pieces fall to the cold ground, left to be forgotten like everything else that lay to waste on the sands of Hueco Mundo.

He stood up from his seat, moving forward, his sandaled feet stepping over the shattered remains, crushing it beneath his feet.

He stepped over her once again before making his journey to the battleground, the soft glimmer in his eyes disappearing before he stepped out.

He was almost towards his goal... just moments away.

With his transcendence towards an existence far surpassing that of both hollow and shinigami, he could never stand by such a small speck of existence.

She couldn’t be there, not without being destroyed at least.

He saved himself the pain, because her demise was inevitable, and he reasoned that it was better done by his own hands.

In the end, he destroyed the path for no return.

100 Years ago...

She cried out in suffrage, feeling her entire body burn from the inside out as though she were filled with bubbling lava rather than the scarlet liquid which oozed from her pierced skin.

Every inch of her figure spasmed with agonizing torture, the wounds she’d received before being nothing in comparison to the affliction she felt now.

And soon, both her fingers and her toes curled, crunching at their small joints, snapping repeatedly in pulsing motions as she tried to gain function of her limbs.

But whatever wicked spell cast upon her fought back, her body possessed by something powerful growing from within.

- It would all be just a fruitless struggle.

‘Why is this happening?’ She asked herself. ‘Why?’ she continued on, hacking up, feeling bile rise from her stomach, the swirling contents wanting to find an out through her gaping lips which were now pressed firmly tight.

Swallowing down the acidic contents, she hobbled forward, trying her best to keep herself up, trying her darnest to just make it out alive.

‘I have to fight this,’ She thought with determination, her teeth pressed firmly together as she locked her jaw fiercely, her brows driven down south to the lowest dip they could fall.

‘ I just have to,’ She told herself, however, her body began to grow heavy and beneath her own weight, her trembling knees buckled.

Falling onto them and landing on the ground with a crash, she fisted the dirt ground, feeling the small grains collect in her fingernails and push painfully against the skin.

‘No...’ She insisted as she continued to move forward, crawling.

And then something more than just pain built up within her, something she hadn’t truly felt before to such a magnitude.

Melting with the pain and torturous ache was spite.

Hate and spite, both sentiments in which she’d never truly bathed in began to drown her, suffocating her existence.

They began to eat at her, and with the more she felt the wretched feelings, the hotter her insides burned, like feeding fuel to a burning fire, making it grow with more fury.

“S-SOSUKE!” she screamed, crying out to him, reaching one of her hands out to the retreating shinigami, forcefully straightening her curled fingers out to try and reach him better.

If she could only touch him... if she could only know it was all some mirage, some nightmarish magic cast over her eyes...

- Because it just couldn’t really be him.

‘No...’

Not Sosuke, who’s eyes were like melted chocolate, sweet and warm, always looking onto her with what she had been certain was care.

She had been certain care was there when he’d offer to walk her home at night.

She had believed it existed when he invited her to watch the fireworks...Or when he wrapped his scarf around her the week before then, when it had been an unexpectantly chilly night.

His voice which had been one that was capable of melting ice had spoken to her, saying her name with what she could easily say would be love, chided her for not wearing another layer on what were cold nights.

She thought it had been there...

Love, from not just one from a man to a woman, but love that was true, pure-hearted.

- Love that had first grown from simple, sweet care.

“SOSUKE!!!” She said again, beginning to huff with rugged pants, panicking as her heart came to a halt, the momentary stop causing her alarm.

The heavy drumming of her muscle stopped playing, and she couldn’t understand why.

She couldn’t understand why any of it was happening.

‘Sosuke why?

Why ? why if we were friends?

Why if we were ... I thought…

I thought… ’

She wanted to believe it was all a nightmare, or at least some sort of wild misunderstanding, but as she saw him she was too much corruption.

She watched his vicious smile of overachievement and arrogance.

She witnessed his prideful gratefulness at his master plan.

Altogether, she saw a man she didn’t know and it angered her, all the possible explanations proving him innocent flying out the window.

Reason began to drain out of her as she soon saw red.

She saw what lay beyond the mask he wore, and she slowly realized that the person she so stupidly trusted was nothing more than treachery.

‘ Friends...No… it was all lies…

All lies…’

“All...this...time...”

The pain coursing through her body melded with betrayal, and became completely overwhelmed by growing spite and hate that soon take over.

What thread in which she’d held onto that kept her sane tore, leaving nothing behind of the loving innocence, or understanding soul.

“Traitor…” she rasped through her raw throat, “Sosuke….Sosuke you traitor…” She murmured over and over.

She could only utter a single name, a single person whose fault it had all been…

Her tongue dried and she couldn’t say nothing more but that dammed name, it being all she could utter out,

“SOSUKE...SOSUKE-AIZEN!”

A name she had only ever produced with a smile before then had became the bane of her existence.

Right at the center of her chest, occupying the space where her heart should lay, a vacant hole began to produce, opening wider as the seconds rolled by, quickly beginning to cover a grand portion of her chest.

Instantly, her hands flew to her hollowed out chest, feeling them go straight through.

Absolute horror washed over her before she cried out, no longer able to produce words.

Instead, the sound of a wild beast roared out from her wide open mouth, and with fury filled wrath she hollered out.

As she looked up again, she connected with him, the man who had become her only focus. Wordlessly, she continued to glare towards him with darkness, and moreover, a promise of rancorous vengeance.

She attempted to say his name once more, hisses and growls being released instead like the snarls of a muzzled beast.

She felt aching abomination towards him, one she didn’t hide as her now disgustingly animalistic golden orbs showed him beast-like bloodshed.

He eyed her with an impassive glance, catching a glimpse of what lay far further than the spite.

He caught sight of the heartbreak at his deception, because as enraged as the creature before him was, the eyes of it were flooded with much more emotions that treaded on the grounds of suffrage and woe.

Her eyes were glued to him, looking at nothing more than the sole lieutenant until her vision blurred.

Unwillingly, she drew the pained, golden gems up, setting them upon the barely recognizable crescent moon, its illumination blinding her before her world turned completely black.

And as her eyes rolled to the back of her head into darkness, she lost more than just her consciousness and will.

With a final heave, she was left motionless, the hollowfication process one she was unable to endure. And while of course, it had been the intention, he couldn’t help but be sorrow-filled.

Scattered at her sides were her friends, other victims of the cold-hearted betrayal in which had been carried on by none other than one of their own.

His heart felt no stir at gazing at them because they hadn't meant anything to him.

‘ But (f/n)...’

Aizen took a final glance back at her, letting his dark chocolate eyes stare over at her for a few prolonged seconds before turning away, by then having swallowed up far more than he could take.

His hand stayed tightly balled at his side and right at the center of the sweaty palm, pressing into the moistened flesh, was a small trinket.

Smeared in blood and faulty with missing gems, it was all he had left of her.

It was all he could carry with him now, her last memento.

He called it a reward, a token for his achievement when the young silver-haired fox asked him with curiosity. But of course, he’d lied. He did what he did best and hid his true heart.

Because it hadn't been some reward he took with himself.

He knew very well it wasn’t, and Kyougka Suigetesu was the only other soul that knew his truth.

At his cool reply to the younger apprentice, she had only sighed, a soft blue breath drawn from her as she could feel the aftermath of her master’s actions.

When her world began to fill with cold rain, she smiled softly, her two eyes slowly closing as she waited out the downpour.

The spirit had no say, she knew there was nothing to be done any longer.

She knew her master was a man who had already contemplated enough, and by then, his final decision irreversible.

‘I have no choice but to wait this rain out,’ She started, her head inclining back to gaze up at the night sky that surrounded her, the same crescent moon of that night being present for years to come.

‘You may tell all the lies you wish to master,’ She said reaching out her elegant hand up to the illumination, ‘but the rain is present, and in my chest, I can feel your heartache,’ She thought to herself, a stray tear falling down her pale cheek.

‘My world is nothing more than your hidden heart,’ She mused as she stared down at the pin in her hand, identical to the one he kept close to himself.

(f/n) (l/n), the third seat of the fifth squadron never gazed upon the night sky again, leaving her last moment of existence being filled with treachery, it being a moment filled with unmeasurable sorrow and loss.

She was just another one of his victims, one of his small stepping stones needed to skip over. But unlike every other subject he had used, some of which he didn’t bother to remember names of, Aizen Sosuke never forgot her.

Not her name, or her fragrance, and especially not the small shared moments between them, the same ones he claimed to have never cared for.

And among that, he couldn't bring himself to forget her final breaths, those few moments when their eyes connected and he saw true heartbreak, a result of what he had done to her.

And he wondered about so many things, such as the possibility that perhaps she came to love him.

He wondered if perhaps she had begun to see him as anything other than a subordinate or a friend.

Had she ever thought of him in that way?

Had the idea ever crossed her before?

Because he had thought of it too many times. Every time she came too close, he wondered just what would happen if he just took her hand in his.

Whenever the colder season came, he wondered how her lips would feel pressed against his, even if they were chapped, even if she tried her best to hide them when he stared too much at them.

He knew she had been embarrassed, thinking he was judging their appearance, but he had only been musing on testing them out, comparing them to the usual softness that they displayed over the rest of the year.

He’d wanted to be the one to know what they felt like during every season that passed.

He had loved her, far more than he would have ever cared to admit. And in all the years that passed, he had yet to let her finally lay at rest.

The foolish part of him which was still in love with the dead woman held onto her memory.

The small trinket in his hold was evidence of his lack of will, of his forsaken love.

- And he wasn’t the only one to keep her memory alive.

Shinji Hirako never let her go either.

He hadn’t thought of ever doing so, because to him, the young woman from all those years ago hadn’t been a burden in his path. And it wasn’t to say that she had been just a subordinate of him as well, because she was much more than that. Slowly but surely, she had wedged herself into not just his personal affairs, but his life as well, digging deep until she reached his heart, becoming someone he came to love wholeheartedly.

Love that was unconditional...Love that wasn’t littered with lies and betrayal, but mutual understanding and true wellness.

Needless to say, she had never been expendable to him, and if anything, became even more important after her death. Because after all the bloodshed and suffrage, she had become another reason to fight, another reason for revenge.

He felt the same shared spite the Visored did when they so much as mentioned the man’s name.

There was no question about it, and yet, in a sense, Shinji felt that somehow, they just couldn't understand.

As close as they all were, they just could relate to him and truly grasp at what was harbored in his chest.

For the former captain, it was different, the effects of the villainous betrayal leaving more than just a bitter taste in his mouth.

So, as he found his moment to stand before the dark-haired, brown-eyed successor of his former squadron, Shinji Hirako felt blinding rage. He felt the same burning fire in his veins he did when he realized they had been short one person upon their awakening.

He had looked for her, his first breath loud and labored as his eyes trailed all around him with anxiousness.

He had searched for her, remembering that on that night, she had trailed behind him, unknowingly heading straight forward to her demise.

What would have been if he had made her stay put..?

Would she had still been alive?

If he’d done his part as her captain, and much more as her friend, would she still be alive?

Was it just by a stroke of bad luck that she had been slain? or had he planned to take her out as well?

Had Aizen really been such a bastard to have killed the one person who so eagerly opened her arms up for him?

A whirlwind of questions stormed within him, and he became desperate for answers.

He recalled hearing her voice, the echo of it ringing in his ears being so ghastly, that at times that he felt like he was haunted.

She’d call out the name of the said man, saying it as though it was all she could muster, her voice strangled and weaved with despair and hurt.

She repeatedly said his name until she had no recognition of her former self.

‘ I can still hear you cry...’ Shinji thought to himself, ‘ And I can still hear you suffer... ’ He continued on, feeling his blood burn and sizzle, because during her time of demise she was crying because of HIM...

And even afterward it was present.

Her pain, as well as her tears, were all because of Aizen Sosuke, the traitor who only stared on, unmoved by her suffrage, unperturbed by her flowing tears.

‘No...No, he planned it...He planned it all,’ Shinji corrected himself after once again being before the man, instantly going back to that night as he caught sight of his dark eyes, the two chocolatey hue’s not having changed with time.

And at that moment he could also feel the ghosts of his fallen tears, the ones that had gone loose once he separated himself from the other visored because he was too ashamed to admit he was actually crying...too ashamed to shed tears before anyone.

That day, when he was able to come to his senses, he let everything fall, deciding to never go back to that pathetic state, deciding he wouldn’t be made a fool again.

He wouldn’t lose anyone else to the man.

Never again.

He’d wait for the moment to strike and retaliate. It then became all he could breathe, consuming him, becoming almost all he could think about.

Even when he smiled... even when he showed his amusement or joy, she was always there in the back of his mind, urging him to settle the score.

He couldn’t find true happiness knowing she’d been robbed of hers.

And of course, he knew nothing in the world could give them back their former lives. Nothing could reverse time, and moreover, absolutely nothing in the world could bring her back to him.

No amount of desire he had could fix it all.

They wouldn’t go back to their shared nights down at the bar, back when they’d get so drunk they’d sing together, unmelodic sounds and hollers making everyone else’s ears bleed.

He wouldn’t be able to peek at her as she draped a small blanket over him where he sat on his office chair, the sweet woman thinking he was just too tired to make it home.

It always made him smile.

And as much as he hated him, Shinji wouldn’t get back those nights shared with his former lieutenant either, back when the three would spend all-nighters. He’d especially miss when Aizen would say something under his breath, because it was certain it’d rouse a laugh out of his third seat, a laugh that would make both men crack a smile.

Even if it was at his expense, Shinji wouldn’t ever silence them, because he loved the sound of laughter they’d produce.

‘ They felt genuine....’ Shinji thought to himself as he thought of those short instances his eyes fell on his lieutenant, more specifically, his smile.

Aizen’s smile when he looked on at (f/n) felt genuine.

Hirako could swear upon it, that each and every uplift of the corners of his mouth were were true.

‘So then why did you murder her?!’ He continued on, biting his tongue, withholding the outburst. ‘Why the hell did they feel real?...’ He asked himself.

‘ Why did they feel real?!’

‘Why did I give you a second of doubt!’

Sakanade was in his hold, yet to be released, the power it held never having been a trick he revealed to the man before him, and fortunately for him, it was all to his own favor.

Hirako’s taupe-colored eyes sharply glared at the man at the other end of his blade as he held it within his steady hand.

Forcing a large toothy grin at the brunette, he lifted his chin up, feigning all the joy in the world, because he wouldn’t dare let the traitor see his pain. He wouldn’t allow Sosuke Aizen yet another form of victory, no matter how small it was.

‘ (f/n),’ Shinji thought to himself, for a moment the memory of her making him feel pain within his chest, traces of former happiness there as well, making it bittersweet.

‘ I know you won’t be able to come back.’ he told her, knowing she wouldn’t respond back to him. ‘... And I know I’ve been holding onto you far too long as well.’ he continued on. ‘ But I promise that after today, I’ll let you rest.’ he added.

‘ I swear to you... Even If it’s the last thing I do...I’ll make this bastard pay for what he did to us... for what he did to you...’ He continued on.

He’d be able to give her rest. In his own way, Shinji Hirako would give the woman peace.

Because he embraced the love he had for her, never once insinuating otherwise, not during her life, or even after death, eventually coming to believe she was what would fuel him to victory.

Meanwhile, the other man discarded and cursed the affection. Because Sosuke Aizen believed her to be his demise, something he should get rid of in order to succeed.

In memory of her, the visored swung his blade, his sharpened eyes never leaving his former lieutenant.

103 notes · View notes

linmanwe11 · 4 years

Text

The Modeling Gig

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Words: 1,940 words

Warnings: Um,,, a few swear words, and fluff I guess? Lin being a cute and awkward 18 year old. So... not that many (for this part)!

Summary: College!AU where you’re a photography major at Wesleyan University who is also minoring in English Composition. You sit down in your last class of the day (which happens to be English Composition) when you see him walk in, and from that moment, your heart belonged to him.

A/N: This is part one of a two part short-story! Basically, for those of you who don’t know, Lin tweeted about being a nude model for someone’s Drawing 1 class, so that's what this is based off of! Of course, I added my own little storyline to it, but either way, I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

You were in your first year of college at Wesleyan, going in as a photography major with English Composition being your minor. Being in both of these fields, you knew they would be competitive, but that didn’t bother you as much as it usually bothered others because you knew you had the drive and ambition to be able to excel either profession. You were the best photographer in your home town of Washington Heights, New York while you were in High School, and you received many scholarship offers to different schools, but you went with Wesleyan University in Middletown, Connecticut because it wasn’t too far from home, and because you had fallen in love with it when you went to tour the campus.

Since English Composition was your minor, you were required to take the class each semester. You walked into the lecture hall for the first time, tired, worn out, and a little bit overwhelmed with your first day of college. You walked up the stairs and sat in the top corner of the hall and set your stuff down, placing your backpack in the empty chair next to you then waited for your professor to stand up from his desk and start teaching. It was your 2 o’clock class which meant that it was your last class of the day, so you were just holding out until the end, anxious to get back to your dorm and nap the first day away. All of those thoughts went away when you saw him walk in.

Your eyes glued themselves to him, and you felt your heart skip a beat at the sight of him. His thin frame, strong looking hands, short brown hair, and a jawline that seemed to be razor sharp. He was breathtakingly gorgeous, and you knew you were in love from that very moment. Your parents would always tell you about how they fell in love at first sight, but you never believed that such a thing existed until now. When he walked in, it seemed like everything was in slow motion, everyone else in the lecture hall faded away and it was just him. You didn’t even know his name, yet you felt drawn to him.

Without realizing it quick enough, you noticed that he was suddenly standing next to you, asking you a question that you couldn’t seem to hear.

“I- I am so sorry, what did you say? I was completely spaced out there for a second…”

“No biggie, I just asked if this seat was taken?”

“Yes! I mean, uh, no it’s not taken. Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“First day jitters? Yeah, I have them too. I’ve been kinda freaking out all day, but I’ve been able to hide it pretty well.”

“Ha, yeah, I guess you can say that.”

He laughed at that and you smiled, but in the back of your mind, you could feel yourself beginning to REALLY fall for him now. He was attractive, super sweet, had a beautiful laugh, AND he had a smile that could light up skyscrapers. Man, you were SMITTEN.

“I’m Lin-Manuel Miranda, by the way. You can call me Lin-Manuel or just Lin.” He said as he stuck out his hand for you to shake, his name rolling off of his tongue with an accent. So, he’s Latino just like you. Could he be any more perfect? You reached your hand out to meet his, instantly feeling… well, you didn’t know exactly what it was you felt, but it felt like electric when your hands touched.

“Hi Lin, my name is [Y/N]. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too…”

For a second, the two of you were staring into each other’s eyes, and you could’ve sworn that you could see the stars just by looking in his eyes. Lin’s eyes were beautiful, the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. They were dark, but you knew that they would probably sparkle when the light would hit them a certain way, and that they would light up when he would talk about something he was passionate about. His eyes could tell a million stories, yet hold one heart, and you didn’t know it, but he wanted that heart to be yours. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes, and you soon felt yourself beginning to blush, and you noticed that he was beginning to do the same, but before either of you could say another word to one another, your professor began introducing himself, so you both reluctantly let go, then faced towards the front of the classroom. The butterflies were going crazy in your stomach, and your heart was doing a million flips a minute.

———————————————————————

At the end of the lecture, you began packing up your stuff, getting ready to head back to your dorm and get started on the homework you already had. Before you walked too far away from the lecture hall, you heard someone calling your name from behind you.

“[Y/N], hold up a second!” It was Lin, walking at a fast pace as you stopped and waited for him to catch up.

“What’s up?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a bite for dinner- or technically a late lunch/early dinner. I don’t really care, I’m just super hungry, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I’d really love to get to know you! Only if you want to, of course, I don’t wanna force you into something you don’t want to do. I’m not that kind of guy, it’s just that you seem really nice and like so much fun to talk to and be around and-“

“Lin, breathe! I’d love to get something to eat with you. I’m actually starving too. I was gonna order some takeout and just eat in my dorm before I did some homework, but this sounds a whole lot better.”

“Really? Great! Uh, I mean, cool! Awesome, so uh, where do you wanna go? What are you in the mood for?”

“This probably sounds really cheesy- no pun intended- but I could really go for some pizza.”

“Pizza it is then! Lead the way, my lady.” He said while dramatically bowing in front of you. You laughed at him then began walking to the nearest pizza place which was only a 10 minute walk away from your dorm.

———————————————————————

“So, [Y/N], tell me about yourself.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything you’re willing to tell me! I don’t want to pry too much, but like I said, I really want to get to know you.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Lin… I’ll start here; I grew up in New York, in Washington Heights which is in-“

“Upper Manhattan.” You both said at the same time. Confused, you leaned your head to the side, your eyebrows slightly furrowed together.

“How do you…?”

“You’re never going to believe this, but that’s where I grew up too!”

“Are you serious? That’s crazy! How come I never saw you around?”

“I didn’t go to school in Washington Heights, I went to this school called Hunter College- it’s near Central Park, so I was usually always there for theatre throughout high school which is probably why you never saw me around as much. I was always out of place at that school- I loved it though, being one of the four Latinos there, and the only Puerto Rican, it was nice to bring something to the table that my peers didn’t often see… Anyway, holy shit, I can’t believe I never noticed you! You’re pretty hard to miss.”

“Now, I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

“Definitely a compliment. You’re so beautiful, I really am surprised that I never saw you around.”

You were taken aback slightly by his comment, but then you looked down because you started blushing and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Lin. Hearing him call you beautiful made you feel something you had never felt in the past with old boyfriends. It made you feel like he actually meant it.

“So, you mentioned you were in theatre when you were in high school?” “Yeah! I’ve been in theatre since like 6th grade, and I love it so much. I’m actually a theatre major- English comp. is just my minor, I’m assuming it’s yours too?” “Yup, Photography is my major, but I’ve always been a really good writer, so I figured, why not minor in it just in case things don’t go right with photography? Kinda like a livin’ on the edge type of thing, you know?”

“I gotcha. Theatre is super competitive, so I understand where you’re coming from with photography. I’ve always been impressed with people who can take really good photos, especially when the picture itself has a deeper meaning than what’s actually there.”

You felt your heart light up again just by hearing him talk about photography like that. Everyone else that you had met always thought it was just about taking a “good picture”, but Lin was an artist himself. He knew that it was so much more than that. He knew that it TOOK so much more than that. You could feel yourself falling harder and harder for the Puerto Rican minute by minute.

Over the next few hours, you and Lin talked about growing up, the struggles of both of you being Hispanic, especially for him. The two of you talked about the dreams you had for the future, and about the things you were most proud of about your family. When Lin talked about his family and his life, you noticed how animated he was- his hands almost never staying still as he used them to emphasize most of his words, and when you talked about your family and your childhood, he never took his eyes off of you. He was so attentive and you could tell that he made sure to soak up all the information that you were giving him.

Both of you lost track of time, and it was soon almost 9 o’clock at night. To think you would have been in your dorm alone right now seemed crazy to you because you couldn’t imagine yourself being anywhere else but there with Lin. Remembering that you both had to get up early for class tomorrow, you collectively decided to call it a night. Being the gentlemen that he is, Lin refused to let you walk to your dorm by yourself, so he walked with you, the two of you talking about everything and nothing on the way there.

“This is me! Thanks for dinner, Lin, it was really nice getting to know you. Funny enough, it feels like I’ve known you for my whole life. I guess it’s because we grew up pretty much the same way. Either way, I’m really glad to have met you today. It was a lot of fun, and thank you for walking me to my dorm.”

“It was really my pleasure, [Y/N]. I had a great time too. I’ll see you tomorrow in class?”

“Yeah, definitely!”

You both smiled at each other then hugged one another goodnight, the hug lingering for a few seconds as you both took each other in- he smelled so good, and he thought the same thing about you- your arms were around his neck, and his were politely wrapped around your body, and you rested your head on his shoulder. After a minute, you pulled away and then turned away, you going into your dorm hall, and Lin beginning to walk towards his own. When you got into your room, you laid down on your bed, a smile permanently planting itself on your face as you thought about Lin and how amazing he is. When Lin walked away, he let out a yell of excitement, earning a few disapproving shh’s from sleeping students.

“Sorry!” He yelled back, hearing more sounds of disapproval, but he merely laughed to himself and kept smiling.

When Lin made it to his room, he began doing and thinking the exact same thing; thinking about you and wanting tomorrow to come quick just so he could see you again. Both of you drifted off into a deep sleep, the last thing being on both of your minds was each other.

Part Two

#Lin-Manuel Miranda #Lin-Manuel #Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader #Lin-Manuel Miranda fluff #Lin-Manuel Miranda Smut #rpf lin-manuel miranda #lin manuel x reader #Hamilton rfp #In the Heights rpf #Usnavi #Alexander Hamilton #Lin-Manuel Fic #Lin-Manuel Miranda Fic #Lin

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bltngames · 4 years

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Review: Lloyd the Monkey 2

Back before TSSZ News imploded, I would often do write-ups for many of the games at the Sonic Amateur Games Expo (SAGE). SAGE is an annual online expo that I started all the way back in September of 2000. I personally ran SAGE for over a year, and remained deeply hands on for at least another two years as it continued to grow. The main focus of SAGE was primarily to showcase fangames, in particular Sonic fangames, but the event never limited itself to any one type of game. It's never been uncommon to see original games appear in the lineup -- especially now, given the modern indie scene.

One such original game was Lloyd the Monkey, a bit of a strange game, written in Javascript of all things and run through a webpage. That by itself was notable enough to stand out from most of the games at SAGE, but Lloyd was also a completely original product created by someone who possibly seemed to be young and new to game development. Making games is no easy feat, especially when they’re written in Javascript and you’re doing tons of original artwork yourself. Taken as that whole, the game impressed me, even if it was more than a little rough around the edges.

Now we have Lloyd the Monkey 2, written in Unity. The developer, Noah Meyer, sent me a Steam key in order to review the game. Up top, I just want to say how I think it’s kind of brave to go all the way in putting the game on Steam and everything. It felt like just a few years ago, newer indie developers sort of had to work up to releasing their game on Steam, usually getting a few releases under their belt first. People view games differently when they’re asked to pay for them, and critics may not be so willing to let circumstances influence their review. It can be a harsh world out there for a beginner.

Lloyd 2 is a much bigger, more ambitious game than the first. Whereas the original Lloyd didn’t even have sound effects, Lloyd 2 introduces voiced cutscenes, some of which are full-on animated cinematics. Quality is about what you would expect -- I would assume the developer sought out friends and acquaintances to voice characters in Lloyd 2, leading to wildly varying audio quality due to differences in recording hardware. Lloyd himself sounds fine, but some of the other characters are a bit quiet, while others have clear background noise. Nothing I heard was unlistenable, however.

The story is also a little hard to follow. Not much is done to refresh our memories as to who anyone is or what’s going on, we’re just kind of thrown into the middle of things and turned loose. On one hand, it’s nice that the story doesn’t slow the pace of the gameplay down too much. On the other, you’re given a map screen with different objectives to clear but there’s very little context as to what you’re doing or why. At one point I made my way to the end of a Power Plant level only to confront what appeared to be an evil monkey. Despite a whole cutscene involving a conversation between four or five different people, this evil monkey never seemed to say a single word. He just stood there in total silence with a sinister smile. Then I killed him.

I suppose maybe I missed something, however. With greater ambitions comes a number of unfortunate bugs in Lloyd 2, one of which happened not long after our monkey and his crew landed on planet Grecia. I entered what appeared to be a castle to talk to the Queen, but I think the game expected me to take a lower route, where I was apparently meant to overhear the Queen making secret preparations before my arrival. Instead, I took the direct route straight to her chambers, and triggered the cutscene with Lloyd standing in front of her while ominous music played, even though the camera was still clearly focused on the next floor down. I apparently still had some amount of control, because midway through her dialog I touched a teleporter that sent me to the game’s map screen before she was done talking. If that cutscene was meant to give context to what I was doing, I didn’t get a chance to see it.

That was one of the more harmless bugs in my time spent playing Lloyd 2. Harder to ignore was the fact that, within the first 30 seconds of getting control, I soft locked the game. Lloyd 2 opens with a short prologue section where you play as a man with black hair. If you decide to ignore the obvious and go left instead of right, you quickly run out of solid level tiles and begin falling indefinitely. Later areas feature invisible walls presumably to prevent this exact scenario, but for whatever reason they weren’t implemented in the prologue.

For the most part, Lloyd 2 seems to be a co-op game. Many levels see Lloyd teamed up with an alien princess named Lura, with gameplay vaguely reminiscent of Mega Man X crossed with the tag mechanic from Sonic Mania’s Encore Mode. At the touch of a button, you can switch between the Swordsman Lloyd and the more projectile-based Lura… assuming your partner is still alive, I guess. While playing alone, your partner is controlled by artificial intelligence, but it’s incredibly basic and prone to accidentally committing suicide. That wouldn’t be such a big deal (considering Tails in Sonic 2 never acted in self-preservation either), but once your partner dies, they stay dead. Your only option to bring them back is to either restart the stage or hope another cutscene triggers, since they’ll magically spring back to life in order to say their dialog (though, again, usually only seconds before they fall back into the next death pit).

This might not be much of a problem, depending on your viewpoint. There’s not much incentive to switch between Lloyd and Lura, so once you pick whoever you think works the best, chances are, you’ll just stick with them. You do unlock special team-up attacks after beating each boss, but this just reinforces the idea that Lloyd the Monkey 2 is meant to be experienced with another person holding a second controller, as most of the team-up attacks require both characters to do something specific that the single player artificial intelligence usually can’t interpret. Regardless, the team-up attacks never seem strictly necessary to progress, so they can be safely ignored if you’re playing solo.

I understand this is a pretty negative review I’ve written here. Lloyd the Monkey 2 aims high and tries to the best of its ability to get there. I assume it was a struggle to get even this far. Making games is hard work, and like any skill, takes practice to get good at. Just because this is Lloyd the Monkey 2 doesn’t mean Noah Meyer, its developer, is automatically an expert. I'm sure he's doing his best, and, quality aside, this game has a lot of heart put into it. This isn’t something cheap, quick, or lazy. It’s really, genuinely trying, and that matters.

I’ve said a few times here and there that I see pieces of myself in the releases of Lloyd the Monkey, and I still see them here. I remember, for an early SAGE event, I was working on a fangame project of mine called The Fated Hour. I was probably already a year or two or maybe even three deep in the game by now, and after a lot of hyping up the community, this was their first chance to play the game. I spent months and months coding this iteration of my engine, and by my standards back then, it seemed like bleeding edge technology. I felt like I was going to blow everyone's minds.

It was a mess. Few were impressed. Even worse, the game straight up didn’t even run correctly for some people. What followed was multiple patches, and even rebuilding some entire areas from scratch. My ambitions got the better of me and I unintentionally cut corners -- not because I was trying to cheap out on doing proper development, but just because I simply didn’t know any better. I may have done the best I knew how to do, but I was running faster than my body could keep up with and I stumbled.

When I see things like the missing invisible walls in the prologue, or how easily partner characters commit suicide by accident, I think back to that demo for The Fated Hour, and how I've been in this exact place myself. There’s even a side quest in Lloyd 2 where you have to track a floating girl as she drifts through a level -- there was a nearly identical set piece in The Fated Hour, where you were chasing a robot. It’s a very strange feeling to see something like that and think, “I’ve been here before.” Like looking through a window at a younger version of yourself.

It’s true that I stumbled, but I didn’t let that stop me. I learned by doing. I kept going. Three years later, a game of mine was featured on TV, leading to more than a million downloads. The mistakes of past projects did not weigh me down and I soldiered onwards, newfound knowledge in hand.

So where does that leave us with Lloyd the Monkey 2, then. Well, it's not exactly a game to compete with Super Mario Odyssey, but given the circumstances in which it was created, I don't think that's necessarily the point. As a learning experience clearly made for the fun of its own creation, I think it's a success. And who knows what awaits in the years to come?

#writing #review #lloyd the monkey 2 #steam #noah meyer

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letterboxd · 4 years

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Pure Verhoeven.

Writer and director Jeffrey McHale talks to Dominic Corry about his new documentary You Don’t Nomi—an examination of the cult surrounding Paul Verhoeven’s 1995 “masterpiece of shit”, Showgirls—and recommends a few campy sequels to watch afterwards.

Few films have enjoyed as interesting a post-release existence as Paul Verhoeven’s 1995 film Showgirls. A classic “blank check” movie—that is, a film made with unnatural freedom thanks to a director’s prior success—Verhoeven and controversial screenwriter Joe Eszterhas attempted to build on the success of their 1992 smash Basic Instinct by upping the on-screen sauce in a riff on All About Eve, set in the “high-stakes” world of Las Vegas striptease.

Elizabeth Berkley, at the time still defined by her performance as the (mostly) virtuous Jessie in the Saturday-morning teen sitcom Saved By The Bell, led the film as Nomi Malone, a young woman who arrives in Vegas, gets work stripping in a low-rent club, then ascends to the sought-after position of lead showgirl in a big casino’s “classy” choreographed striptease show, replacing the previous star Cristal Conners (Gina Gershon).

Proudly sporting the otherwise box-office-neutering NC17 rating, Showgirls was marketed as a serious adult drama about ambition and the price of success. It was not received as such, instead met with huge amounts of ridicule by audiences and critics alike. Pick a Letterboxd review at random, and you get, for example, “Beautiful direction, so if you put it on mute, it’d probably be great. But nearly every actor is sorely miscast and the script is the hottest garbage.”

Poor Berkley received a lot of the blame, and although she continued to work, the venomous (and often misogynistic) critiques hindered her career as a big-screen leading lady.

Then something funny happened—the film was re-evaluated as a camp classic, driven largely by the queer community, who embraced its over-the-top ridiculousness. The cult has grown considerably over the years, expanding into midnight screenings and even live stage adaptations. Subsequent DVD releases have leaned into the perception by offering commentary tracks that acknowledge the movie’s glorious failings.

Showgirls’ continued presence in the culture has even seen it experience something of an artistic redemption. Its perception is now well beyond that of being simply a camp classic that is so fun because it’s so bad—it’s a genuine cultural touchstone that tells us a lot about how audiences judge films featuring overt sexuality. Indeed, among the many ironies associated with the film is that it was partially designed to highlight American sexual hypocrisy, then failed spectacularly in a manner that effectively highlighted American sexual hypocrisy.

Kyle MacLachlan and Elizabeth Berkley in ‘Showgirls’.

A brief survey of Letterboxd reviews finds plenty of fans. In a half-star review alongside the exhortation to “please for the love of God watch Showgirls”, Letterboxd member Jesse writes: “There shouldn’t be any shame in liking something you know is bad, I don’t have to try and re-codify Showgirls as a secretly good classic just because of how amazing it is. It truly deserves its cult following.” Jesse makes particular mention of the infamous swimming pool sequence, a scene “so unsexy… that it achieves camp euphoria, a pure moment of enlightened cheese that needs to be seen to be believed”.

“‘So bad it’s good’ it may be for some but I happen to be among the camp that thinks Showgirls is genuine good: a misunderstood work brimming with brilliance,” writes Jaime Rebenal, while Matt Lynch argues that it’s often mistaken for “a satire of American greed and attendant dreams of stardom, when its true target is the apparatus that sells those dreams to an endlessly returning audience of narcissistic suckers.”

Or, as Joe puts it, “The Rosetta Stone for understanding this entire movie (if not life itself) is the shot of Elizabeth Berkley angrily slamming a ketchup bottle on the table and causing a bright red stream of ketchup to come flying out.”

Jeffrey McHale’s ridiculously entertaining new documentary You Don’t Nomi looks at the cult of Showgirls from a multitude of angles, including the evolving critical and cultural perception of the film, how Verhoeven’s characterization of his intentions have changed over the years, the significance of the film within the LGBTQIA+ community, and how Berkley eventually emerged from the whole affair as something of a hero.

McHale makes fantastic use of footage from Verhoeven’s killer filmography to emphasize his points, alongside interviews with a variety of cultural critics. He tells the story of April Kidwell, the writer, producer and star of I, Nomi, a one-woman musical comedy about the life of Nomi Malone before and after her adventures in Showgirls. Kidwell is a fascinating presence in the film, and not just because she also played Nomi in the stage show Showgirls: The Musical! and Berkley’s character in the Saved By The Bell-inspired Bayside: The Musical!.

The twentieth-anniversary ‘Showgirls’ screening at Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

The documentary features illuminating footage from the twentieth-anniversary screening of Showgirls at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery in Los Angeles, an event that Berkley attended, where she received a rapturous response from the thousands of fans present.

McHale attended that screening, and told Letterboxd that that’s where his deeper interest in the film was properly sparked.

Jeffrey McHale: I had seen it already, ten years prior to that, but that was the first time I saw it with an audience. I think that was, officially, the largest screening of Showgirls that has happened. There were 4,000 people there. I’m not from LA, but I’ve lived in LA for the last eight years, and I’ve gone to a couple of those Hollywood Forever screenings and I don’t think anyone in our group anticipated Elizabeth Berkley showing up. It felt epic. It was a historic moment in the afterlife of Showgirls.

I didn’t walk away [from that screening] thinking ‘I should make a documentary’, but I was mostly interested in kind of finding out more. You’re always curious if you can figure anything out about the intentions or what the filmmakers had in mind, so that’s what inspired me to start consuming everything that had been written about Showgirls. I read the Adam Layman book, the book of poems, [lots of] articles, and I was just scouring the internet for reviews. And what I found was this wide range of really interesting opinions, theories and people’s relationships with the film. Everything was just so different. You set out looking for answers, and it’s not about getting the answer for it, it’s about this ever-evolving relationship that we have with this piece of art.

At what point did you come to realize the degree to which the queer community had embraced this film? As a gay man myself, it feels like it’s part of the fabric of our culture, ’90s culture. The poet Jeffrey Conway, when I interviewed him, he said it perfectly: it’s just like in your DNA, you know? It appeals to the queer culture community, you cannot explain it but you’re just kind of drawn to it. I thought that was an interesting way of describing the experience of watching something like that.

This film appears to only be widening the cult of Showgirls. It’s been a really fun project, and I’ve been blown away by the response it’s getting. I didn’t really know what the end result would be when I started. I knew that whatever you make, there will be a very vocal and excited and enthusiastic fan base. I’ve been very surprised by the broad appeal. These are people who have never seen Showgirls and are really drawn to it, and find the message and the story, the culture, and the way that we consume media, the way that we critically talk about things. It’s been a wild ride.

The twentieth-anniversary ‘Showgirls’ screening at Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

You point out the hypocrisy of how audiences are willing to see Verhoeven’s films as satirical when it comes to the violence (as with Robocop and Starship Troopers), but when it comes to the sex, the audience gets prudish. Paul and Joe talked about that on a lot of their press junket interviews: America’s fine with the violence and the violence gets you rated PG13, but then you have something as human as sex, then that’s shunned and discouraged. It was interesting going back and just looking at the way in which Elizabeth was criticized. And the way that Paul was criticized. Just the way she was ripped apart for her physical features and all that, it was disgusting. I think we’ve evolved a little bit further in that sense. I don’t think that you’d see a Gene Siskel review, the way that he describes her face, those details, like comparing which one was hotter, it was like: this is what we’re reviewing? Actresses’ physical attributes? It was disgusting. I think we’ve gotten better in that sense.

How did you encounter April Kidwell? She brought a lot to the film. She was one of the later additions to the project, after we’d started reaching out to people. I knew that she was in the musical. Then I found out that she had also done Saved By The Bell. It was really interesting that she played two Elizabeth Berkley characters, to get her opinion on it. From the very first phone call, she was just so open. I was blown away by her story and how vulnerable she was, just putting herself out there. She’s been very open about her experience and the way that it was therapeutic for her. She’s the heart and soul of Nomi. She’s somebody who went through something awful, disgusting, terrible, and now she’s found power and strength, within—specifically—the character. The act of performing Nomi on stage was therapeutic for her. It was an experience that no other person I spoke with had. She’s amazing.

Gina Gershon in ’Showgirls’.

I loved how you used footage from the other Verhoeven films to provide additional commentary. How did you come to adopt that filmmaking strategy? When I went in, I didn’t how much of that would play into the narrative. I wasn’t familiar with his earlier work. But when I started to go back and watched all of his Dutch films, I was surprised by how all the dots, everything just felt like it was connecting. All these motifs and scenes and shots. And how repetitively these things popped up. So I wanted a visual way, to kind of make it a subplot, where the characters were interacting with Showgirls, where their experience paralleled the contributors, so that was a way to visually tie it back to the argument that people like to think Showgirls sits by itself outside of all of Paul’s other films, like Starship Troopers, Robocop and Total Recall, but tying it into the argument that it’s Verhoeven at his purest, [which is what] I like to think of Showgirls as.

I’m a huge Verhoeven nut and I’d always been disturbed by the dog food subplot in Spetters [in which a takeout van sells croquettes made with jelly-meat], but I had never drawn the connection to Showgirls [in which Cristal and Nomi bond over both having once been so poor that they had to survive on dog food]. I’d also never noticed how much vomiting is a recurring motif for him. Yeah! Women vomiting! It was always women that were throwing up, which is just bizarre. The doggy chow thing I thought was interesting because [initially] I felt like ‘oh this is a Joe Eszterhas bit’, something from his script that’s just bizarre and weird, but then when I saw that thread from Spetters, it was just like ‘oh my god, you’ve done the whole eating doggy chow thing before’.

I’ve always been interested in Verhoeven’s evolving description of the film himself; how he has recast history a bit to say he was in on the joke, but the funniest thing I thought he ever said about it was that he regretted not putting a serial killer plot in Showgirls, because that would’ve distracted the Americans. Had you heard that? I have yes. I think Adam Layman mentioned that. [Verhoeven]’s like: “Basic Instinct was enough of a thriller that people could watch it.” That was something I’d heard a couple of times before. I think he’d actually been considering it, like a death or a murder or something.

Thanks for making your list of Campy Sequels To Watch After Showgirls. Talk us through them. What did you make of Showgirls 2: Penny’s From Heaven? I’ve only seen clips. It’s a film that might be better in small doses, not one whole thing, because I think it’s, like, two and half hours long. I think it took me a couple of viewings to get through the whole thing. But it’s interesting because [filmmaker] Rena Riffel plays Penny/Hope in Showgirls. She wrote it, directed it and starred in it, and it follows her character playing off Nomi’s leaving Vegas to go to Hollywood. [Riffel] was in Mulholland Drive, so part of me thinks she was trying to do a David Lynch thing. Or a John Waters thing. She’s definitely very aware of the afterlife and the over-the-top campiness of it. So there’s all these little Easter eggs where she’s drawing comparisons to Showgirls. But it’s super low budget, and she kind of embraces that. I would recommend it to hard core fans of Showgirls; it’s definitely not a movie for everybody.

‘Showgirls 2: Penny’s From Heaven’, featuring writer-director Rena Riffel (right) as Penny.

Grease 2 ‘Cool Rider’—amazing. Christmas-tree dress. I like that the gender roles were flipped. And it’s a fun movie. It’s a fun movie that I always enjoyed as kid.

Gremlins 2: The New Batch That was another one that I saw late. And I mean, the musical number, Hulk Hogan, just knowing that the director went all out and didn’t hold anything back. I mean—Vegetable Gremlin? There are just so many things it in that are bizarre, and it didn’t follow the traditional 80s/90s sequel formula.

Beyond The Valley of the Dolls Yeah. You know that Roger Ebert wrote that, right? That’s another one that’s probably closer to Showgirls 2 in the Russ Meyer aesthetic of it. But these are all films that had similar [critical trajectories]—it was panned when it came out but got [a] second life. I mean not to the scale that Showgirls has, but I think people revisit it and embrace it for what it

Magic Mike XXL It feels like they’re more in on the joke, and I kind of found it more enjoyable than the first one, just because it didn’t seem like it was taking itself so seriously. And Jada Pinkett Smith is kind of playing the Matthew McConaughey role. It’s The Big Chill meets Chippendales. And as far as the dance numbers go, it feels a lot campier and they’re a little bit more aware of what’s happening. Not as much as like a failed-seriousness kind of camp, but there’s something going on there.

Final question. Showgirls: good or bad? I call it a masterpiece of shit.

‘You Don’t Nomi’ is available to stream or rent on digital and VOD services.

#showgirls #showgirls 2 penny's from heaven #paul verhoeven #joe ezsterhas #camp classics #lgbtqia #queer cinema #elizabeth berkley #jeffrey mchale #letterboxd

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silent-era-of-cinema · 4 years

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Clara Gordon Bow (July 29, 1905 – September 27, 1965) was an American actress who rose to stardom in silent film during the 1920s and successfully made the transition to "talkies" in 1929. Her appearance as a plucky shopgirl in the film It brought her global fame and the nickname "The It Girl". Bow came to personify the Roaring Twenties and is described as its leading sex symbol.

Bow appeared in 46 silent films and 11 talkies, including hits such as Mantrap (1926), It (1927), and Wings (1927). She was named first box-office draw in 1928 and 1929 and second box-office draw in 1927 and 1930. Her presence in a motion picture was said to have ensured investors, by odds of almost two-to-one, a "safe return". At the apex of her stardom, she received more than 45,000 fan letters in a single month (January 1929).

Two years after marrying actor Rex Bell in 1931, Bow retired from acting and became a rancher in Nevada. Her final film, Hoop-La, was released in 1933. In September 1965, Bow died of a heart attack at the age of 60.

Bow was born in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn at 697 Bergen Street,[9] in a "bleak, sparsely furnished room above [a] dilapidated Baptist Church". Her birth year, according to the US Censuses of 1910 and 1920, was 1905. The 1930 census indicates 1906 and on her gravestone of 1965, the inscription says 1907, but 1905 is the accepted year by a majority of sources.

Bow was her parents' third child, but her two older sisters, born in 1903 and 1904, had died in infancy. Her mother, Sarah Frances Bow (née Gordon, 1880–1923), was told by a doctor not to become pregnant again, for fear the next baby might die as well. Despite the warning, Sarah became pregnant with Clara in late 1904. In addition to the risky pregnancy, a heat wave besieged New York in July 1905, and temperatures peaked around 100 °F (38 °C). Years later, Clara said: "I don't suppose two people ever looked death in the face more clearly than my mother and I the morning I was born. We were both given up, but somehow we struggled back to life."

Bow's parents were descended from English, Irish and Scottish immigrants who had come to America the generation before. Bow said that her father, Robert Walter Bow (1874–1959), "had a quick, keen mind ... all the natural qualifications to make something of himself, but didn't...everything seemed to go wrong for him, poor darling". By the time Clara was four and a half, her father was out of work, and between 1905 and 1923, the family lived at 14 different addresses, but seldom outside Prospect Heights, with Clara's father often absent. "I do not think my mother ever loved my father", she said. "He knew it. And it made him very unhappy, for he worshiped her, always."

When Bow's mother, Sarah, was 16, she fell from a second-story window and suffered a severe head injury. She was later diagnosed with "psychosis due to epilepsy". From her earliest years, Bow had learned how to care for her mother during the seizures, as well as how to deal with her psychotic and hostile episodes. She said her mother could be "mean" to her, but "didn't mean to ... she couldn't help it". Still, Bow felt deprived of her childhood; "As a kid I took care of my mother, she didn't take care of me". Sarah worsened gradually, and when she realized her daughter was set for a movie career, Bow's mother told her she "would be much better off dead". One night in February 1922, Bow awoke to a butcher knife held against her throat by her mother. Clara was able to fend off the attack, and locked her mother up. In the morning, Bow's mother had no recollection of the episode, and later she was committed to a sanatorium by Robert Bow.

Clara spoke about the incident later:

It was snowing. My mother and I were cold and hungry. We had been cold and hungry for days. We lay in each other's arms and cried and tried to keep warm. It grew worse and worse. So that night my mother—but I can't tell you about it. Only when I remember it, it seems to me I can't live.

According to Bow's biographer, David Stenn, Bow was raped by her father at age sixteen while her mother was institutionalized. On January 5, 1923, Sarah died at the age of 43 from her epilepsy. When relatives gathered for the funeral, Bow accused them of being "hypocrites", and became so angry that she even tried to jump into the grave.

Bow attended P.S. 111, P.S. 9, and P.S. 98.[13] As she grew up, she felt shy among other girls, who teased her for her worn-out clothes and "carrot-top" hair. She said about her childhood, "I never had any clothes. ... And lots of time didn't have anything to eat. We just lived, that's about all. Girls shunned me because I was so poorly dressed."

From first grade, Bow preferred the company of boys, stating, "I could lick any boy my size. My right arm was quite famous. My right arm was developed from pitching so much ... Once I hopped a ride on behind a big fire engine. I got a lot of credit from the gang for that."[15] A close friend, a younger boy who lived in her building, burned to death in her presence after an accident. In 1919, Bow enrolled in Bay Ridge High School for Girls. "I wore sweaters and old skirts...didn't want to be treated like a girl...there was one boy who had always been my pal... he kissed me... I wasn't sore. I didn't get indignant. I was horrified and hurt."

Bow's interest in sports and her physical abilities led her to plan for a career as an athletics instructor. She won five medals "at the cinder tracks" and credited her cousin Homer Baker – the national half-mile (c.800 m) champion (1913 and 1914) and 660-yard (c. 600 m) world-record holder – for being her trainer. The Bows and Bakers shared a house – still standing – at 33 Prospect Place in 1920.

In the early 1920s, roughly 50 million Americans—half the population at that time—attended the movies every week. As Bow grew into womanhood, her stature as a "boy" in her old gang became "impossible". She did not have any girlfriends, and school was a "heartache" and her home was "miserable." On the silver screen, however, she found consolation; "For the first time in my life I knew there was beauty in the world. For the first time I saw distant lands, serene, lovely homes, romance, nobility, glamor". And further; "I always had a queer feeling about actors and actresses on the screen ... I knew I would have done it differently. I couldn't analyze it, but I could always feel it.". "I'd go home and be a one girl circus, taking the parts of everyone I'd seen, living them before the glass." At 16, Bow says she "knew" she wanted to be a motion pictures actress, even if she was a "square, awkward, funny-faced kid."

Against her mother's wishes but with her father's support, Bow competed in Brewster publications' magazine's annual nationwide acting contest, "Fame and Fortune", in fall 1921. In previous years, other contest winners had found work in the movies. In the contest's final screen test, Bow was up against an already scene-experienced woman who did "a beautiful piece of acting". A set member later stated that when Bow did the scene, she actually became her character and "lived it". In the January issues 1922 of Motion Picture Classics, the contest jury, Howard Chandler Christy, Neysa McMein, and Harrison Fisher, concluded:

She is very young, only 16. But she is full of confidence, determination and ambition. She is endowed with a mentality far beyond her years. She has a genuine spark of divine fire. The five different screen tests she had, showed this very plainly, her emotional range of expression provoking a fine enthusiasm from every contest judge who saw the tests. She screens perfectly. Her personal appearance is almost enough to carry her to success without the aid of the brains she indubitably possesses.

Bow won an evening gown and a silver trophy, and the publisher committed to help her "gain a role in films", but nothing happened. Bow's father told her to "haunt" Brewster's office (located in Brooklyn) until they came up with something. "To get rid of me, or maybe they really meant to (give me) all the time and were just busy", Bow was introduced to director Christy Cabanne, who cast her in Beyond the Rainbow, produced late 1921 in New York City and released February 19, 1922. Bow did five scenes and impressed Cabanne with true theatrical tears, but was cut from the final print. "I was sick to my stomach," she recalled and thought her mother was right about the movie business.

Bow, who dropped out of school (senior year) after she was notified about winning the contest, possibly in October 1921, got an ordinary office job. However, movie ads and newspaper editorial comments from 1922 to 1923 suggest that Bow was not cut from Beyond the Rainbow. Her name is on the cast list among the other stars, usually tagged "Brewster magazine beauty contest winner" and sometimes even with a picture.

Encouraged by her father, Bow continued to visit studio agencies asking for parts. "But there was always something. I was too young, or too little, or too fat. Usually I was too fat." Eventually, director Elmer Clifton needed a tomboy for his movie Down to the Sea in Ships, saw Bow in Motion Picture Classic magazine, and sent for her. In an attempt to overcome her youthful looks, Bow put her hair up and arrived in a dress she "sneaked" from her mother. Clifton said she was too old, but broke into laughter as the stammering Bow made him believe she was the girl in the magazine. Clifton decided to bring Bow with him and offered her $35 a week. Bow held out for $50 and Clifton agreed, but he could not say whether she would "fit the part". Bow later learned that one of Brewsters' subeditors had urged Clifton to give her a chance.

Down to the Sea in Ships, shot on location in New Bedford, Massachusetts and produced by independent "The Whaling Film Corporation", documented life, love, and work in the whale-hunter community. The production relied on a few less-known actors and local talents. It premiered at the Olympia Theater in New Bedford, on September 25, and went on general distribution on March 4, 1923. Bow was billed 10th in the film, but shone through:

"Miss Bow will undoubtedly gain fame as a screen comedienne".

"She scored a tremendous hit in Down to the Sea in Ships..(and).. has reached the front rank of motion picture principal players".

"With her beauty, her brains, her personality and her genuine acting ability it should not be many moons before she enjoys stardom in the fullest sense of the word. You must see 'Down to the Sea in Ships'".

"In movie parlance, she 'stole' the picture ... ".

By mid-December 1923, primarily due to her merits in Down to the Sea in Ships, Bow was chosen the most successful of the 1924 WAMPAS Baby Stars. Three months before Down to the Sea in Ships was released, Bow danced half nude, on a table, uncredited in Enemies of Women (1923). In spring she got a part in The Daring Years (1923), where she befriended actress Mary Carr, who taught her how to use make-up.

In the summer, she got a "tomboy" part in Grit, a story that dealt with juvenile crime and was written by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Bow met her first boyfriend, cameraman Arthur Jacobson, and she got to know director Frank Tuttle, with whom she worked in five later productions. Tuttle remembered:

Her emotions were close to the surface. She could cry on demand, opening the floodgate of tears almost as soon as I asked her to weep. She was dynamite, full of nervous energy and vitality and pitifully eager to please everyone.

Grit was released on January 7, 1924. The Variety review said "... Clara Bow lingers in the eye, long after the picture has gone."

While shooting Grit at Pyramid Studios, in Astoria, New York, Bow was approached by Jack Bachman of independent Hollywood studio Preferred Pictures. He wanted to contract her for a three-month trial, fare paid, and $50 a week. "It can't do any harm,"[15] he tried. "Why can't I stay in New York and make movies?" Bow asked her father, but he told her not to worry.

On July 21, 1923, she befriended Louella Parsons, who interviewed her for The New York Morning Telegraph. In 1931, when Bow came under tabloid scrutiny, Parsons defended her and stuck to her first opinion on Bow:

She is as refreshingly unaffected as if she had never faced a means to pretend. She hasn't any secrets from the world, she trusts everyone ... she is almost too good to be true ... (I) only wish some reformer who believes the screen contaminates all who associate with it could meet this child. Still, on second thought it might not be safe: Clara uses a dangerous pair of eyes.

The interview also revealed that Bow already was cast in Maytime and in great favor of Chinese cuisine.

On July 22, 1923, Bow left New York, her father, and her boyfriend behind for Hollywood. As chaperone for the journey and her subsequent southern California stay, the studio appointed writer/agent Maxine Alton, whom Bow later branded a liar. In late July, Bow entered studio chief B. P. Schulberg's office wearing a simple high-school uniform in which she "had won several gold medals on the cinder track". She was tested and a press release from early August says Bow had become a member of Preferred Picture's "permanent stock". Alton and she rented an apartment at The Hillview near Hollywood Boulevard. Preferred Pictures was run by Schulberg, who had started as a publicity manager at Famous Players-Lasky, but in the aftermath of the power struggle around the formation of United Artists, ended up on the losing side and lost his job. As a result, he founded Preferred in 1919, at the age of 27.

Maytime was Bow's first Hollywood picture, an adaptation of the popular operetta Maytime in which she essayed "Alice Tremaine". Before Maytime was finished, Schulberg announced that Bow was given the lead in the studio's biggest seasonal assessment, Poisoned Paradise,[51] but first she was lent to First National Pictures to co-star in the adaptation of Gertrude Atherton's 1923 best seller Black Oxen, shot in October, and to co-star with Colleen Moore in Painted People, shot in November.

Director Frank Lloyd was casting for the part of high-society flapper Janet Oglethorpe, and more than 50 women, most with previous screen experience, auditioned. Bow reminisced: "He had not found exactly what he wanted and finally somebody suggested me to him. When I came into his office a big smile came over his face and he looked just tickled to death." Lloyd told the press, "Bow is the personification of the ideal aristocratic flapper, mischievous, pretty, aggressive, quick-tempered and deeply sentimental." It was released on January 4, 1924.

The New York Times said, "The flapper, impersonated by a young actress, Clara Bow, had five speaking titles, and every one of them was so entirely in accord with the character and the mood of the scene that it drew a laugh from what, in film circles, is termed a "hard-boiled" audience", while the Los Angeles Times commented that "Clara Bow, the prize vulgarian of the lot ... was amusing and spirited ... but didn't belong in the picture", and Variety said that "... the horrid little flapper is adorably played ..."

Colleen Moore made her flapper debut in a successful adaptation of the daring novel Flaming Youth, released November 12, 1923, six weeks before Black Oxen. Both films were produced by First National Pictures, and while Black Oxen was still being edited and Flaming Youth not yet released, Bow was requested to co-star with Moore as her kid sister in Painted People (The Swamp Angel). Moore essayed the baseball-playing tomboy and Bow, according to Moore, said "I don't like my part, I wanna play yours." Moore, a well-established star earning $1200 a week—Bow got $200—took offense and blocked the director from shooting close-ups of Bow. Moore was married to the film's producer and Bow's protests were futile. "I'll get that bitch", she told her boyfriend Jacobson, who had arrived from New York. Bow had sinus problems and decided to have them attended to that very evening. With Bow's face now in bandages, the studio had no choice but to recast her part.

During 1924, Bow's "horrid" flapper raced against Moore's "whimsical". In May, Moore renewed her efforts in The Perfect Flapper, produced by her husband. However, despite good reviews, she suddenly withdrew. "No more flappers ... they have served their purpose ... people are tired of soda-pop love affairs", she told the Los Angeles Times, which had commented a month earlier, "Clara Bow is the one outstanding type. She has almost immediately been elected for all the recent flapper parts". In November 1933, looking back to this period of her career, Bow described the atmosphere in Hollywood as like a scene from a movie about the French Revolution, where "women are hollering and waving pitchforks twice as violently as any of the guys ... the only ladies in sight are the ones getting their heads cut off."

By New Year 1924, Bow defied the possessive Maxine Alton and brought her father to Hollywood. Bow remembered their reunion: "I didn't care a rap, for (Maxine Alton), or B. P. Schulberg, or my motion picture career, or Clara Bow, I just threw myself into his arms and kissed and kissed him, and we both cried like a couple of fool kids. Oh, it was wonderful." Bow felt Alton had misused her trust: "She wanted to keep a hold on me so she made me think I wasn't getting over and that nothing but her clever management kept me going." Bow and her father moved in at 1714 North Kingsley Drive in Hollywood, together with Jacobson, who by then also worked for Preferred. When Schulberg learned of this arrangement, he fired Jacobson for potentially getting "his big star" into a scandal. When Bow found out, "She tore up her contract and threw it in his face and told him he couldn't run her private life." Jacobson concluded, "[Clara] was the sweetest girl in the world, but you didn't cross her and you didn't do her wrong." On September 7, 1924, The Los Angeles Times, in a significant article "A dangerous little devil is Clara, impish, appealing, but oh, how she can act!", her father is titled "business manager" and Jacobson referred to as her brother.

Bow appeared in eight releases in 1924.

In Poisoned Paradise, released on February 29, 1924, Bow got her first lead. "... the clever little newcomer whose work wins fresh recommendations with every new picture in which she appears". In a scene described as "original", Bow adds "devices" to "the modern flapper": she fights a villain using her fists, and significantly, does not "shrink back in fear".

In Daughters of Pleasure, also released on February 29, 1924, Bow and Marie Prevost "flapped unhampered as flappers De luxe ... I wish somebody could star Clara Bow. I'm sure her 'infinite variety' would keep her from wearying us no matter how many scenes she was in."

Loaned out to Universal, Bow top-starred, for the first time, in the prohibition, bootleg drama/comedy Wine, released on August 20, 1924. The picture exposes the widespread liquor traffic in the upper classes, and Bow portrays an innocent girl who develops into a wild "red-hot mama".

"If not taken as information, it is cracking good entertainment," Carl Sandburg reviewed September 29.

"Don't miss Wine. It's a thoroughly refreshing draught ... there are only about five actresses who give me a real thrill on the screen—and Clara is nearly five of them".

Alma Whitaker of The Los Angeles Times observed on September 7, 1924:

She radiates sex appeal tempered with an impish sense of humor ... She hennas her blond hair so that it will photograph dark in the pictures ... Her social decorum is of that natural, good-natured, pleasantly informal kind ... She can act on or off the screen—takes a joyous delight in accepting a challenge to vamp any selected male—the more unpromising specimen the better. When the hapless victim is scared into speechlessness, she gurgles with naughty delight and tries another.

Bow remembered: "All this time I was 'running wild', I guess, in the sense of trying to have a good time ... maybe this was a good thing, because I suppose a lot of that excitement, that joy of life, got onto the screen."

In 1925, Bow appeared in 14 productions: six for her contract owner, Preferred Pictures, and eight as an "out-loan".

"Clara Bow ... shows alarming symptoms of becoming the sensation of the year ... ", Motion Picture Classic Magazine wrote in June, and featured her on the cover.

I'm almost never satisfied with myself or my work or anything...by the time I'm ready to be a great star I'll have been on the screen such a long time that everybody will be tired of seeing me...(Tears filled her big round eyes and threatened to fall).

I worked in two and even three pictures at once. I played all sorts of parts in all sorts of pictures ... It was very hard at the time and I used to be worn out and cry myself to sleep from sheer fatigue after 18 hours a day on different sets, but now [late 1927] I am glad of it.

Preferred Pictures loaned Bow to producers "for sums ranging from $1500 to $2000 a week" while paying Bow a salary of $200 to $750 a week. The studio, like any other independent studio or theater at that time, was under attack from "The Big Three", MPAA, which had formed a trust to block out Independents and enforce the monopolistic studio system. On October 21, 1925, Schulberg filed Preferred Pictures for bankruptcy, with debts at $820,774 and assets $1,420. Three days later, it was announced that Schulberg would join with Adolph Zukor to become associate producer of Paramount Pictures, "catapulted into this position because he had Clara Bow under personal contract".

Adolph Zukor, Paramount Picture CEO, wrote in his memoirs: "All the skill of directors and all the booming of press-agent drums will not make a star. Only the audiences can do it. We study audience reactions with great care." Adela Rogers St. Johns had a different take: in 1950, she wrote, "If ever a star was made by public demand, it was Clara Bow." And Louise Brooks (from 1980): "(Bow) became a star without nobody's help ..."

The Plastic Age was Bow's final effort for Preferred Pictures and her biggest hit up to that time. Bow starred as the good-bad college girl, Cynthia Day, against Donald Keith. It was shot on location at Pomona College in the summer of 1925, and released on December 15, but due to block booking, it was not shown in New York until July 21, 1926.

Photoplay was displeased: "The college atmosphere is implausible and Clara Bow is not our idea of a college girl."

Theater owners, however, were happy: "The picture is the biggest sensation we ever had in our theater ... It is 100 per cent at the box-office."

Some critics felt Bow had conquered new territory: "(Bow) presents a whimsical touch to her work that adds greater laurels to her fast ascending star of screen popularity."

Time singled out Bow: "Only the amusing and facile acting of Clara Bow rescues the picture from the limbo of the impossible."

Bow began to date her co-star Gilbert Roland, who became her first fiancé. In June 1925, Bow was credited for being the first to wear hand-painted legs in public, and was reported to have many followers at the Californian beaches.

Throughout the 1920s, Bow played with gender conventions and sexuality in her public image. Along with her tomboy and flapper roles, she starred in boxing films and posed for promotional photographs as a boxer. By appropriating traditionally androgynous or masculine traits, Bow presented herself as a confident, modern woman.

"Rehearsals sap my pep," Bow explained in November 1929, and from the beginning of her career, she relied on immediate direction: "Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it." Bow was keen on poetry and music, but according to Rogers St. Johns, her attention span did not allow her to appreciate novels. Bow's focal point was the scene, and her creativity made directors call in extra cameras to cover her spontaneous actions, rather than holding her down.

Years after Bow left Hollywood, director Victor Fleming compared Bow to a Stradivarius violin: "Touch her, and she responded with genius." Director William Wellman was less poetic: "Movie stardom isn't acting ability—it's personality and temperament ... I once directed Clara Bow (Wings). She was mad and crazy, but WHAT a personality!". And in 1981, Budd Schulberg described Bow as "an easy winner of the dumbbell award" who "couldn't act," and compared her to a puppy that his father B. P. Schulberg "trained to become Lassie."

In 1926, Bow appeared in eight releases: five for Paramount, including the film version of the musical Kid Boots with Eddie Cantor, and three loan-outs that had been filmed in 1925.

In late 1925, Bow returned to New York to co-star in the Ibsenesque drama Dancing Mothers, as the good/bad "flapperish" upper-class daughter Kittens. Alice Joyce starred as her dancing mother, with Conway Tearle as "bad-boy" Naughton. The picture was released on March 1, 1926.

"Clara Bow, known as the screen's perfect flapper, does her stuff as the child, and does it well."

"... her remarkable performance in Dancing Mothers ... ".

Louise Brooks remembered: "She was absolutely sensational in the United States ... in Dancing Mothers ... she just swept the country ... I know I saw her ... and I thought ... wonderful."

On April 12, 1926, Bow signed her first contract with Paramount: "...to retain your services as an actress for the period of six months from June 6, 1926 to December 6, 1926, at a salary of $750.00 per week...".

In Victor Fleming's comedy-triangle, Mantrap, Bow, as Alverna the manicurist, cures lonely hearts Joe Easter (Ernest Torrence), of the great northern, as well as pill-popping New York divorce attorney runaway Ralph Prescott (Percy Marmont). Bow commented: "(Alverna)...was bad in the book, but—darn it!—of course, they couldn't make her that way in the picture. So I played her as a flirt." The film was released on July 24, 1926.

Variety: "Clara Bow just walks away with the picture from the moment she walks into camera range."

Photoplay: "When she is on the screen nothing else matters. When she is off, the same is true."

Carl Sandburg: "The smartest and swiftest work as yet seen from Miss Clara Bow."

The Reel Journal: "Clara Bow is taking the place of Gloria Swanson...(and)...filling a long need for a popular taste movie actress."

On August 16, 1926, Bow's agreement with Paramount was renewed into a five-year deal: "Her salary will start at $1700 a week and advance yearly to $4000 a week for the last year."[78] Bow added that she intended to leave the motion picture business at the expiration of the contract, i.e., in 1931.

In 1927, Bow appeared in six Paramount releases: It, Children of Divorce, Rough House Rosie, Wings, Hula and Get Your Man. In the Cinderella story It, the poor shop-girl Betty Lou Spence (Bow) conquers the heart of her employer Cyrus Waltham (Antonio Moreno). The personal quality —"It"— provides the magic to make it happen. The film gave Bow her nickname, "The 'It' Girl."

The New York Times: "(Bow)...is vivacious and, as Betty Lou, saucy, which perhaps is one of the ingredients of It."

The Film Daily: "Clara Bow gets a real chance and carries it off with honors...(and)...she is really the whole show."

Carl Sandburg: "'It' is smart, funny and real. It makes a full-sized star of Clara Bow."

Variety: "You can't get away from this Clara Bow girl. She certainly has that certain 'It'...and she just runs away with the film."

Dorothy Parker is often said to have referred to Bow when she wrote, "It, hell; she had Those."[109] Parker in actuality was not referring to Bow or to Bow's character in the film It, but to a different character, Ava Cleveland, in the novel of the same name.

In 1927, Bow starred in Wings, a war picture rewritten to accommodate her, as she was Paramount's biggest star, but was not happy about her part: "[Wings is]...a man's picture and I'm just the whipped cream on top of the pie." The film went on to win the first Academy Award for Best Picture. In 1928, Bow appeared in four Paramount releases: Red Hair, Ladies of the Mob, The Fleet's In, and Three Weekends, all of which are lost.

Adela Rogers St. Johns, a noted screenwriter who had done a number of pictures with Bow, wrote about her:

There seems to be no pattern, no purpose to her life. She swings from one emotion to another, but she gains nothing, stores up nothing for the future. She lives entirely in the present, not even for today, but in the moment. Clara is the total nonconformist. What she wants she gets, if she can. What she desires to do she does. She has a big heart, a remarkable brain, and the most utter contempt for the world in general. Time doesn't exist for her, except that she thinks it will stop tomorrow. She has real courage, because she lives boldly. Who are we, after all, to say she is wrong?

Bow's bohemian lifestyle and "dreadful" manners were considered reminders of the Hollywood elite's uneasy position in high society. Bow fumed: "They yell at me to be dignified. But what are the dignified people like? The people who are held up as examples for me? They are snobs. Frightful snobs ... I'm a curiosity in Hollywood. I'm a big freak, because I'm myself!"

MGM executive Paul Bern said Bow was "the greatest emotional actress on the screen", "sentimental, simple, childish and sweet," and considered her "hard-boiled attitude" a "defense mechanism".

With "talkies" The Wild Party, Dangerous Curves, and The Saturday Night Kid, all released in 1929, Bow kept her position as the top box-office draw and queen of Hollywood.

Neither the quality of Bow's voice nor her Brooklyn accent was an issue to Bow, her fans, or Paramount. However, Bow, like Charlie Chaplin, Louise Brooks, and most other silent film stars, did not embrace the novelty: "I hate talkies ... they're stiff and limiting. You lose a lot of your cuteness, because there's no chance for action, and action is the most important thing to me." A visibly nervous Bow had to do a number of retakes in The Wild Party because her eyes kept wandering up to the microphone overhead. "I can't buck progress .. I have to do the best I can," she said. In October 1929, Bow described her nerves as "all shot", saying that she had reached "the breaking point", and Photoplay cited reports of "rows of bottles of sedatives" by her bed.

According to the 1930 census, Bow lived at 512 Bedford Drive, together with her secretary and hairdresser, Daisy DeBoe (later DeVoe), in a house valued $25,000 with neighbors titled "Horse-keeper", "Physician", "Builder". Bow stated she was 23 years old, i.e., born 1906, contradicting the censuses of 1910 and 1920.

"Now they're having me sing. I sort of half-sing, half-talk, with hips-and-eye stuff. You know what I mean—like Maurice Chevalier. I used to sing at home and people would say, 'Pipe down! You're terrible!' But the studio thinks my voice is great."

With Paramount on Parade, True to the Navy, Love Among the Millionaires, and Her Wedding Night, Bow was second at the box-office only to Joan Crawford in 1930. With No Limit and Kick In, Bow held the position as fifth at box-office in 1931, but the pressures of fame, public scandals, overwork, and a damaging court trial charging her secretary Daisy DeVoe with financial mismanagement, took their toll on Bow's fragile emotional health. As she slipped closer to a major breakdown, her manager, B.P. Schulberg, began referring to her as "Crisis-a-day-Clara". In April, Bow was brought to a sanatorium, and at her request, Paramount released her from her final undertaking: City Streets (1931). At 25, her career was essentially over.

B.P. Schulberg tried to replace Bow with his girlfriend Sylvia Sidney, but Paramount went into receivership, lost its position as the biggest studio (to MGM), and fired Schulberg. David Selznick explained:

...[when] Bow was at her height in pictures we could make a story with her in it and gross a million and a half, where another actress would gross half a million in the same picture and with the same cast.

Bow left Hollywood for Rex Bell's ranch in Nevada, her "desert paradise", in June[120] and married him in then small-town Las Vegas in December. In an interview on December 17, Bow detailed her way back to health: sleep, exercise, and food, and the day after[122] she returned to Hollywood "for the sole purpose of making enough money to be able to stay out of it."

Soon, every studio in Hollywood (except Paramount) and even overseas wanted her services. Mary Pickford stated that Bow "was a very great actress" and wanted her to play her sister in Secrets (1933), Howard Hughes offered her a three-picture deal, and MGM wanted her to star in Red-Headed Woman (1932). Bow agreed to the script, but eventually rejected the offer since Irving Thalberg required her to sign a long-term contract.

On April 28, 1932, Bow signed a two-picture deal with Fox Film Corporation, for Call Her Savage (1932) and Hoop-La (1933). Both were successful; Variety favored the latter. The October 1934, Family Circle Film Guide rated the film as "pretty good entertainment", and of Miss Bow said: "This is the most acceptable bit of talkie acting Miss Bow has done." However, they noted, "Miss Bow is presented in her dancing duds as often as possible, and her dancing duds wouldn't weigh two pounds soaking wet." Bow commented on her revealing costume in Hoop-La: "Rex accused me of enjoying showing myself off. Then I got a little sore. He knew darn well I was doing it because we could use a little money these days. Who can't?"

Bow reflected on her career:

My life in Hollywood contained plenty of uproar. I'm sorry for a lot of it but not awfully sorry. I never did anything to hurt anyone else. I made a place for myself on the screen and you can't do that by being Mrs. Alcott's idea of a Little Woman.

Bow and actor Rex Bell (later a lieutenant governor of Nevada) had two sons, Tony Beldam (born 1934, changed name to Rex Anthony Bell, Jr., died July 8, 2011) and George Beldam, Jr. (born 1938). Bow retired from acting in 1933. In September 1937, she and Bell opened The 'It' Cafe in the Hollywood Plaza Hotel at 1637 N Vine Street near Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles. It closed in 1943. Her last public performance, albeit fleeting, came in 1947 on the radio show Truth or Consequences. Bow was the mystery voice in the show's "Mrs. Hush" contest.

Bow eventually began showing symptoms of psychiatric illness. She became socially withdrawn, and although she refused to socialize with her husband, she also refused to let him leave the house alone. In 1944, while Bell was running for the U.S. House of Representatives, Bow tried to commit suicide. A note was found in which Bow stated she preferred death to a public life.

In 1949, she checked into the Institute of Living to be treated for her chronic insomnia and diffuse abdominal pains. Shock treatment was tried and numerous psychological tests performed. Bow's IQ was measured "bright normal", while others claimed she was unable to reason, had poor judgment and displayed inappropriate or even bizarre behavior. Her pains were considered delusional and she was diagnosed with schizophrenia; however, she experienced neither auditory nor visual hallucinations. Analysts tied the onset of the illness, as well as her insomnia, to the "butcher knife episode" back in 1922, but Bow rejected psychological explanations and left the Institute. She did not return to her family. After leaving the institution, Bow lived alone in a bungalow, which she rarely left, until her death.

Bow spent her last years in Culver City, under the constant care of a nurse, Estalla Smith, living off an estate worth about $500,000 at the time of her death. In 1965, at age 60, she died of a heart attack, which was attributed to atherosclerosis discovered in an autopsy. She was interred in the Freedom Mausoleum, Sanctuary of Heritage at Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California. Her pallbearers were Harry Richman, Richard Arlen, Jack Oakie, Maxie Rosenbloom, Jack Dempsey, and Buddy Rogers.

#clara bow #silent movie stars #silent era #silent hollywood #silent cinema #golden age of hollywood

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sortinghatchats · 4 years

Text

Sorting The Get Down

For those who are new to the sortinghatchats system, check out our basics post. But to sum it up: the way we play this game, your “primary” House is WHY you do things and your “secondary” House is HOW.

We just really like defining our terms, okay. It makes us happy.

“If making something of myself means losing myself, then what am I making?”

Ezekiel “Zeke” “Books” Figuero.

For someone who appears so pulled between two people– Shao and Mylene– it seems like Zeke ought to be a loyalist house like Hufflepuff or Slytherin. However, despite the existence of these two pretty faces, it’s not the people who Zeke is torn between-- the story. He's torn between the realities that Mylene and Shao respectively adhere to. Shao believes in the music; Mylene believes in more practical things.

Tellingly, when Zeke brings up how he feels pulled apart, it’s more often “Mylene/Shao was right” rather than anything about what they mean to him. The thing that most drives his decisions and his desires is what he thinks is true, real, and right. Who he loves plays second fiddle to what he believes.

Zeke’s a Gryffindor primary, and a “burned” one, who wants very badly to be sure, to act and not regret, but who continually doubts his own instincts and ambitions. Throughout the series, Zeke tries to borrow the surety of the people around him who he trusts– primarily Mylene and Shao, but occasionally others.

Mylene and her uncle believe (and try to convince Zeke) that if you play the game, you can come out on top– do well in school, take the internship, nod and smile and dance when you need to. The world is not exactly fair, but it’s winnable. Zeke tries to live in their world, but the dishonesty he feels it requires rankles him to his very Gryffindor core.

Zeke is a Gryffindor secondary, as well as a primary, and it’s this secondary that makes even minor deceit so unappealing to him. Zeke is honest, blunt, and–when he’s “on”–blazingly inspirational to the people around him. Whether Shao, who would follow Zeke into a burning building, or the crowds that flock to his words, Zeke is a poet who hands people a part of himself and changes them in the giving.

That’s what burns in the poem his teacher tries to get him to read. That’s what first brings him to Shao’s attention, spitting words at him even with a knife to his throat. That’s what gets Zeke the internship, after his tardiness– waiting in the lobby, refusing to be moved, and his direct, unapologetic words to Mr. Gunns. It’s also what loses him the position, when he finds he can no longer stomach it. Finally and fully fed up, he tries believing in Shao’s reality instead for awhile– quitting the firm, leaving his aunt’s home. When Zeke believes something, however briefly, he goes all in.

Amusingly, if Shao had gotten Zeke’s opportunity there– interning in Manhattan– and believed it was real, he could have done it. Zeke’s Gryffindor Secondary wouldn’t let him live the lie, or the game– look at his final speech to Mr. Gunns. But Shao would have done it, Hufflepuff Secondary grinding away, if someone had convinced him it was real and given him that chance. But that’s not the story Shao believes in– and no one was ever going to give Shao that type of chance.

Shao believes in the music, the art, the word. The Get Down matters to him and when Zeke’s in his orbit he sees what Shao sees– the power of creation, emotion, and freedom at their fingertips.

“When I get up on stage and say what I gotta say, I know who I am, and right now y’all are pushing me to be who you want me to be and nobody’s asking what I wanna be.” - Zeke

But in the finale, Zeke finally breaks from Shao’s reality as well. It’s not that he doubts Shao’s affection, loyalty, or talent– Zeke, upon Boo-boo’s arrest, finally and fully loses faith in Shao’s world and the “story” his friend tells. Despite his promises to Shao about family and brotherhood, Zeke can walk away from him with an angry set of his shoulders and his head held high. Shao is living in what Zeke sees as a damaging fantasy, and no loyalty or love will bind Zeke into going down with him.

Zeke, who begins the story as a burned Gryffindor, unmoored, grows into a man who wants to hope. He is looking for a way out and up and he is offered two of them– the internship through Mylene’s uncle, and Shao’s Get Down.

“See, downtown, at my internship, or at Yale, I’m the lucky orphan child whose fate depends on being one of the good negroes, and never losing my cool or saying what I actually think, or, God forbid, being me. On the mic, I’m the master of my destiny. And I love it.” - Zeke

In the end, Zeke arguably choose a middling path: a top-tier college acceptance earned not through connections and handshakes, but through the strength and honesty of his essay about the Get Down, the streets, and Shao. Whatever else they have left between them, that is something Shao gave him– the certainty that the words matter– and something that Mylene gave him– forcing him to admit he wanted out.

Awkward, careful, and earnest, with a mind that goes a mile a minute, Ra-ra is a Gryffindor Primary who hasn’t, until the end of the series, found a path that yanks properly at his heartstrings. Meeting the Zulus was a transformative experience for him– finally finding someone else putting into words something that resonates with his emotional and generous moral instincts. He is delighted and immediately invested. Ra-ra doesn’t have Zeke’s “burned” quiet desperation, but he’s been unmoored and undirected and now he’s found something to believe in.

His Ravenclaw secondary keeps him upright, making him the planner of the group, giving him a way to focus his frenetic energy, and leaving him freaked out by spontaneity. Ra-ra tries to communicate through concepts he already knows– like when he uses the Force to convince the Zulus to ally with them. In his hands, working with what he already knows is what works best.

His secondary sets him apart from the reactive, spontaneous kids who make up the rest of the Get Down Brothers. He and Shao alone among them aren’t flexible Slytherin secondaries or formidable Gryffindor secondaries– it makes sense that they’re the ones who go to Annie’s with the plan,

Boo-boo, in contrast, doesn’t mind making it up as he goes along. A very young Slytherin/Slytherin, he goes after what he wants and feels guiltless about what he might have to do to get there.

The baby of the family and too comfortable to have seen many real consequences come his way, the first time anything really stops Boo-boo in his tracks is when Dizzee almost dies on stage. Boo-boo is briefly shocked right back into his priorities– his brother, not money or fame or pretty girls. He sits scribbling by Dizzee’s bedside until his big brother feels better enough to stand.

I’m very curious who this kid would have grown up to be (Season 2 where are you). His priorities, when it really comes down to it, are himself and the people he loves– unlike Shao, our other Slytherin, and one with a lot less self-love, whose priorities are only the people he loves, not ever himself.

In turns terrified, furious, and numb, Shao is a Slytherin who’s spent his life abandoned, used, abused, and betrayed. It’s unsurprising and entirely sensible that he’d end up a “burned” Slytherin– a Slytherin primary who tries hard to love no one, fearing the kind of hurt that comes from caring and losing. In the empty, burned-out places his Slytherin’s loyalties should lie, Shao has built himself a Gryffindor model– it is this model that drives most of his actions, lighting the fire beneath his art– first his tagging, and then his DJing. These things matter because they matter, and Shao values a fearless, emotional, all-in investment to his dreams.

Under the shout of Shao’s Gryffindor model and the aching murmur of his burned Slytherin, Shao’s Hufflepuff Secondary is what actually gets the work done. When he wants something or values something, he puts his nose to the grindstone and just does what needs to happen– whether surviving Annie’s industry, working his way up to earn Flash’s respect and mentorship, and learning the DJ trade. The kid doesn’t seem to sleep– and it’s one of the things that in parts baffles, delights, and enrages him about Zeke, who can create and inspire where Shao just grinds away until something beautiful happens. Zeke’s Gryffindor Secondary, charismatic, blunt, and arresting, seems like magic to Shao.

Similarly, Shao’s Gryffindor primary model sees a kindred spirit in Zeke, whose Gryffindor Primary keeps flirting with the idea of not being burnt and maybe believing in things outside just the practical. Shao, who clings to the surety and fire of his model, can’t understand how Zeke can stand wavering and splitting his attention. For Shao, his Gryffindor model is a comfort and a guiding light. If music is the answer, then it’s the answer. But Zeke, who is at times alternately caught up in Shao’s world of art, music, and brotherhood or pulled toward the practicalities and worldly ambitions of Manhattan and Mylene’s dreams, doesn’t believe that the way Shao thinks he should.

Complicating that is Shao’s slowly warming Slytherin– Zeke tells him they’re family and Shao starts to believe him, something that only makes Shao more confused about Zeke’s shifting priorities as the kid painstakingly makes up his heart and mind. On the surface, these two look similar– Gryffindors in love with the music– but when shit really hits the fan it’s not why either of them are here.

Shao lives in his Gryffindor model so well he at time almost seems to really be one. The importance of the Get Down to him borders on religious, obsessive, and transcendent. It’s at the heart of his motivations for the majority of the plot, and is one of the main ways he bonds with burned Gryffindor Zeke. They love the music, they value the art, and it lights them both up in ways they’ve rarely experienced in their lives and that they treasure now. Even as his clenched-fist heart slowly unspools for Zeke and the brothers, most of the time Shao’s Gryffindor is still the loudest thing in the room. The music is so vital to who Shao is that it obfuscates his true sorting for much of the story.

But when Annie came to threaten Shao in the finale, she didn’t use the music. She didn’t even threaten his life. She threatened his family and, even abandoned, even with Zeke’s angry words ringing in his ears, Shao caves in a heartbeat for the sake of his brothers.

“If you’re an alien, you’ve got to be an alien.”

Dizzee shares Zeke’s primary, a burned Gryffindor, who holds himself back from being his whole and true self. Like Zeke, who has been repressing his ambitions in a hopeless world, Dizzee has been repressing a part of himself. As a Gryffindor who runs on his faith in himself and his instincts, feeling unwelcome and alien in his world hurts Dizzee just as the unfairnesses of Zeke’s childhood losses have hurt Zeke’s trust in the world and in himself.

Dizzee’s avatar of Rumi highlights Dizzee’s feelings of exclusion and danger–he is the alien in a top hat, who is always dressed for an opera but knows they will never let him in the door, who knows they are afraid of him and will kill him for that fear.

Both of their paths are one of turmoil, healing, and acceptance of themselves in worlds that have never made space for them. Zeke found himself pulled between Mylene and Shao’s worlds, looking for a place he could feel like he belonged. Eventually, Zeke forged a path that didn’t follow either of their dreams for him– his story is one of a Gryffindor learning once again to trust himself. Similarly, after his near death experience, Dizzee realizes it’s time to stop denying he’s an “alien” and sets out to live his life unfettered by all the things he thought he was supposed to pretend to be. He’s at his brightest in the painting scene with Thor– he is an alien! he’s ready for his first opera!

While quiet for a “classic” Gryffindor secondary (Zeke, who can whip out a speech that stops the hearts of everyone who hears it, is a more classic example), Dizzee shares that secondary’s need to “live” their beliefs and their inspirational, sometimes-otherworldly shine. His “shouting” comes in the form of his tagging– as he says, Mayor Koch will know his name when the train goes by.

A Ravenclaw Primary, Mylene asks her mother, her uncle, Jackie, her agent, etc, for advice and life lessons but only takes on the lessons that she weighs and agrees with. She’s certain, but she thinks, first, and she will follow her own decisions even when they disagree with what her heart wants most. Yolanda tells her it might be unkind to ask Zeke to wait for her, so she considers that notion, finds it valid, and brings it up to discuss to him. She takes carefully into account the opinions, facts, and beliefs of the people around her and applies them to her life as she finds right. Less instinctive than Gryffindor Zeke, once she’s devoted to a cause or a dream she is just as immovable.

Mylene is at her best when she is doing something she loves. It is her rendition of her adored Misty Holloway’s number that first sets her on the road to greatness. A Hufflepuff secondary, her persistence, compassion, and loyal connections build her success throughout the series. She changes Jackie’s life during that first recording session, refusing to give up or back away, demanding his best with a delightfully Puff mix of patience, compassion, and stubbornness.

Similarly, the culmination of her power in the story is the scene in the producer’s office where she threatens to walk away and forces him to cave. Not only has she finally come to terms with her value and her talent, but she also knows that if she walks so will all the people in the room who have come to believe in her– for her. Her power comes from her own work and dedication, but also from the respect she garners from those who cross her path.

While Zeke is trying to come to terms with who he is and what he wants, Mylene is learning to trust her own value. A Ravenclaw who considers the facts in front of her carefully, her validation comes from outside– Jackie’s assessments, her successes, Zeke’s faith, writing “I am the One” with Jackie’s friends in the hotel room. However, once that value has been communicated to her– and once she’s been convinced– it is an unwavering truth for her. Whether performing after Misty’s impromtu show, in front of her father’s horrified face, or nearly walking out of the producer’s office, she comes to know her own worth and that certainty gives her world-changing power.

Mylene’s uncle is a Slytherin Primary, like Shao, devoted to his family loved ones even when they can’t or don’t love him back– his brother, Mylene’s mother, and Mylene, who does not know he’s truly her father. He’s content, in his way, to serve, support, and adore them from the sidelines. His devotion is unwavering and he expects little from them in return.

His Slytherin primary’s loyalties are widespread and deeply driven. Mylene and her family are closest to his heart, but he’s genuinely taken the whole of his part of the Bronx under his wing. Some of this comes from his enjoyment of power, authority, and respect, but his affection and loyalty to “his people” is strong and true.

While he’d love to see himself as a Hufflepuff secondary, working through respect, reputation, and connections, those attempts often fall through for him. What he is a clever and flexible opportunist– a Slytherin Secondary who’s happy to transform and step up to any situation in his path. He embodies the same house combo as Boo-boo, but is far older and more experienced, with far more selfless ambitions and wider, steadying responsibilities.

tl;dr

Ezekiel “Books” Figuero - Burned Gryffindor Primary/Gryffindor Secondary“Dizzee” Kipling - Burned Gryffindor Primary/Gryffindor Secondary“Ra-ra” Kipling - Gryffindor Primary/Ravenclaw Secondary“Boo-boo” Kipling - Slytherin Primary/Slytherin SecondaryFrancisco Cruz - Slytherin Primary/Slytherin Secondary Mylene Cruz - Ravenclaw Primary/Hufflepuff SecondaryShaolin Fantastic - Burned Slytherin Primary/Hufflepuff Secondary

#sortinghatchats #sorting hat chats #the get down

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darthrena · 4 years

Text

I Should Tell You

Part II: I'd Die For One More Day

Part I here

He comes to her in dreams.

Solid beneath her touch. Breath warm against her skin.

She swallows his exhales and whispered declarations and takes him inside her.

"Are you here? Is this real?" she cries after pleasure crashes over her.

Exhilaration bleeds into fear into loneliness into pleasure all over again.

"As real as you need me to be."

o-o-o-o-o-o

50 days after Exolgor, Rey digs out the ancient moisture vaporators.

She finds them buried deep in the sand, corroded by the elements, damaged, some in pieces and others long scavenged for parts. The Force aids her, divulges their locations with the memory of moisture and wind, drags them through the earth and into the light.

The power which had flooded her on Exolgor, imbued with the voices and the wisdom of generations of Jedi, has left her.

It is only Rey that remains.

But that, at least, is nothing new.

There is little to make her smile these days, but it is with fierce satisfaction that she lines them in the courtyard, and buffs them into, if not pristineness, at least presentability. Readying them to this point was a task of two daycycles' hard effort, however the true testament of her hard scrabble skills is to follow.

"This isn't going to work, Rey."

The familiar, gruff tone is both a delight and an irritant. Glowing blue in the guise of a Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker hovers beside her, arms crossed and a look of obvious skepticism as he glances over her scavenging.

"It will." Rey rises to her feet slowly, stretching out kinks and wearied limbs, and pointedly not meeting the Jedi Master's gaze. It is easy to recall the frustrating grump from Ach-to, in moments such as this.

"Rey, the circuits are degraded beyond repair. Even a mechanic as skilled, and resourceful, as you won't be able to get these running. You'd be better off scrapping them for parts, and trading for newer units. Better yet," and now Luke's chiding tone softens somewhat, "go back to your friends. Make a life with the family you chose."

Ignoring Force Ghosts with unhelpful comments and unwanted suggestions, Rey grunts as she pulls open the side paneling of one unit to reveal the inner circuitry. The sight isn't pretty, but she is reluctant to give voice to any dismay before her almost-Master. Still, despite his apparent reservations, Rey remains optimistic. Luke's family had operated several vaporators suitable for moisture farmers. Rey's ambitions are more modest. Two to three working units would provide much needed water reserves and allow her to carve out a kitchen garden from the commercial hydroponics garden she found in the homestead.

After muttering, "Stubborn girl," Luke leaves her alone.

The rest of the day passes in industrious silence as Rey works on the vaporators into the evening.

"Whatcha doing?"

This time she greets the interruption with an upturned mouth. "What does it look like?"

Ben dangles his long legs over a crate of dated provisions, an amused air as he studies her efforts. This time, Ben wears sand colored robes tied with a brown belt, dark hair cropped slightly but for a narrow braid by his ear. They peak out slightly, round and adorably large. Pink colors cheeks as if the thought transferred to him. And maybe it did. If the garb does not warn her, Ben's face would--high cheekbones and pale, smooth, unblemished skin. No faint scar to bisect soft, warm, vulnerable eyes.

"Looks like your scavenging days aren't behind you."

And Rey is grinning now. Why is it only now that those years of hardship and anguish fill her with a fierce pride? She survived, not for any powerful bloodline or great purpose, but through her own determination to live. "Your Uncle was very unhelpful. It would have been nice to have some practical advice from someone who maintained them. But it was not to be."

"I'm afraid I won't be much better help." Ben hops down from the crate, or perhaps more accurately, floats into a standing position, and then materializes at her side to peer into the decrepit vaporator upon which she currently worked. "Is that the power cell?"

Rey glances to where he indicated, then nods. "Backup power cell. Runs primarily on solar energy."

"Well that's about all I know. Learned enough to build my saber, and what not to do from watching my Dad tinker with the Falcon."

Tatooine’s double suns threaten to bleed across the horizon, and take the needed daylight in their passing. Although Rey has already managed to salvage some workable solar panels and rig up the existing lighting grid, her power reserves remain conservative and she has taken to stopping work after the suns have set.

Letting her tools rest on their makeshift tool box, Rey studies her ghostly former nemesis and almost lover as she ponders the sum of her knowledge against the seemingly endless mysteries of the Force. “You look younger. Than I remember you. Or since the other times I’ve seen you.”

“Death becomes me, you mean.” The words come at a deadpan, barely a flicker to ruffle his normally intemperate expression. At last a smirk peaks out.

"No--" Rey aims a smack through a translucent arm that sends a wave of static up her wrist. "That's not funny." But soon she is laughing anyway. If a bit of tears glimmer upon her lashes, Ben is kind enough not to comment. "Can you change your form?"

He glances down over his own body, taking in the robes and the back of his hands. "I'm wearing my padawan robes. I must be a teenager." Incredibly his ears, visible with the shorter cut, flush a darker blue-purple.

Rey gives him a lingering once over, before drawling, "I like it. Very pure." As Ben's blush only intensifies, Rey chuckles and heads toward the 'fresher, Ben trailing her. Although knowing Ben would hear her anyway, while shucking clothes on the fresher floor, Rey calls over her shoulder, "Do you have any control over your appearance?"

"Uh-h, sort of."

At the odd tone, Rey glances up to see Ben pointedly averting his gaze. Reminded suddenly of her own flustered state after glimpsing Ben shirtless in the Force bond, Rey smiles fondly. In a low voice, she calls, "You can look, if you want."

Very slowly, as if afraid she would retract the offer, Ben turns to face her.

And the breath stutters in her chest.

Lust and longing, love and agony. They are written in the depths of soulful eyes and the taut planes of his face. For what could have been theirs. For what should have been theirs. He drinks her in like a man starved of love and denied his greatest desire. The intensity of his longing drives away any levity, and drags the clawed feet of desperation through her chest cavity. Wet trails tracking down her cheeks are reflected in the tears glimmering in Ben's eyes.

"Will I see you?" Later. In my dreams. The longing in her own voice is palpable.

"Yes," he promises with the resolution of his former persona. Then his voice breaks. "I'll try."

o-o-o-o-o-o

She is buffeted by waves.

That day, on Kef Bir, she had jumped into the tempest without hesitation. Kylo on her heels.

She, for whom the water trough in Niima Outpost had once been the most water she had ever seen.

Fear, and a fierce determination, had kept her moving, kept her fighting.

Something is out there. Beyond the waves. She follows it like a siren call, helpless to the instinct for survival.

This time it is not a watery graveyard that awaits her, nor a convergence of Darkness.

The waves part to a grassy plane with a red sun on the horizon. It is here she finds him. It is here he waits.

“Ben.”

A hand trembles as she presses it against the soft black shirt to feel the steady beat of his heart. In disbelief, a soft sound escapes her. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me. I’m here.” Ben speaks the same wonder, the same longing for touch and connection. “Rey,” he pleads, reaching forward to cradle her jaw in his large hands, the same which had gripped her with determination to transfer his lifeforce into her own.

“You’re not alone.” The familiar promise slips her lips earnestly before she brings them in wordless devotions.

Ben leans into her kiss eagerly, sliding his hands from her jaw to cup the back of head, carrying her forward.

The kiss on Exolgor had been sweet, but brief, joyous and awoken to shared passion. To remember those seconds of wholeness was to be reminded of the agony of separation which followed.

Rey pushes those thoughts aside and gives herself to the warm, smooth press of Ben's mouth, his hard, powerful body against her own. She opens to the tentative probe of his tongue, and chases his shy retreat with her own.

In the real world, beyond this reprieve of breathy sighs and intimate pleasures, Rey has never known a lover, and neither, she suspects, has Ben. Perhaps there, noses would have bumped in awkward kisses and fumbling touches would have them laughing as often as sighing.

Minds intertwined in this dreamscape, more so even than the connection of their Force bond, thought translates into feeling. Ben's love, Ben's longing echoes seamlessly with her desire for closeness and answering reassurance.

There is no pain when he enters her. Only ecstasy.

The teasing glimpses of skin and perfect harmony of their bodies in combat were a prelude to this rightness.

There is a wave that is Rey, building to a momentum both frightening and exhilarating, and the shoreline that is Ben, bringing her to greater heights and steadily drawing her in.

"Ben, please--". Don't leave me. Be with me.

The exhale in her ear, the sharp pistoning of Ben's solid thighs, the hot drip of tears upon her shoulder, and his voice breaking a rough command, "Let go, Rey," break and remake her. I'm here. You're not alone.

Be with me.

Passion bleeds into serenity, and Rey loses herself.

Rey is Ben, and Ben is Rey.

Have they always been one? Two broken shapes finding meaning in a whole, that nothing, not even death, could divide.

In this moment of grace, they are together.

Also posted on AO3

#my fic #tros #rise of skywaker spoilers #writing through my feelings #reylo #reylo fanfic #part 2

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