#A violent fantasy which is always only a little below the surface. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

von-posts-stuff · 3 years

Text

Hyacinth

Dedicated to @dead-bones

Synopsis

When Wilbur sends Technoblade his plea for help, he sends it much too late for it to be of any use. Two months later, Technoblade arrives in the Dream SMP after an error with his communicator and comes upon a bloody revolution being fought with no resources and little chance of success. It gets worse from there.

(Takes place in an alternate universe, where Minecraft is its own reality with its own rules - demigods and their vassals, servers with supernatural sponsors that act as small pocket dimension, and a more fantasy take on Minecraft game elements - and there is a lot more going on in the dream smp than just a Hamilton a/b/o fanfiction nock off. This chapter (one) is 11k ish words!)

• Chapter One •

The encroaching heat he felt permeating his skin was a comfort in a way only he would understand. Constantly, he felt this stirring in his chest, a feeling which drew him closer to the sweltering heat of summer and the feeling of molten rock just meters from his grasp. Feelings which spoke of warm, dry nights curled into crevices to hide from the fan ends of the outside world, or sweltering trips to foreign villages where local residents would gaze at him and see either prey meant for the hunt or an abomination meant for the pit. These feelings, memories and instincts all neatly wrapped together, were stronger when he gazed upon the few surface lava pools which littered the fields around the home of his — Father? Brother? — friend, or noticed how the clear, blue skies of above held a source of burning which many overlander’s viewed as a burden. He actually quite liked that light source, so much like the glowing stones of his homeland, and yet so different. It reminded him of home, even if he rarely truly missed the harsh weather and unfriendly company of the Underlands.

Instead, it was a feeling of instinctual longing, perpetuated by the cacophony of voices echoing through his head like an audience yelling from the seats of an amphitheater. A feeling he couldn’t quite explain in either his tongue, or his dear friend's tongue. There was no descriptor for it. It just... was.

A lot of things about Technoblade just were.

His arms swung in a rhythmic motion, striking up and down with trained precision. The open field he occupied was blistering, the sun beating down against his bare skin — he still didn’t quite understand the concept of layered clothing — in a way that was both uncomfortable and deeply satisfying. Rarely was it this sunny in the mountain wilderness of the land his friend occupied; land he now occupied.

That was also a strange concept to him, land in which he belonged. Land which belonged to a person. The lands only belonged to the higher beings, ownership couldn’t be given away without permission and it would never truly belong to a single individual. He had lived in his homeland, a world scattered with fire and brutal tribes, and yet no single race owned any land. It all belonged to their patron.

He wondered idly when this concept of ownership came about, and what granted these overland dwellers such arrogance to think they weren’t subjected to these laws.

The gold blade in his hands made another swing down, stopping just below his waist. He had been out here for hours, practicing with the aid of his voices. Listening to instruction, adjusting his grip, imagining his enemies being cut down by the sword which had been with him for as long as he remembered. This practice was cathartic, something he did to maintain the illusion of routine in this new world. His friend always told him how he should sit down and relax, not understanding that it was something he needed to do.

(Swing your sword properly, don’t get distracted Technoblade, you need to focus, keep your shoulders back, that was awful form, Blood for the Blood god-)

He needed to focus, needed to fix whatever was wrong with him, square his shoulders, and somehow, someway, ignore that comforting heat against his skin and the dark desire to slice and kill-

“Techno!” A voice cut through the symphony of noise screaming at him from all directions, in a way which separated it from the sounds in his head. It made him pause mid-swing, causing his entire body to tense in reaction to the shout. The voice was bright, extremely young, and a couple pitches lower than his own. The name, his name, on the almost-stranger's lips was poorly pronounced as well, sounding like a warped version of his native tongue — like a child mimicking an adult with no real understanding behind that repetition. The pronunciation was irritating; too sharp, with no accent. It made the voices wail with injustice, frustrated and angry at the disrespect which was being given to him, their vessel. Technoblade didn’t care much. After all, he didn’t quite grasp the common words those overworlders spoke yet.

The little Wilbur Soot, his friend's son he learned. He had been there for only a few days, and yet he could only recall three things about the boy. One, he was extremely attached to Technoblades friend and his even younger second son; two, he was irritatingly chipper and endlessly excited about artistic hobbies; Three, he was quick to get attached to Technoblade and now spent his days wishing to pester the underworld native.

It was a weakness, to become and stay this attached to people. Something that Techno was constantly reminded of when the echoing voices called for the blood of the feeble child. It would be so, so easy to snap his neck, or to bring his golden blade down on the small beings neck, rendering him incapable of babbling endlessly at him-

(Kill, kill the disrespectful one, he doesn’t deserve to live after giving you such cheek, no don’t, the blond one will be sad, hes irritating, destroy him, don’t Technoblade-)

Technoblade was a child as well, but it never really felt like that. He felt so much older than his age, aided in his education by hundreds or even thousands of warriors and fighters. Techno could never enjoy the music which was strummed out of a guitar, or how the wild flowers littering the hills made beautiful flower crowns. He would never understand that simplistic beauty that could only truly be seen through the lense of an innocent child. He’d seen too much of this cruel world, and how sentient beings abuse each other.

Wilbur, the bright child with dark coloring and a love for the artistic, ran up with such vigor to Technoblade. He looked excited, willful and joyful. It was clear the small human with mildly pointed ears - maybe his fathers hybrid blood peaking through? - was on a mission, and Techno took a guess that the mission was him. More than a few voices called for him to take the gold sword which was now dropped to his side, clung in his right hand, and drive it through the child’s jugular. Techno had learned it was best to ignore the voices in this new, colder world when they wanted him to kill and maim.

“Techno, Techno! Dad wants you to come back in for dinner!” The child ran up the hill, stopping just before the pink haired warriors formed, panting heavily. He took a minute to catch his breath, before standing up straight and giving Techno a light smile before continuing with what was clearly on his mind. “We are having pork, freshly caught from a pair of wild boars-“

There was a pause, where Wilbur’s face fell. Technoblade felt his ear twitch, passively raising an eyebrow at Wilbur’s sudden hesitation. He idly wondered if Wilbur had stopped. Was having pork of any kind some sort of taboo in the overworld? Technoblade didn’t quite know what pork was, but he did know that wild boar was a species of hog. He was sure it tasted fine.

“That, uh”, Wilbur wring his hands in front of him, a sign of nervousness about a topic (weakness, it’s a weakness, exploit it Techno, use it-), “that isn’t, like, cannibalism or anything for you right?”

The eyebrow which was raised went even higher, the look on Techno’s face transferring into a deadpan which he was sure caused Wilbur’s heckles to rise. He had no way to express himself with his broken common, but he was positive his expression delivered his utter disappointment in the question. How would it be cannibalism? He wasn’t a wild hog, or a boar. He was a piglin, a hybrid. He wasn’t anything like Wilburs pathetic, weak overworld livestock. He was sure that these tusked pigs were more like the violent hoglins than anything like the piglins Technoblade was barely similar to.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that, how would I know? You are part piglin, which is like… a species of boar or pig right? At least that’s what Dad told me.” Wilbur took a moment to pause, staring at Technoblade with dismay and stubbornness. “So it only makes sense right? I’m not crazy.” Wilbur crossed his arms, a defensive stance in his small posture. The hybrid noticed how his lip jutted out and he tried to square his shoulders to appear taller. It wasn’t working as intended. The child was still tiny.

(Small, small, so small, easy prey, easy to kill, so easy to destroy, consume him Techno-)

Technoblade shook his head, unsure whether it was to inaudibly tell the voices off, or in response to Wilbur. It communicated his message effectively either way, as the kid before him brightened at the action, grinning wide at the hybrid-who-didn’t-quite-feel-like-a-child. His easy acceptance of Techno’s nonverbal answer mildly surprised the piglin hybrid. The warrior had thought for sure that the child would become angry or frustrated at being wrong. But he only brightened in response, uncrossing his arms and reaching out towards Technoblade with excitement.

Rushing forward and grabbing Technoblade by his free hand, Techno almost dropping his golden blade in the process, Wilbur yanked on the piglin hybrid with all the vigor of a distracted toddler. It was like Wilbur was a pet, whining and touching for attention, beckoning Technoblade to come with him. It caused Techno to tighten his grip on his sword, irrationally afraid it would be ripped from him, leaving him alone and defenseless in a world that was so much colder, with monsters just as dangerous as his homelands native species, and left afraid and without anything to defend himself, left weak-

(Never defenseless, always here, we are here, Techno is never alone, you will never be defenseless, the blood god is with you, we are with you, you are strong, strong, strong, powerful, you will be-).

His fears were only slightly abated with Wilbur’s large grin and wide innocent eyes. He looked so happy to just hold onto the hybrid warrior, dragging him from his practice with extreme vigor. Wilbur wouldn’t take his sword — he wouldn’t be able to, he just couldn’t. Technoblade was too strong for him, too powerful. He could take him apart with a wave of his hand, there was no need to panic.

Staring at his hand held in Wilbur’s grasp, Technoblade felt himself warm in a different way. The heat which came from inside of his chest instead of from the blazing sun. It was a strange sensation, one which he didn’t quite want to explain. It was as if the moment he came to the realization that Wilbur wasn’t going to harm him in any way, he had relaxed in the child's hold.

(Strange, this shouldn’t happen, destroy the child, it's comforting, let him take you home, don’t go with it, this is nice-)

“Come on!” Wilburs tug became even more insistent, “Dad and Tommy are waiting, and you know how much Tommy hates waiting! He’ll probably bother us, asking about training, or what we did today, or asking questions about-“ Wilbur continued to go on and on, pulling harshly on Technoblades hand as he led him south to the home his friend and Wilbur’s father stayed at. This time, Wilbur succeeded in moving him out of the wide flower fields and into the direction of the homely cottage with little to no effort. The child didn’t need to exert force with Technoblade so willing and compliant.

After all - for some odd reason - the voices quieted while Wilbur rambled on and on, and that desire for the heat of his homeland and the feel of boiling blood against his skin slowly drifted away as it was replaced with a new heat in his chest.

Warmed spread through him, and his grip instinctively tightened on his blade, grasping it for dear life. He wasn’t used to this need, this feeling of being...wanted for small and insignificant things such as commentary. Maybe this is what his friend (Phil, Dad, Father, Brother, Phil is friend) meant when he told Techno about the meaning of a home, and the meaning of family. Maybe this was what it was like to have a place to belong.

The voices let Technoblade have a moment of silence as Wilbur continued to ramble on. The silence in his head brought Technoblade nothing but comfort.

———————————————————————

The blistering heat of the uncovered sun irritated his skin and made him long for winter nights and dark shade. It was sweltering, irritating in a way that he had grown to know. He instead wished for those shaded days and winter nights where he and his closest allies made the world their own. The sun, as it was on this balmy day, high in the sky indicating noon time, caused him immense annoyance.

Once upon a time, he would have found the light beating down against his skin, causing him to sweat extensively, a comforting feeling, reminding him of his homeland and his patron.

Now it only served to frustrate him as he plowed and tilled his vast fields of potatoes, his shirt soaked against the front of his chest and back. He had even had to hide his tail, the sensitive skin becoming blistered in the blazing heat. With barely any plant variations for natural herbal protections on Hypixel’s large sky island fields he had claimed as his own, there wasn’t much he could do to protect himself from his greatest annoyance.

His native lands had long since ceased being home to him, and his patron god was a fickle master whom Technoblade viewed with more negative skepticism than any other. Unlike other demigods, such as the grand Hypixel and the flashy Beast, the Blood God never graced the mortal world with his presence. Instead, much like the God of Destruction and the missing End God, the supreme being sat on his metaphorical throne, watching the runes of his lands suffer under exploitation and limited innovation. Now, unlike when he was younger, Technoblade was more bitter than he liked to admit.

Bitter enough to grow a resentment for the heat, despite how the cold bites at his skin, and to avoid battles and blood sports after the downfall of his own state by hiding away in self-imposed isolation, only pulling himself from his loneliness to briefly placate the ghosts which lived inside him.

Technoblade had been in Hypixel for over a year now, specifically the Hypixel sky islands generated for personal use for much more wealthy and adventurous clients, and he had still not gotten used to the scheduled weather controls which served as part of the territory's famed functions. It wasn’t scheduled to rain, or to even overcast, for another few days if the ruling he had read in town a few weeks back was to be remembered. That didn’t change his current situation though. Technoblade was still blistering in the heat.

(Heat, heat, warmth, we like the warmth. Home, when are we going home, It's boring, why don’t we fight, lets go, battles to be won, wars to fight, kill, kill, maim, destroy-)

Technoblade ran a clawed hand over his sweaty brow, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he tried to determine if there was any relevant or important information being spewed at him. Turns out, like usual, there was nothing. “Chat”, Technoblade called out, talking at the blank space of air in front of him as he swung his farming hoe and let it casually rest on his shoulder, “shut up. You aren’t contributing anything useful”.

Like usual, the reprimand only served to irritate the cacophony of voices in the piglin hybrids head, causing them to screech even louder, rattling his brain with their bombardment of noise. With a groan, he took the same hand he used to wipe his brow and pressed it tiredly against his face. First the damned heat, reminding him so callously of the nether, now Chat was acting up and shouting opinions left and right. He still had another whole field to till before the night hit and he would have to defend his crops from wayward spiders and baby zombies, he didn’t have time to get distracted by the voices in his head.

Technoblade has been in this section of Hypixel for over a year now. He had first come to this land, this new territory of the Hypixel demigods' personal server, as an escape. The demigod’s vassale, Simon, had even hooked him up with all he needed to maintain a boring and nonviolent (for him) livestyle. Sure, there were small skirmishes which broke up the monotony - he still couldn’t understand how he had come about battling Squid Kid of all people in potato farming - but he had mostly kept to himself these past months, cutting contact with the outside world and staying away from tournaments, competitions, events, and anything in-between. He did not want to be involved with any state authority anymore, to be used and then discarded like a blunt weapon when his opinions and beliefs no longer align with the majority. He had no desire to spend time underneath the thumb of an oppressive regime, whether it be someone else's or his own.

He needed to be as far away from the Antarctic Empire and its bloody history as possible, and with all communicators and cameras turned off, he found himself desiring more and more of the peace brought about by the simplistic lifestyle of a farm on a private island. So, he obtained a prime piece of land, used his funds to get himself started, and then grinded dungeons in the territory's inner city to make ends meet - all while hiding himself from the public eye. He had dropped out so suddenly from the campaign event within Earth that it was inevitable that he would have to hide as the whole thing blew over. After all, his popularity had skyrocketed during that campaign, and the empire he and… his friends had built gained a completely absurd amount of notoriety.

Hiding was inevitable, and this quiet life was something Technoblade found himself desiring.

(Lies, utter lies, you miss it, we miss the carnage, we miss the grand battles, we miss Phil, battles and honor, glory, blood spilt in honor of the patron, blood for the blood god, blood for the blood god, blood for the blood god-)

This amphitheater of voices moved to a crescendo, echoing around him, shouting from all sides. The chant echoed and repeated throughout his mind, invading each and every one of his thoughts as it became louder and louder. Technoblade began to tremble, the hybrid's hands shaking before dropping the farming hoe. It wasn’t because of any fear or nervousness, but rather the voices channeling their feelings and desires through Technoblade, forcing him to feel the need for bloodshed and the need to destroy. He grabbed his shakiest hand, the one which dropped his farming hoe, with his decidingly steadier one. Clutching at it, he took three deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly as he tried to calm his body's reaction to what was being echoed around him.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened during his long vacation, if he could even call it that. They, Chat, had been getting more and more agitated and angry with him in recent months. He had stopped visiting the dungeons to take out monsters and mobs three months ago, had stopped interacting with other community members four months ago after he had won the potato harvest against Squid Kid. Techno had taken his routine seriously, falling into it easily. Get up at dawn, eat the harvested crops for a meal, go out to till and sow the fields, maintain his crops until noon, eat his harvested vegetables, go back out to remove any dead crops and replant more, head in at sunset, consume more harvested foods, go to sleep. It was a routine he had stuck to for almost three long months. No visits to the outside, only the occasional spiders or zombies invading his expanded floating island, barely any signal for his communicator to give him updates, just the same old steps repeated day in and day out.

So, Chat was upset with him. But they were always upset with him, when he ran from his responsibilities with the determination to hang his sword and axe up for good. They wanted him to go out and provide exhilarating fights, battling for honor and fortune. They wanted him to slay his enemies, or anyone else who got in the way, and consume the world as if it was his to devour. They wanted the world in the palm of his hand, so that they could see how it felt to hold it. Technoblade supposed that was just in their nature, being shades and ghosts of people who had long since passed, who had forgotten what it meant to be people as they were trapped within the vassal of the Blood god.

That would be him, far in the future. A cursed existence set to live out his afterlife trapped within the next poor soul who would be chosen upon birth to represent the patron.

Shaking his head, Techno looked out at his field pulling himself back together. “Chat, I need to work. I don’t have time for this.” His words incited another loud round of chattering, but at least they weren't chanting or channeling their wills through him, undermining his own personal freedom of choice. Reaching down, Technoblade picked up the farming hoe from the ground, swinging it a few times as he rolled his shoulders and looked out to his fields. He had almost finished the west field, its crops - potatoes and melons - almost ready to be completely harvested. Looking to the sky, Technoblade made note of the time as he put a hand up to shade his eyes. The sun was still relentless and glaring,but he noted how it seemed to be just past its highest point. He supposed he could take a break now, after all, he'd been in the field for hours at this point.

With a pointed sigh, Technoblade turned away from his farm lands, ignoring the cheering of his Chat in the background, and headed towards his small house over the hills. He had built it out of wood and stone, acquired through both natural and material means. It wasn’t home, per say, but it was a house he was comfortable with. The piglin hybrid wasn’t sure if he would ever have another home again.

Climbing up over the hills, using his beaten dirt paths and carved markers to tell which way he was going despite the fact he knew this land like the back of his own hand, Techno saw his house in all its glory. Heading in its direction from the west field, the trek was only ten or so minutes before he was standing in front of the structure he had seen at a distance. At closer inspection of his temporary home, he noticed the worn cracks along the cobblestone and the rot that was beginning to set into the wood. He needed to start maintaining renovations for the place, it was turning into a disaster. It might just fall apart on him while he slept.

Entering his home, Technoblade felt the rush of cool shaded air hit his overheated body, instantly chilling him. It was nice to be away from the heat. Not only was the cool shade pleasant on his body, but it also calmed his nerves and his agitation. No longer was his mind being subconsciously brought back to the nether of all places. The cold air and the cool colors of his small farming house dragged his thoughts away from bright reds and burning flame. This wasn’t his homeland, and it never would be. He was in the overworld, only his own personal choice could force him back into the fires of the underworld.

Moving through the house and winding in-between furniture, Technoblade headed for his kitchen, determined to get something to eat. He had long since given up maintaining or taking care of livestock after one too many incidents with kept bovines, but he had an abundant supply of pumpkins, melons, potatoes, and other various fruits and vegetables. It wasn’t as good as a steak or even some golden carrots, but it was nourishment enough for him to keep his physique and continue his work.

Roaming from one side of the kitchen to the other, the hybrid began rummaging through his cabinets, looking for any kind of stock base to use to make himself some sort of soup, when he saw it out of the corner of his eye.

A lit up communicator, sitting square in the middle of his crafted table.

The communicator had been dark for almost a year, the occasional message from Phil checking up on his notwithstanding - he never replied to those, eventually seeing their decline and cancelation. A lit up communicator meant an emergency then, either with the server he was occupying or with his… family.

Was his family in danger?

Moving quickly from his spot, Technoblade dashed forward to the communicator, grabbing it with a clawed hand and ignoring how his tail twitched in nervousness and worry. He hadn’t spoken to his family in years, besides Phil, and even those communications had been cut off and discarded with his lingering resentment towards the crow hybrid. He hadn’t even seen Tommy or Wilbur since the fateful day he and his dear friend (father, Phil, dadza, Phil is dad, Phil is your father, Techno-) had left to enter the campaign. That was nearly three years ago, Tommy would be almost seventeen now.

(Small Tommy, sweet Tommy, very rambunctious, Wilbur too, we miss them, why not go visit, they could be injured, maybe even worse, anyone who hurts our brothers must perish, we shall destroy anyone who harms them, did they get caught up in a scheme, where were they-)

Were they hurt? Did something, anything, happen to them?

Reaching forward, grasping at the old modeled communicator, Technoblade looked at the screen, desperately searching for the name of the sender. His eyes wandered from letter to letter, seeing but not completely understanding or grasping the situation.

Wilbur.

It was from Wilbur.

Why would Wilbur contact him now? They hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t been on the best terms even before he had left in pursuit of greater things. There was nothing for them to talk about, no acknowledgement needed between them. Wilbur wouldn’t contact him, not unless he truly and desperately needed him.

Opening his communicator up, he read the message out, noting how it sounded on his lips as he mumbled the letters and scanned the page.

“Techno”, he began to read the words, starting with the address sent by Wilbur, “ We haven’t been close in a while. We haven’t even spoken in… years.” Techno didn't know why that declaration stirred something inside him, igniting his soul with an ache he could only describe as longing. Had his absence in Wilbur’s life these past years affected him so much? Why did he contact him now then?

“Tommy and I found a place for ourselves, on a server created by a minor demigod and his vassal.” Subconsciously, Technoblade ran through the list of demigods and demigoddesses he knew of with territory. Hypixel, The Beast, The Hermit, and of course all the minor demigods and admins working for the Mojang Corporation, partnered with the God of Creation - Notch. There shouldn’t be any unregistered celestials, especially not young and minor ones, going around and creating servers with unregistered vassals. Already, the situation was beginning to worsen in Technoblades mind. Even he was registered as the Blood Gods vassal.

Technoblade continued on, ignoring the voices screaming out names and locations and threats of violence as he did so. “We created our own place, a community for ourselves. Just like you and Phil did, years ago when you left.” That gave him pause, before he continued on. “Our place has been taken from us now.”

What did Wilbur mean by ‘a community’ for themselves? Like what he and Phil did? What they had done, years ago, was enter a campaign organized by the major companies, a competition where communicators would broadcast the creations and the empires built from nothing on a server created to mimic the original Earth. It was a glorified television spectacle, with real world empires and bloody battles and death which could be permanent. His and Phil’s ‘place’ was an empire they had built from nothing and used to take over the entire campaign, securing their victory over a two-year long event. It wasn’t a home, certainly not after how Technoblade was betrayed. Certainly not now. He hoped to the gods that Wilbur and Tommy - little Tommy who was still a child by his calculation - were out there creating countries and starting wars. What kind of brother would he be if it was true, and he had abandoned them for years while they went around recklessly without his protection? Had running from his responsibilities really backfired this much?

He ignored the unanimous “yes” being echoed throughout his head.

Techno paused as he read the next part. “A tyrant has come to rule it, exiling us from our own home. We-” Techno took a steadying breath, before continuing, his chest alighting with injustice.

“We need you, Techno. We need help.” Techno stared at the paper in front of him, reading out the very last note before Wilbur had signed it.

“Please. For your brothers.”

How did it come to this? Where Wilbur would send such a desperate note, pleading for Technoblades help instead of just asking him. Techno did not need his brother to beg for his help. He didn’t need an emotional note filled with explanations and traced with sorrow and repressed anger. The hybrid would have come, even without all of that, if Wilbur really needed his help.

… He would’ve, right?

The piglin hybrid thought back on what he had been doing for the past year, hiding away and participating in harvesting competitions of all things. No, no he probably wouldn’t have left, would he? He was too content, too scared of facing Phil after up and leaving their empire to the dust, too desperate to get away from blood and death and fighting. Now, his brothers were fighting against the corruption of a failed empire - something which hit far too close to home fr comfort - and they needed him.

He needed to leave.

Putting his communicator up to his pointed ears, Technoblade was desperate to hear Wilbur’s voice. He didn’t know when this message was sent, he didn’t know if it had come through late or if it was an alert that came through today. He needed confirmation with Wilbur, needed to tell him he was on his way - he just needed to know where to go.

The communicator rang. And rang. And rang.

No answer.

Technoblade tried again and again, nearing twenty times before Chat started insisting it was useless and to stop wasting his time. Wilbur was not picking up, either indicating he couldn’t get through because of the distance between them, this server Wilbur talked about and it's whitelist settings, or there was damage on either of their ends. That worried the hybrid immensely. He needed to get into contact with someone who knew what was going on, who had an idea on where to start to get information about Wilbur and Tommy and what they were doing. Without getting the facts from the original source, Technoblade could only think of one person who may have the answers the piglin hybrid was seeking.

He needed to see Phil.

A feeling of dread and frustration filled his being as Chat began to scream Phil’s name around him. He didn’t want to speak to the other hybrid, he had been avoiding him for so long that he wasn’t even sure if their relationship would survive. Six months or more since the last message, a year since the last phone call and it had ended in a screaming match where Techno had accused Phil of betraying their friendship. He didn’t want to face that again.

He had no choice though, if he wanted to figure out what was going on with Wilbur and Tommy.

His palms were sweating as he narrowed his eyes at his communicator. The heat had begun to creep its way through the farming house yet again, causing him to grow warm in a way he hated. It was too warm, too balmy. It was overwhelming in a way only he could truly feel, in a way he couldn’t put to words. It just was.

Too many things about Technoblade just were, and he hated it. Pushing his communicator to his ear, he heard it ring twice before a click was audible and Techno knew he had reached who he was looking for.

“Phil, we need to talk”.

———————————————————————

Leaving Hypixel was easier than he thought it would be.

All he had to do was pack up a travel bag, grab all the important things littering the house and place them in an ender chest, and head out immediately to the ruined portal. Fixing the portal itself - which would take him to the hub town for the floating islands territory - took only an hour at most, and then he was in the small town center heading to the bustling city of Hypixel’s main territory. Another portal jump, and he was there, looking out at the vast tournament arenas, the large number of tourists and competitors which littered the expensive shops and restaurants, and the few residential areas usually kept for the more famous warriors and influencers. Technoblade used to have an apartment in that area, having been one of the largest earners all throughout his teenage years before his anarchist beliefs and bad experiences sucked all the joy out of corporate and nation sponsored tournaments.

Occasionally, on his way to the main server hub, he would witness crazed fans cosplaying competitors and fighters whom they enjoyed, and Technoblade even saw a costume depicting his own signature crown and cloak. It gave him a mild start, at first. He hadn’t known he was still relevant, not with his year long break from the public eye and his status as a hybrid. Usually, there was only begrudging respect given to those of mixed races on the sponsored public servers. A prejudice - especially against aggressive mob hybrids - which Technoblade remembered all too well with a shiver.

From the sector which took rich tourists and residents from the sky islands territory, it was easy to hide his more distinct features. Covering his sharp, downturned ears with a cloak hood, and his protruding tusks and piglin-like eyes with a plain bone mask. His tail was tucked into his trousers, and he made a point of keeping his hands - more specifically his sharp claws - out of obvious sight as he moved through the busy roads and occasional back alleys. He reached the Hypixel server hub soon, making sure to stay out of sight and not cause trouble. The only individuals who would know he left the server would be Simon and his admins, since Technoblade needed to enter his residents key to leave and enter Hypixel. He trusted Simon to keep his departure out of the public eye.

(Leaving, leaving, we are leaving, finally, are we going on a road trip, now the interstate is paved- be quiet-)

Shaking his head, Technoblade let out a sigh as he looked for an unassigned portal, where he could enter a personalized whitelist code. He needed a portal without a locked teleportation key to get to Phil’s small residential server. Noticing an unlit, unattended, unlabeled portal near the back of the Hypixel server hub, Technblade entered his residence key and headed to the back, ignoring the wide-eyed look that the admin on duty gave him.

From there, he entered the whitelist code for his- for Phil’s home into a transportation portal, and watched as it was lit, admiring the deep purple shade of energy and particles. Portal technology always baffled him, ever since he had entered his first one as a young child, searching for any way out of his homeland. They functioned off of the energy created by the servers, connecting them in a web of essence and almost-magic. A supernatural device which admins, vassals, and demigods have perfected the creation of, though Technoblade himself didn’t know any inner workings behind portal creation. Then again, he didn’t have his patron god present to guide him like many vassals did. His patron was too elusive and never present. A cruel, toxic master in some ways, leaving his blessing upon his vassals at birth and leaving them to figure out their purpose and allegiances alone, with only the previously dead vassals for help. And they were all decidingly unhelpful shades of their past selves.

Still, the portal was lit.

It was all too easy to enter the bright veil of spatial energy, feeling himself warp and bend and tear apart as he was deconstructed and reconstructed at the designated spawn point. Landing smoothly, Technoblade heard a small ping on his communicator, letting him know his arrival had been sent out in an alert in the small servers public channel.

It was too easy to come here, to enter the portal and arrive at the center of the small world which Phil had claimed his own. There was no grand entrance, no feast or welcome waiting for him. There was nothing to stop his pursuit either, the entire process of portal jumping entirely painless and normal. In the back of his mind he knew it would be like this, knew how easy it would be to get to this point, but the hybrid had expected it to be at least a little harder. It didn’t feel right to Technoblade, with how vehemently he was avoiding this place and its single occupant. He was expecting more.

It made him feel foolish for ever avoiding Phil in the first place.

Taking a look around the center of the server, Technoblade noticed how the once barren field had been cleaned up, decorated with wood and stone. A nice, clean path had been installed, heading in the direction of the home he remembered from his youth. In the distance, Technoblade could see the flower fields he used to train on, back when he had first arrived in Phil’s small world and came under his care, back when he wouldn’t let go of his golden sword and his language skills left much to be desired and he longed for the intense heat of his homeland. Oh, how far he had come since then.

Beginning his trek down to the cottage, Technoblade chose to listen to the ramblings and ravings of Chat as he tried to take note of every difference and change, trying to decide if he was happier with them, or distraught that everything didn’t look exactly like he remembered. He moved from the open clearing of the small plains biome to the spruce forest, following the path set forth by who he assumed would be Phil. Even the forest had grown, in its own way. What did that say about Technoblade, so caught up with the past to move forward?

Technoblkade shook his head at those thoughts, not wishing to get caught up with his own grievances when he was here for someone other than himself. He needed to know what was going on with Wilbur and Tommy, and Phil is the only one whom he could speak to about it.

He trekked along for another ten or so minutes, before the trees began to slowly decline in their frequency, indicating he was close to his… to Phil’s home. He saw it then, coming up to the tree line. A medium sized cabin, beautifully built and maintained, surrounded by gardens and small farms, and looking exactly like Technoblade remembered it. Everything else in this place had experienced some sort of change, from the trees to the land, but not this cottage. It looked exactly like it did when Technblade was first brought here, huddled sick in Phil’s arms, only knowing him as a friend instead of a father. It looked exactly the same as when Technoblade left - the second time - only to not return until all these years after that fateful day. The piglin hybrid didn’t know how to feel about the fact that it remained untouched by time, not carrying on to depict any of the bad memories he had gathered after he had left. With a sigh, Technoblade walked up to the oak door and banged on it twice.

“Phil! It’s me.”

He heard a muffled bang, as if someone had crashed into a piece of furniture, as the sound of footsteps hurried to the door. Anxiety began to push its way into Technoblades chest, bubbling up from the pit of his stomach as he began to worry. Was it a mistake, coming here? Would Phil turn him away, now that he stood at his doorstep? Would Phil even speak to him, would Phil even miss him if he turned around now and went straight for the portal at the center of this server, or would he watch with cold eyes and whisper good riddance while watching his back? Did Phil even want him here? On the communicator, during their call, he had only told Phil he needed to speak to him in person and all Phil had said was a simple and pleasant “okay, mate”. This was a mistake, this was a mistake and before Phil (Dad, Phill, Dadza, Crow Father, where’s dadza, we miss him, we want him, you want to see him too Techno-) answered the door, before he messed up, before his anger took over and he ruined his already damaged and strained relationship with his truest friend, his father-

The door was yanked open with such force, that Technoblade found himself flinching at the action. In the doorway was a heavily breathing Phil, looking up at Technoblade with wide eyes, standing in the doorway looking like he bolted for the door the minute Techno knocked. It made Technoblade gulp nervously, raising a single hand in a half-hearted wave and opening his mouth to greet the crow hybrid with a pathetic greeting. “Hey, Phil-”

Technoblade flet the embrace before it completely registered. Philza reached up, grabbing Technoblades tall form and bringing him down to him with the deceptive strength Phil hid from most of the world. The piglin hybrid didn’t register the action at first, eyes wide as he froze mid sentence, unsure what he was supposed to do. Instead, he waited for Phil to make any sort of additional reaction, holding him close in an embrace which provided so much more comfort than Technoblade would ever be willing to admit.

“Techno”, Phil spoke softly, barely above a whisper as his arms tightened around Technoblade, “welcome home.”

The hybrid tensed, before he instinctually relaxed into Phil’s arms. He was home, wasn’t he? Why had he refused to come back, why had he avoided his problems? His arms cautiously moved up, gently holding Phil back being careful to avoid the large wings protruding from his back. He didn’t want to ruin whatever this was, not yet. He needed it, needed the comfort and feeling of easy acceptance Philza was giving him. The slow burning anger in his chest that he remembered holding onto like it was his lifeline, the feeling of betrayal and angst, the denial and avoidance he dished out to the winged hybrid… it was all entirely pointless, wasn’t it?

His anger wasn’t with Phil, it never really was. Pete was the one who had instigated the decline in the Antarctic Empire, had started consuming their resources to start pointless wars and used their advantages to destroy their competition with extreme prejudice, and who used Technoblade as a weapon to point at the territories they would then take over. Pete was the instigator; Phil just did nothing at all to stand in the way as it happened. Too consumed with his own wanderlust, filled with too much desire to begin moving once again to catch or care about what Technoblade was going through.

Technoblade never told him either, did he? He had never communicated with Philza - about how much his actions hurt Technoblade, how the fact that the piglin hybrid was constantly being sent out to reclaim and take territory, to expand the empire they started together, and how it made him feel less like a person and more like a ticking time bomb. He had never talked to Philza, only taking his anger out on him when it was convenient and running away when it mattered most. It wasn’t Phil’s fault, not really. The Antarctic Empire was doomed to fail from the start, its power set to corrupt anyone at its head from the very beginning.

And as Techno stood there in the doorway, holding Phil and letting the winged hybrid to hold him in turn, he realized he didn’t want to be angry with Phil anymore. He just wanted to be able to come home, to spend time with the person who had taken him in and raised him when he was broken and warped beyond measure. Technoblade just wanted his family back, all together.

The realization snapped him back to reality, letting him pull away from the other hybrid's warmth as he looked down at him. For a few seconds, there was a stretch of silence as Technoblade fought to find the words for this situation. Phil, for his part, was giving Techno a soft smile, looking at him with joy in his features. It made the fuzzy feeling in his chest even worse as the voices cooed and chattered in the background.

“... hey Phil”, Technoblade hesitated, before steeling himself and continuing, “I’m home”.

———————————————————————

“So”, Phil started, handing Technoblade a cup of herbal tea of some variety, “Wilbur contacted you?”

The piglin hybrid took the tea cup, lifting the drink to his nose and taking a smell of the fragrant concoction. It smelled of Lemon and Honey, a flavor he favored. Taking a sip, Technoblade hummed to Phil’s question, nodding as he closed his eyes to savor the taste. “Yeah, and I now can't get a hold of him. No calls are getting through, no messages. It’s weird, I don’t even know how long ago this message was sent.”

Phil let out his own hum, looking off to the side as he set his own tea cup down on the coffee table, not bothering to take a sip as he folded his hands in his lap. His gaze was off, looking at the fireplace with a strange intensity that Technoblade recognized as remembrance. It was never good when Philza drifted off like he was now. It usually meant melancholy reminiscence, or bad memories. Technoblade could never tell when either was happening.

Setting his own cup down, Techno turned more fully in Philza’s direction, clearing his throat to get his attention. The action caused Phil to flinch slightly, as if startled by the noise, to which Technoblade raised an eyebrow. In response, Phil sent a warm smile in his direction, still that sad recollection in his eyes. “I’m alright, Techno. Just a lot on my mind.” Technoblade couldn’t help the tilt of his head as he gave Philza a more discerning look.

“What kind of things are on your mind?”

There was hesitance in Philza’s stance as the piglin hybrid raised an eyebrow at him, silently insisting he continue. Technoblade needed everything that Phil knew, especially with Wilbur being awol and Tommy without a communicator number that he knew or had saved. He needed information, and their touching moment early notwithstanding, Phil had that information and Technoblade would do anything he could to obtain it. The hybrid had let go of his long standing grudge, but that did not mean all was forgiven. Though he figured that was the case on both of their sides. The Angel of Death was notorious for holding a grudge.

“I am only thinking.” Technoblade could tell he wasn't telling the whole truth, instead choosing to continue giving Phil a narrowing look until he caved. The silence stretched between them for a few seconds longer before Phil let out a long sigh as he picked up his ceramic tea cup and took a long gulp, nearly finishing the drink in one go. With a satisfied breath, Phil closed his eyes and took a breath, finally electing to look at Technoblade. “Fine, you win. I may have left out some information-”

“-Great! So, you just tell me and I-”

“But”, Phil continued, putting an emphasis on the but, “It's personal.”

Technoblade let out an irritated sigh, his impatience getting the best of him. Usually, he was the epitome of collecting, taking the principles of Sun Tzu as seriously as he took his potato farming. But, with Phil, his more childish side always seemed to come out, and this was one instance where his irritation was mostly justified. He needed to get to Wilbur and Tommy, and this delay was not helping him, or the loud chorus of voices in his head, achieve their goals. Quite the opposite, actually. He had yet to get any useful information about Wilbur and Tommy’s wearabouts and what server he needed to get whitelisted on to go and find them. For all Technoblade knew, they could be dead. And that was a thought which scared him.

“Phil, just tell me.” Technoblade practically growled the demand. Even Chat was beginning to get frustrated, and when the voices were collective about something there was usually very little Techno could do about it and how it affected him and his emotions.

(Tell us, we need to know, Wilbur and Tommy could be in danger, we need to kill, we need to go, patience is a virtue, enough patience has already been exerted, just tell us Philza-)

Philza gave Technoblade a hard look, his eyes narrowing before he exhaled his breath sharply and stood from his seat on the cushioned couch. Watching him closely, Technoblade noted how he headed straight for the fireplace, picking up a small box which sat on the mantle. He hadn’t even noticed the wooden container, its form blending seamlessly with the burgundy background. What could possibly be in it? Why would Phil get that specific box in response to Technoblades question?

Sitting back down on the couch with a sort of grace only he could achieve, Philza’s wings shuffled as the box was placed in his lap. Looking up from his locked gaze, Philza’s eyes met the piglin hybrids, giving him a serious look. Whatever Phil was about to show Technoblade was of serious importance to the crow hybrid.

“Wilbur”, Philza began, stopping only briefly to steel himself, “he had been sending me letters.” Technoblades own eyes widened at the statement, his eyes immediately darting to the box with a hungry look. That was the key to getting more information about this situation, to get more of an explanation than a brief plea for help. This was the key; he needed to see what was in the box.

Philza continued, pointedly ignoring the glint in Technoblades eyes. “He had said to me, in his first letters, that communicators were known to act up where he went. Cases of people not being able to contact the outside too effectively. So,” Phil gestured to the box, “he began sending me letters.”

Technoblade felt his hand reach out in the direction of the box, only for Phil’s grip on the container to tighten. Giving the bird hybrid a curious look, Technoblade tilted his head. “I need to see those letters, Phil. I have no information on where Wilbur and Tommy are, how to get there and who to talk to. I need this, in order to help them.” Technoblade paused for significance, giving Phil a serious look. “They could be injured, Phil. Or dead. If what you told me is true, then we have no way to ascertain when the message I got was sent.”

With a pained look in his eye, Philza tightened his grip once again, before loosening it with a sigh and the sagging of his shoulders. “I just… mate, I promised Wilbur I wouldn’t share them. And you know how I feel about promises.”

Technoblade did know. Philza Minecraft, in all his years as an adventurer and a survivalist, an entertainer and even a father, had broken many promises. He had promised his late wife he would take care of his sons, and he had broken that promise. He had promised his boys, all of them, that he would be there for them, and yet that promise was abandoned when he abandoned him years ago. He had promised Technoblade he would never betray him, and yet their entire relationship was strained by Philza’s presumed betrayal. Promises, when made by Philza Minecraft, the Angel of Death, were always inevitably broken. And Technoblade knew just how much those broken promises ate at Phil, keeping him away from sleep late at night and causing him to chase after adrenaline and adventure as a means of avoiding that pain. Though, during the late nights when Techno would meet Phil out in the cold, gazing up at the stars above the stronghold base of a young Antarctic Empire, Phil had confided in him how much he regretted the need to travel and the need for the rush of excitement. How he had always wanted to be a better father, how he felt he had failed his wife by choosing personal gain over familial commitment, and while in a way this was for Wilbur and Tommy, it still ate him up inside to leave the two boys. At the time, Technoblade had no answers for Phil, instead just lending him a hand which rested on his shoulder in comfort, sharing his worries in silence. It was an eye opening moment for the younger Technoblade, who had put Philza on a pedestal, not quite realizing how flawed he really was.

Now, Technoblade knows better. Now, he understood the worth of a promise to Philza, after so many times getting it wrong. And so, it pained him even more to ask Philza to share the letters.

But Wilbur and Tommy’s safety was more important. And Phil seemed to think so as well, because when Technoblade began to let out a resigned sigh, Philza closed his eyes and ran a hand over his own face, before loosening his grip completely on the letter container.

“You need this information, for Wilbur and Tommy. Just… let me tell you what I know. Don’t read them yourself. I want to keep at least that much of my promise.”

It was a vow Technoblade was more than happy to agree to. With a vigorous nod, Technoblade felt himself give Phil a smile. “Thanks, Phil.”

Philza for his part nodded seriously at Techno’s thanks, the bird hybrid still all business. “Sure, mate. For Tommy and Wilbur.” Technoblade nodded along, his own face growing serious. The voices had even quieted enough for Technoblade to expertly ignore them, their white noise fading into the background as he focused completely on the conversation in front of him.

“What can you tell me?”

Phil looked to the box, and with a single combination, it was open. Taking out a few of the worn letters - written on parchment of all things - Philza quickly gave them a brief glance over, most likely refreshing his memory of Wilbur’s writings and ramblings. “Wilbur and Tommy had ended up in a server owned by a man called Dream, apparently the server was supposed to be used for a campaign event but it was scrapped and opened as a regular community server.” Shuffling through a few papers, Philza read out more information. “Wilbur, Tommy, and even Fundy - Will’s own son, all grown up now - had gotten into the business of creating nations.” At this time, Philza paused briefly, eyes locking with the worn old letters.

Technoblade took the moment to wait, before speaking. “What does it say, Phil?”

“Oh,” Phil seemed to snap out of whatever was bothering him, shuffling the papers before continuing after clearing his throat, “he- uh, Will, I mean, said he created his… L’manburg as a way of proving his worth.” Phil seemed to stare off into space for a second, his next words seemingly breaking through without his consent, “he never needed to prove himself, not to me...”

Technoblades own features softened at Phil’s words, ignoring the screaming Chat telling him to get up and embrace the avian hybrid. “Wilbur wanted to go with us to the campaign event, remember? He even followed us halfway there, Tommy sneaking along right beside him, together like they always are.” Techno felt himself look away for a moment. “I think I called them kids, and told them they’d never make it in the real world. Pretty ironic, at the time, coming from the guy who was a year younger than Will. He may have taken it as a personal challenge.” Turning and locking his gaze with Philza, Technoblade gave him a meaningful look. “You aren't at fault, Phil. Wilbur isn’t the same kid we left behind when we went to Earth. He’s a grown man, with a kid of his own, a grown kid. His decisions are his own, but he's also still… family.”

Phil nodded, eyes still gazing periodically at the letter he had set aside, steeling himself as he picked up another piece of parchment to continue. “Sorry, mate. Got lost in the head there for a moment.” Phil let out a cough, as if clearing his throat. “Well, Will also mentioned an election. He wrote that he won, but he and Tommy moved away and were now creating a new home, almost like a side project… no, that can’t be right. He told you he was in danger, right? Exiled from his own community? There was a serious look of concern in Philza’s eyes, as he locked his gaze with Technoblade.

If Wilbur’s letters were to be trusted, then Wilbur and Tommy wouldn't need Technoblade help. The voices in Technoblades head began screaming at him, calling out for Wilbur, calling him a liar, and yet Technoblade needed to confirm for himself. Taking out his communicator, he scrolled through his messages with Wilbur, rereading it to varify its contents. No, it was right.

The letters message, and Technoblades recieved plea for help, were completely different both in tone and story.

Technoblade looked up from his communicator, and stared into Philza’s eyes. “No, the communicator message is right. Its a cry for help, which means…” Technoblade trailed off as his eyes fell to the letter, along with Phil’s. Wilbur had lied in his letters to Phil, and for a purpose Technoblade had no knowledge of. The piglin hybrid was sure it wasn’t for innocent reasons.

“Maybe there was a mistake, mate. Will wouldn’t lie,” Phil continued to look at the letter like it was completely foreign to him, “not like this.”

Technoblade looked at Phil, and in a steady voice, spoke evenly. “We don’t know what Wilbur was thinking, but that still doesn’t change the fact that the message I received speaks to something a lot more sinister going on than you thought.”

Phil absently nodded, gripping the parchment piece tightly before setting it to the side. With a deeply conflicted look, he picked up another letter and continued on from where he left off, an unsure look crossing his features. “Wilbur talks about the server in this letter. Dream needs to whitelist everyone who enters, there isn’t much Will seems to know about the patron god who sponsors the land, and it seems Dream is a rather elusive figure.” Phil paused then, looking to Technobalde. “Does that name ring any bells, mate? Dream.”

A sigh escaped the piglin hybrid, his thoughts racing through the long lists of fighters and influencers he knew from his Hypixel hay-days. Dream didn’t ring any proper bells, though. Unless…

“Does Wilbur mention a mask at all when he talks about this Dream guy?”

Philza shuffled through the letters, bringing a couple more parchments out and scanning each of them carefully. His brow knit in concentration and Techno saw his lip curl as he read through the words. His eyebrows then lifted, a look of astonishment on his face as he turned back to Technoblade. “Yeah, right here, mate. Dream wears some sort of strange smiley face mask according to what Will says.” Technoblade couldn’t help the curse which escaped his lips at that confirmation. It just had to be that Dream, didn’t it? It couldn’t have been any other Dream someone he didn’t have a previous acquaintance with. “Techno, do you know this guy?”

Sighing, Technoblade let the agitation bleed into his voice, “yeah, I do. He’s an old competitor of mine, we've got a casual rivalry. He’s, uh… a bit much. But I know where to find him and how to get a hold of him.” At that declaration, Phil’s face lit up, a bright smile crossing his features.

“That's fantastic!” There was a moment which passed between them, where Phil’s bright smile dulled into a sardonic grin. “Though, I don’t know how much help that’ll be. From Wilbur’s letters, he seems to be a bit of a problem. You sure you know how to handle him?”

Technoblade nodded, humming softly. He knew exactly how to deal with Dream, especially after their duel almost two years ago. The hybrid had bested that mask wearing weirdo before, he could do it again if need be. No matter how strong he had gotten over the last few years. Technoblade knew how to take care of his type, the type who always schemed and who always seemed to yearn for control. Keeping him in check would be easy. It was finding him which was the hard part.

Looking at the cold tea, still sitting on the coffee table, Technoblade felt his voices yelling excitedly in his head. Last they had seen of Dream, it was just after the battle in The Beasts sponsored arena. It was a grand tournament, where Technoblade and the green clad mask wearing fighter had fought in a ten round competition for fame and fortune. The fight had ended then, in Technoblades favor, but it was a hard battle. Six to four is nothing to brag home about, even if Tommy had been singing his praises after that win. Even then, Technoblade had sensed something about Dream which unsettled and intrigued him. He had the same aura that Technoblade got from Simon and Mister Beast, the aura of a vassal.

And that made Dream incredibly dangerous.

Even if he found him, and somehow convinced the mask-wearing warrior to let him into his territory, Technoblade would still have to worry about how much Dream is a threat to his family. And if he could be turned into an ally, or a business associate.

(Dream, Dream, will we fight Dream again, can Dream be our friend, we should destroy him before he destroys us, hes unsettling Technoblade, don't trust him, that smile is the work of the chaos god for sure-)

Still, that could wait, if only a few more hours. With Phil here, and so much to talk about between them, Technoblade didn’t want to leave even with the urgency of the message he received. The piglin hybrid needed to talk to Philza, needed to explain and to clear the air between them, to reassure him that he still thought of him as his family, that wherever Phil was would be home. Because Techno had missed him, this past year. And it wasn’t until he had seen Philza, who had embraced him for the first time since the Antarctic Empire, that he realized how much he was missing by holding onto his anger.

Dream could wait, just a few more hours. Technoblade needed to take care of his father.

#Von Writes Stuff #Hyacinth #dream smp #dsmp au #dsmp fanfic #found family #sleepy bois inc #alternate universe #canon divergence

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hanniiesuckle17 · 4 years

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The Fae and The Seraphim

CHAPTER ONE

A/n: so this gif is not mine! credit to the owner and creator! look at his hair thoughhhh. So this series is going to be loosely based off of Amazon’s Carnival Row bc we all love Orlando Bloom especially Amber stans (you know what I’m talking about) yes definitely making this a series but no set post schedule (probably wont ever have a post schedule for this cause.....im me...)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: cussing, 18+themes, mentions of violence (all of this eventually)

Tag List: @poeticallyspaghetti @hanstagrams @hoes4hoseok @yangomangos @geminirules @jisungsjheekies @cotccotc @ph0ebevix @mini-meanhoe @desertofdessert @distrikt9 @multi-net(Tag List is Open)

Summary: Crea were never meant to interact with humans. They were mythical creatures that came from fairytales, but they had been around longer than humans had. The love between one Fae and one soldier seem to turn the world upside down. Their story is not one for the light of heart, but the light of heart would never turn away a love story such as theirs.

Genre: fantasy!au, victorian!au, steampunk-ish?!au, romance, angst, non-idol!jaeyoon, soldier!jaeyoon, faerie!reader

❧

A cool breeze blew across the gulch. It whispered through the branches weaving through the leaves bound to fall from their tight grasp on the thin boughs of the trees. A somber gray seemed to hang over the land as far as the eye could see. It had been that way for as long as I could remember.

Despite this, Cothia still had a beauty to it unlike anywhere else I had read about. There was always a light snow in the air or on the mountain ground, the flakes dusted the trees and roofs of our monastery I could see in the distance. The Fae had inhabited Cothia since the beginning of time. We were tasked with keeping the records of the world’s history. We were a species of great mystery and wisdom.

The thundering sound of the monastery's horn burst through the silence of the nature around me. My ears pricked up listening for a second blast. After that, another came. Three blasts. Three blasts meant newcomers up the mountainside.

My wings fluttered behind my back blowing a cool breeze over my neck, pushing the hair aside as my feet lifted off the ground. The familiar hum of my beating wings filled my ears as I flew over the vast land below me. As I floated closer to the monastery which I called my home, my eyes looked for any sign of life along the steep mountain roads.

A winding stream of dark battered navy coats and hats lined up outside the wooden abbey doors. Easily forty faeries flew above the open abbey walls, surveying two men on horses from the air. Our leader, a Mima of the highest order, addressed them from the ground, wings spread wide.

The hum of beating wings turned into a roaring buzz filling the quiet mountain air. The wind stilled, sensing the tension between the two humans and the hundred or so faeries surrounding them, waiting to see what they would do.

“We come peacefully.” One of the men said, pushing up the brim of his cap. He had sloping features and a pronounced chin. Features that suited his soft downturned eyes. “My name is Kim Youngbin. I am Colonel of the Third Hallow Fusiliers. We have been sent to guard a telegraph line a few miles east of here.”

Mima Egeria showed no sign of acceptance, but she didn’t turn them away either. My stare fell to the second man. I watched as he removed his cap, long fingers holding onto the brim as he shook out his dark slightly curly hair, bangs falling in front of his eyes. He carried himself with power, but let the man beside him speak. By my observation, he must be a commanding officer.

Unlike his captain, his features were sharp, except for some roundness in his cheeks, which were slightly pink from the cold. Puffs of air expelled from his plump lips with every breath in the mountain air. Had I not known he was human or seen the Hallows emblem on his coat shoulder, I would think his face almost impish; Pix like. The shaggy onyx snow dusted locks fell in front of his eyes as he stared up at the faeries watching him.

“We ask for the use of this Abbey as a base for our soldiers. We wish to make an alliance with you in the name of The Hallows.” The voice of Colonel Kim was calm and steady, carrying through the walls of the monastery and up to our ears above him. I watched Mima Egeria carefully, awaiting her message.

“This is a holy place. Conduct yourselves accordingly.” Her sonorous voice echoed in the thin air.

Her wings closed behind her back, and slowly I sunk down to the ground with the rest of the Fae and Pix around me. The two watched with an interested gaze as we floated down to the surface feet gently falling on the gravel. A few went to welcome the soldiers, I followed Mima as she left the courtyard.

“Mima!” My feet followed her deep purple robes, lifting off the ground occasionally to catch up with her. How a woman her age still moved with such speed was beyond my knowledge.

“Yes, my child.” She sung, turning back.

“Should we really trust them? It is hard enough defending ourselves against the Pact. What if-”

“Y/n...have faith, my child. You are strong willed. You have never been one to float with the current. They need us, little one. when asked we will give, when one pleads we give mercy. This is our way.”

Her frail but steady hands rested on my shoulders. “Yes, Mima.” Egeria’s long slender fingers wrapped around one of the three long beaded braids in my hair. She glanced over it smiling at the clear glass bead at the end.

“Your moon cycle is almost upon us, Y/n. I’m so happy to have watched you grow up in the Abbey.” I smiled at her mention of my age bead. When a Fae was born, a braid was started with a single glass bead signifying their birth. On their first birthday, another braid was added this time with two dark red beads. They were meant to be given away when the Fae gave their heart to someone. The third was a bead made of a type of crystal which was given when a Fae earned their assignment.

“It is, Mima Egeria. I’m happy to spend another year serving Fasora Abbey.” She nodded, looking towards the now open wooden doors. Following her gaze, I saw the man from before, white flurries clinging onto the curly black strands of his hair. He ushered in soldiers from atop his horse, a rifle slung across his back. His gaze flicked towards us, his eyes seemingly darker than his hair, yet holding a warmth to them. “Do you sense something about the soldier, Mima?”

Her shoulders lifted and a smile tugged at her lips. “A Mima can only ask the spirits to guide her. The spirits tell me he is a special soul; known to our kind. Best to watch him, little one.” Through the light snow, he watched us with a focused gaze. The observant stare of a fighter. A stare that observed, but did not see. The stare of a human. “Y/n, I think it best if you return to your post. The Archives should not be abandoned.”

“Yes, Mima.” My wings fluttered to life, lifting me into the sky. A pair of eyes watched me fly away from the Monastery towards the Archives hidden in the walls of the mountain.

❧

The air smelled of parchment and wax. Soft flecks of dust hung around the shelves. The shelves. Thousands of them. Each holding books and manuscripts on every subject dating all the way back to the beginning of time. My legs hung off either side of one of the many cornices in the Archive. The shelves lifted so high that soon they turned into a vast black abyss.

The pads of my fingers pressed against the yellowing page of a book resting between my legs. It was one of the many books I had yet to finish in the never ending library. The book told the story of a Pix explorer and his findings after sailing to the Hallows before they were formed.

The click-clack of boots against stone sent me up into attention. Crouching on the cornice, I watched in the low dim torchlight as a navy coat walked into the room. Making myself one with the shadows, I watched as the soldier looked up into the infinite shelves of the Archives. The Archives that no one but a few faeries were subject to the knowledge of.

His black hair fell from his eyes revealing the rest of his face. Handsome- for a soldier. Most of the soldiers in the abbey were dedicated to their line of work so much that what happened to their bodies was considered a small price to the pay for the safety of our kind. There were no use for pretty faces among protectors.

With narrowed eyes, I watched his hands ghost over the pages of an open book on the table. A tome easily hundreds of thousands of years old. His slender fingers gripped the page, turning it over.

Silently, I pulled the small dagger from my boot and floated down behind him. The man stood unsuspecting reading the ancient text, or what he could of it. He stood almost perfectly six feet tall a tower over the desk. My feet ghosted over the ground, wings beating softly.

My hands moved at lighting speed wrapping around him and pressing the blade against the skin of his neck. “Oh fuck!” He gasped backing into me in surprise. His hands moved up in surrender, but I kept my hold on him tight.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, Hallow.” I spat. No human had ever set foot in the Archives. This was a sacred place. “Who are you?”

His hands remained steady, but from my grip on his neck I could feel his pulse rapidly beating. His tongue swiped over his lips. My firm grip kept him from turning and looking at me. “Lee Jaeyoon. I’m a Commander for the Hallows. Who are you?” He made a pathetic attempt at a smile, but I pressed the knife further into his skin threatening to draw blood.

“Well, Jaeyoon,” I said twirling the blade in my fingers before rejoining it with his neck. “I suggest you turn around and leave this place or I may just have to kill you. I wouldn’t really like to mop your blood off this floor, but I will if I have to.”

His adam’s apple bobbed with a strangled laugh that left his lips. “I didn’t know Pix were so violent.” Loosening my hold on him, my wings beat a little faster moving before him. His eyes widened seeing me as his attacker.

“It is obvious you know something about Crea, so says Mima. So, you should know ‘Pix’ is the term for male faeries.”

“You’re a Fae...”

Jaeyoon kept a wary eye on the blade in my hand, arms still raised and open. “And you, Commander, are still in my Archives.”

“I thought you were still deciding whether to kill me or not?” He asked with a cheeky smile, his brow quirking upwards.

“How do I know that if I let you leave here you won’t tell any of the soldiers about this place?”

He shrugged looking around the library before back to me. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.” There was no way I could trust a human soldier to keep the secret of the Archives. How had he even found this place anyway? “Or...” He said putting his hands down by his sides. “You could kill me, and the rest of my regiment will find this place anyway looking for my body.”

I hated that he was right. “Fine.” Jaeyoon let out a sigh as I pulled the blade away.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m the Watcher of the Archives. That’s all you need to know.”

He nodded looking me up and down. His focus noticeably shifted towards my wings as they stopped beating and lowered me to the ground and my normal height. “I’ll be going then,” Jaeyoon said, his words echoing off the cavernous walls.

I watched the worn navy coat turn and exit the way it had come. The onyx hair of its owner blew as he passed through the open passage of the rock. Mima Egeria was right...Lee Jaeyoon was best to be watched. Why... I did not know yet.

❧

Like every other magical day in Cothia, gentle snow floated down on the mountainside coating every tree, roof, and head it touched. My legs swung over the edge of the patched roof. The abbey was filled with busy bodies moving in little winding paths through the flurries.

A chilling breeze blew through the abbey. A fae carrying straw struggled to keep stray pieces from flying away. Four days. Four days had past since the soldiers entered the safety of our walls.

The smooth skin of an apple rubbed against my palm. My lips tasted the sweet juices as my teeth sunk into the fruit. Falling back into new habit, my eyes found the tall head of dark hair. The curls blew gently in the wind, white frozen flakes sticking to the locks.

His ears were turning pink from the cold joining the color on his cheeks. The officer stood next to his superior and another soldier. The three men spoke to Mima. Even from far away I could see the spark in her lilac eyes. Her silver hair hung in wild spirals around her face. The beads in her hair glinted in the sunlight, casting a partial colorful glow over her tan aged skin.

Her wings were folded behind her, acting like an intricate delicate shield against the weather. She held her hands in front of her, fingers gently intertwined. They seemed to be speaking fervently.

Listing my head, I peered down into the abbey watching them closely. The higher officer seemed to be posing Mima Egeria a question. She listened intensely, smiling kindly at the men.

Jaeyoon spoke up and Mima’s brow rose as she looked the commander over. Taking another bite from the apple, my eyes focused in on the lips of the nearest soldier. Despite my efforts I could not decipher the movement. My curiosity was quenched when all four heads looked up to my spot on the roof.

Mima gracefully motioned me down from my perch. Pushing off the roof I floated down and landed next to my mentor. A gentle hand rested on my shoulder. All three pairs of human eyes stared at me. “Little one, you have been requested personally to help these brave soldiers with a mission.”

I scowled knowing exactly who asked for me. Despite not knowing my name he managed to drag me into this mess. “Should I call you little one, as well?” Jaeyoon asked, a smirk playing at his lips.

“If you have an urgent desire to eat your own eyes.”

A quick jab to my side had me shutting my mouth before Mima decided to make me clean the commissary. “We just need someone of your talents to assist us.” The captain, Youngbin, stated.

“My talents?”

“Mainly your wings and your ability to keep a secret.”

❧

The snow had ceased its unrelently fall. A chilling wind blew across the mountain path as we ventured up to the check point. Several of the men rode on horses and split from our original group to move towards the other end of our mission. My eyes trailed the man with dark curly hair as he rode off with three other men.

“Not so fond of Jaeyoon?”

Turning, I saw the leading officer ride up next to me on his steed. After racking my brain, I recalled the soldier’s name. Youngbin. His dark hair blew in the wind slightly. The man had a kind face. His jaw was set and he held the features of a leader.

“Well he did not make the best first impression.”

Youngbin laughed and slowed down his horse to match my stride. “Jaeyoon means well. He’s a good man.” Rolling my eyes was completely involuntary. “I can see you think less of us.” Despite the connotation of his words, the Colonel looked down at me with a knowing smile.

“It is not that I think less of you. Humans have not been in Cothia for tens of thousands of years. We are simply wary of your impact on not only our culture but the spiritual nature of our land.” We fell into silence, moving along the incline of the mountain. “How much father are we going?”

The colonel looked back to see some of his men on foot struggling to adjust to the thin alpine air. “Not far. We should be reaching the line any moment now.” Sure enough the trees cleared and we came upon an open gorge. A large wooden pole was stake into the ground and a severed metal wire lay blowing and bouncing off the rock face.

“Commander Lee and his group should arrive at the opposite side soon. Rest then get ready to replace the wire once we receive the signal from the other team.” The soldiers collapsed on every surface they could find. Some watched with still wide eyes as my wings carried me to a nearby tree branch. The other side of the gorge was unseen through a heavy lingering fog.

A quarter of an hour had passed and the men had only just reattached the end of the new telegraph line. I watched them mill about from my vantage point in the trees. However the view of the forested mountaintops was far more enchanting in my eyes. The peaks towered through the mist. The sight reminded me of a painting form one of the many ancient texts I had read in the Archives.

The sharp sticotto sound of a gun shot echoed across the ravine. Youngbin pushed himself up onto his feet and beckoned me down from my perch. “That’s the signal. They’re ready.”

“You really need my help?”

“Do you see any other being that can fly a mile over an open chasm?”

“Fair enough.”

With cold trembling fingers the Colonel handed me the wire. It was heavier than I expected. It was a wound cable and the smooth thick metal felt foreign in my hands. “Remember, should something go wrong while you’re crossing-”

“Yes, I know. Call out.”

Not wasting a second more, I unfolded my wings and let them open. Several murmurs were heard behind me as the soldiers gazed at the delicate, intricate patterns and natural designs of my wings. The near transparent parts of the appendages glinted with shifting colors of blue, green, and lavender as the light bounced off of them.

The soft familiar hum filled my ears and my feet lifted from the ground. The fog consumed me only moments after leaving the ledge. A chill ran down my spine. Light droplets of water from the mist gatherd on my cheeks. The wind howled and whistled. My grip tightened on the cable. By now I must be crossing over the midpoint of the gorge.

It wasn’t what lay below that let the tiniest bit of fear creep into my chest. It was what I could not see behind the shadows of the fog. Not much scared me. I had learned that there was little to fear when fear was embraced.

Breathing in the fresh clear mountain air I pushed forwards and flew through the dense mist. Just when it felt as if the fog was never ending, I broke through the veil. I was met with a vision of four soldiers waiting for me. The head of shaggy waved black hair that was slowly becoming familiar stood waiting with his arms crossed and navy coat blowing gently in the breeze.

“Hallow,”

“Fae,”

My feet descended to the ground and my reflexs kicked in feeling a hand on my arm. Looking down I saw long slender fingers wrapped around my sleeve keeping me steady. Suprisingly they were attached to the Commander. Seeing the cold look in my eyes, he quickly detached from my arm and scratched the back of his neck.

“Is this all I’m needed for?”

The tall brunette nodded, looking around and taking the cable from my hands. “We may need you if something goes wrong while we are rewiring the line.” Shrugging, I pulled my coat tighter around me and sat against a rock returning, as before, to the breathtaking view of the mountains.

“Do you like to read?” The deep voice asked about ten minutes later. Turning I found Jaeyoon standing above me, his cap covering his dark hair. To my displeasure he sat next to me. His dark almond eyes glanced back at his platoonmates.

“Pardon?”

The charming man shrugged and pouted his lips looking out at the view. “Well I assumed guarding a library like that you must love to read.”

I rolled my eyes and adjusted my position, my wings getting cramped behind me. “Well, Jaeyoon, if you must know, I do love to read. And it is not a library. It is an archive.” The soldier chuckled removing his hat and shaking out his shaggy hair.

“It is not fair that you know my name yet I am still hopelessly lacking of yours.”

“The world is cruel and unfair, Commander.”

A silence fell between us. Though I was used to the chilling air, I felt a warmth radiating off the soldier beside me. Bothered by the awkward silence and the fact that he simply did not get up and leave, I looked over at the man. Something in his long fingers caught my eye. A book, one like I had never seen before lay in his grasp. It was just barely smaller than the size of his hand, the perfect size to put in a pocket. It wasn’t bound in leather like the volumes in the Archives. Its cover was made of some sort of paper or thick parchment.

“I assume you read.” He nodded and only glanced at me before returning to the expanse of the mountains before us. The fog was beginning to clear and I could make out the lines of the opposing rockface. “What’s that?”

Jaeyoon looked from me to the book in his hands. “This? It’s my favorite novel.” Without hesitation he handed me the book. There were drawings on the cover of the moon and some strange contraption.

“Novel?”

“Yes, it’s called Journey to the Seraphim.” The familiar smell of worn parchment filled the air as I flipped through the pages. “Seraphim means angel. It’s about this inventor who travels to the moon.”

I scoffed. “The moon?” I turned to fully face the soldier who wore a timid smile on his face. “That’s impossible. How would one even get there?” Jaeyoon reached over taking the book from my hands, brushing his fingers against my skin in the process.

“Well you see, the inventor, he makes this vessel and he propels himself into the atmosphere.” I rested my chin on my palm, listening intently as Jaeyoon vividly described the book, his hands moving as he spoke. The pages fluttered in his grip. “He gets to the moon and he falls in love with this princess. She rules this tribe of people who live there.”

Leaning against the rock, I listened to Jaeyoon tell me about his favorite novel. He talked about how the author was quite well known back in the Hallows and he had almost met him once. He described the characters in great detail, a spark igniting behind his eyes.

All of a sudden he stopped speaking, looking at me with a fond gaze. With a smile he passed the book to me. “Here.” I found myself smiling as I gazed into his dark eyes. “You can have it.”

“You’re giving this to me?”

The man nodded, dark threads of hair falling in front of his eyes. “Keep it. I have another copy back in the Hallows.” He started to say something else but another soldier called out his name.

With a sigh he got up dusting off his coat and turning towards the man in need of assistance. “Y/n,” I called, making him turn around at the sound of my voice. “My name is Y/n L/n.” Jaeyoon smiled, his eyes turning to crescents. The soldier once again called his name, but he looked back at me fondly before going towards the officer.

❧

Next Chapter

Fae Masterlist

Masterlist

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my-fanfic-library · 4 years

Text

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [12]

Masterlist

~^*^~

You were frozen. Suspended by his grasp, chocking as the air left your lungs with no way of returning back to you. His nails had scraped the back of your neck. You wondered if you were bleeding.

“Shut it!” He bellowed.

Mustering up some strength, you kicked the door with your foot and the light was cut out. Dracula dropped you atop the dress. He slid back down the wall until he, too, was back on the ground. You could tell from the aura behind you that he was utterly furious.

Wait...

Was he... snarling...?

The nape of your neck where he had scratched you as he snatched you up... he had broken the skin. Droplets of blood were beading to the surface. The scent, the sight - they were consuming him. You pushed yourself up and threw your back against the wall. Your heart beat furiously against your chest. Fuck.

“Drac...” you spoke calmly, trying not to cry with the intense fear, “calm down, Drac...”

But he wasn’t Drac anymore. No, his eyes had bled to a crimson and his teeth had grown and sharpened in his mouth. He was looking at you both as if you were a meal, and yet also as though he was terrified himself.

“[First].” He breathed.

“It’s only a drop, Drac, you can control yourself.” Your voice wavered.

You had never seen him in his... prime (is that what it was even called? You didn’t know) before. The way his eyes ate you up all on their own: his mouth snarling and snapping at you, if he closed in he’d take a bite. You were shaking. When had tears started rolling down your cheeks?

“You smell so divine, [First]. Come closer, give me a taste of that sweet, sweet honey.” He cooed.

“No, Dracula.” You said firmly.

“Come on, [First]. Don’t deny me anymore, you sweet temptress. Give into me. Let me fill you with sweet dreams.”

“Dracula, please,” you begged, “get a grip of yourself!”

“Let. Me. IN!”

He lunged for you. You screamed, narrowly getting out of his way. He collided with the wall and the picture toppled down onto his head, the glass shattered and it clattered to the floor. You whispered as he turned his head to look at you. His lips curled as he bared his teeth. Was he always this animalistic? You had read accounts of him being oddly gentle when he devoured his victims. Why was he being so violent towards you?

You squeaked when he pushed himself away from the wall. And without thinking, you bounded up the stairs. He was right behind you. You could hear his footsteps. The rush of your blood filled your ears. The pounding of your heart hurt your chest. The sharp inhale and exhale of your breath stung your lungs.

Racing into the bedroom, you tried to slam the door, but he caught it. You cried out once more, tears streaming down your face. You didn’t want to die. Not like this.

Please, God, not like this.

You couldn’t hold him back and the door practically exploded open. You were flung back, toppling over your feet and landing on the floor with a thud. He prowled towards you. The back of your neck stung, but you pushed yourself up. You turned to rush to the window. He caught your waist. You struggled in his grasp. He threw you onto the bed face down. You felt him pin you down. You craned your head, to try and look at him. You were sobbing.

“Please,” you begged through your tears, “Drac, please don’t.” Your voice was hoarse.

He held you down. He was on top of you, legs straddling each of your thighs. He held your arms painfully behind your back and he bent down, just to get a whiff of your blood. It stung his nostrils in the most delicious way. Oh, how he had imagined it’s scent. It was so much more than he could have ever mustered up in his head. If it smelt this good, better than anyone else, how did it taste? How did you taste?

Beneath him, you whimpered but your utter submission to him only egged him on more. He vowed to himself that he would not sink his teeth in. Not you. Not now. Not like this when he was still upset with you. Not when you were upset with him.

You were shaking. He loved the way you trembled beneath him. The live flowing from you, the heat radiating from your body. Oh, how you gave it off - such radiance, such blossoming youth. He wanted to dive headfirst into it.

Keeping you pinned beneath him, he grinned. Those specs of red that had bloomed where he had accidentally been a little too rough with you. He hoped they wouldn’t scar you. But that red, the stench of life that filled his nostrils was intoxicating. He needed it. He needed it right now. He leaned forwards, and his tongue was a beautiful juxtaposition to the rest of him. It was hot. A low growl resonated from his chest and vibrates through your body. He gripped onto you tight. You were shaking beneath him as the taste of your blood exploded on his tongue. It was nothing like he had ever had before and it was only a couple of drops. Oh heavens above! How had he ever held himself back from this oasis? He couldn’t help but go again, flattening his tongue against your flesh, a little plasma mixing with the red, making it just a little sweeter. He hummed.

Below him, your tears had momentarily stopped. The feeling of his tongue, sending hot sparks up and down his spine was enough to render you motionless. It sent a fire down to the pit of your stomach and something swirled deep within.

For just a moment, you were okay with dying like this.

And then it was over. With all of the strength and will power he had, Dracula had pushed himself off of you and had turned to face away from you. You stilled. Then, the relief that washed off of you was so intense that you began to sob once more. You turned onto your back and sat up, looking at his back. He was panting.

When Dracula turned, his features had returned to normal except for the guilt-ridden terror that was evident. He had almost lost control with you. How the hell had he almost lost control?! He wanted to smash his head against a wall for being so weak. All of that, making you cry, for a few drops of your blood. They weren’t enough for him to see much into you. It was worth nothing except for the exquisite taste that lingered in his mouth.

He noticed the tears streaming down your face and slowly moved towards you. When you didn’t flinch, he sunk to his knees so that your head was merely a few inches above his own. He cupped your face with his hands. It was hot and your cheeks were flushed. He sighed.

“I am so sorry, darling...” he whispered.

Using the pads of his thumbs, he wiped away the tears. They continued to spill, however and he did truly feel a large pang of guilt. He hadn’t felt that for a long time...

However, despite the tears, you brought up one of your hands and layered it over his as you melted into his touch. It was much smaller, much warmer and had much more colour than his, but it seemed to fit perfectly. At the feeling, Dracula smiled softly and moved his hands down to your neck. He moved a little closer.

“Truly, I am so, so,” even closer, “very,” he placed a quick, chaste kiss to your cheek, “sorry.” He placed a kiss on your other cheek.

His eyes locked with yours, and you closed your eyes, which caused a few more tears to slip down your cheeks. Dracula begged for you to do anything but cry. He preferred any other look, the cocky sparkle in your eyes, the anger that he usually caused, the bright smiles. But not tears. Not when he had been the one to scare them out of you.

“Can you find it in your good, kind heart to forgive me?” He whispered.

“As long as you never scare me like that again...” your voice was broken and hoarse.

“You have my word.”

“Good... because it’s not like I have a choice... you’re the dangerous one here.” You laughed a little through the next couple of tears that came. Dracula’s mouth twitched.

“After the effect you’ve had on me recently, I’m starting to believe that you are the dangerous one, darling.” He smiled, and you giggled a little at his words, “sit back.”

As you shuffled back towards the head of the bed, he rose and made his way around the mattress. You shut your eyes and pressed your head against the headboard and sighed. The bed beside you shifted and Dracula wrapped an arm around you, bringing you into him. Your warmth radiated through him and he genuinely considered never letting you go. It was nice to be this close to somebody.

For a long while, you sat there in silence. Every now and then, you’d take a sharp, shaky breath and Dracula would look at you, waiting for you to burst into tears again. When you didn’t and showed no signs of relapsing into a crying-fit, he shifted his weight to look at you. Using his index finger, he tilted your head up to look at him. He inwardly sighed.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, nose reddened and your lips swollen from the crying. How on earth had he let himself slip so far into blood-induced delirium was beyond him. Especially when it was you involved.

“Have you truly forgiven me?” He wondered.

“Yes...” you whispered.

“Would you like to prove it to me?” He inquired and you pulled away, turning more to look at him. Taking advantage of your confusion, he laced his fingers with yours.

“...how...?”

“Let me take you to a world of your wildest fantasies...”

You didn’t know what he meant and your mouth opened to say something. What could you say to that? There was a hundred and one things he could possibly say or do. Just what was he planning?

You took in a long, slow breath. You nodded.

His free hand came up to cup your face and his eyes scanned for your reaction. Your eyes had softened at the contact and he rubbed slow circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. Cocking his head only a little, he captured your lips with his own. You had maybe a second to relish in the feeling before you felt like you were falling and the world slipped away.

~^*^~

You inhaled sharply and when your eyes opened, you were standing in what appeared to be a wasteland of red. A thin sheen of water covered the ground and barren trees twisted up, bursting through the barrier and twisting off its branches at odd angles. It was hot. You turned a few times on your feet. It was just you. You shut your eyes once more.

“[First]...” the voice echoed and when you opened your eyes once more, there he was.

The love of your life, the person who had betrayed you. Smiling, like he had done in the past. He held his hand out for you. His eyes sparkled like they had done so many times before.

“Daniel...?” You whispered in confusion.

He simply continued to smile at you and you inwardly battled with yourself. Should you take his hand? Just as you reached out, a wind swept by your right and a head of tight raven curls that you knew so well. She moved past you, taking his hand instead and you felt your knees go weak like they had done that day when you had walked into the bedroom.

“Too late.” She shrugged and pulled him into a passionate and nothing less than steamy kiss. You turned away, breaths becoming rugged and tough to control. Their taunting whispers came from behind you, and you willed yourself not to look. When you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you did turn to look, a fog swirled around them, and they were whole as one right in front of you. Tears streamed down your face. You turned away once more.

Standing before you this side was your parents. They smiled at you. Their loving and warm smiles invited you in immediately. When you approached them, their faces twisted and contorted. They became angry and misshapen.

“You left us!” Your mother’s distorted voice snarled at you.

“I had to- I had to get away-“ you tried to explain, heart pounding. More tears streamed down your face.

“From your parents?” Your father cocked his head, however it cracked and bent at a 90° angle. You screamed.

You turned once more and found Jack. He was screaming at you to come to him. But he was so far away. So much farther away than the rest. You didn’t think twice. You began to sprint towards him, tears threading down your face as you disrupted the thin layer of water. The sounds of the moans of your ex-lover and ex-best friend and the twisted screams of betrayal from your parents grew as you neared Jack. When you were within feet of him, some invisible force knocked the wind out of him and he flew back. His body skidded. And just as it came to a stop, he was kicked sideways. Then pulled up and his head twisted 180°. You screamed once more.

The noise grew and grew and you collapsed to your knees. You clapped your hands over your ears, you squeezed your eyes shut.

Make it stop.

“[First].”

Everything cut off and you slowly let your hands drop. You opened your eyes and looked up, finding Dracula staring down at you. He helped you stand.

“Are you drinking my blood?” You inquired.

“No... the kiss of a vampire is a powerful thing. I did not expect such tragedy in your heart.” He admitted.

“Then... how is it possible for us to be here...?”

“I already drank your blood. That’s why.”

~^*^~

When your eyes fluttered open, you were back at home. Dracula scanned your face. Your eyes were glossed over. What the hell had just happened...?

“Are you alright?” He asked gently, “that was not the sweet dream I was hoping you’d have...”

“You underestimate... what I’ve been through...” you whispered.

“Come.”

He pulled you into him right into his chest. You breathed in his scent. You stayed like that for a moment or two. You had to admit that it was strange to be in someone’s embrace and to not hear their heartbeat.

After a moment passed, your eyes began to grow heavy and you shuffled your weight so that you could lie. Dracula followed suit, keeping you in his arms. He didn’t want to let you go. He knew that mortals needed comfort after traumatising events, and that sure as hell was traumatising - that he knew.

It only took another five or so minutes before you had fallen asleep in his arms.

When you awoke, it was late at night. Dracula had stayed with you, however he had chosen to leave you to sleep alone and was perched in your chair, tapping away on his phone. Your eyes burned. He didn’t notice that you had awoken, and so you simply rolled over and pretended to stay asleep.

You were still angry at him, after all, for milking Lucy of her life, bit by bit, instead of devouring her in one go.

Quite a while passed and you lay there, listening to his fingers tapping away. Every now and again he’d very quietly chuckle or exhale and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was messaging her. That hurt - just a little.

His feet all of a sudden carried him towards you and he stopped at the edge of the bed. His cool fingers slid across your face, pushing the stray lock that had fallen into your face a little while ago.

“I’ll see you in a few days, darling.” His voice was a low and hushed whisper.

Pressing a quick kiss to your temple, he then left. The light switched off and you rolled into your back. You sighed.

~^taglist^~

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#wow idk how i managed to rewrite it #almost lost my motivation for a quick minute there #fucking tumblr.#dracula #bbc dracula #netflix dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #netflix dracula x reader #claes bang #dolly wells

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

The Wonder of Small Things

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Momo Yaoyaorozu, Yosetsu Awase

Additional Tags: Mermaid AU

Hey guys, I’m still riding my MomoWase train LOL… This one is in accordance with @bnhabookclub‘s MerMay event, inspired by the prompt “It’s all right. Come here.” Happy reading, and thanks again to @bnhabookclub for hosting this event and accepting me into the server ^.^ I’m having so much fun already!

The early morning air was cool on Yosetsu’s skin as he tromped down the worn dirt path leading to the rocky shore, his cast nets slung over his shoulder. The clinking of the attached metal weights was the only sound in these pre-dawn hours; the sea birds were just beginning to blink sleep away from their beady black eyes and ruffle their feathers to shake away the dew that clung to them like diamond beads. There was that, and the scraping of his worn soles on the even more worn dirt of the path carrying him down to the sloshing sea.

Soon the earthen incline gave way to slick, salty rocks against which the frothing white waves continuously crashed in an endless melody. A wooden dock jutted out into the dark waters, secured to the last bit of earth before the rocky shore. The path Yosetsu traveled suddenly veered level to snake alongside the collection of smooth rocks, but rather than following it just yet, he carefully picked his way a few feet down the precarious shoreline. Mouth drawn into a taut line of concentration, he poked each rock firmly with the toe of his boot to ensure it would not dislodge before setting his full weight against it. In doing so, he gradually approached the thick brown mud barely visible at the base of the rocky slope. Just above the rolling waves, he stopped, setting a hand on his hip and gazing intently at the horizon. A smile crept up his lips as the first tinge of red began to bleed into the indigo sky, slowly following by the burning yellow sun.

Yosetsu always watched the sunrise before setting out to sea. He viewed it almost as a good-luck ritual at this point, a prayer for a plentiful catch. Besides, the sunrises off the rocky shore downhill from his solitary, modest cabin were more beautiful than that you could see from the grandest mansion, at least in his eyes. He loved the way the red, orange, and yellow spilled forth into the sparkling waves like paint poured over a canvas, bleeding together in colorful harmony. At the same time, it spread upwards into the black ink of the sky, like a battalion of soldiers forcing back the terrible demons of the night from whence they came to return light to the world. The golden-white sun bloomed on the horizon like a trembling bubble, ready to burst at any moment with energy but never doing so. Yosetsu’s smile grew with every inch the sun traveled up the blanket of night, marveling black turning into brilliant blue. As soon as the sun detached itself from the horizon with one final flicker, he then turned to pick his way back up the slope and tromp down the remainder of the path to the dock where his humble fishing vessel was moored. The sunset was beautiful, but a young man had a job to do, after all.

The little boat moaned and groaned as the waves playfully tossed it about. The white canvas sail flapped languidly in greeting at him. Yosetsu tossed his casting net into the boat before grabbing the mooring rope to untie it. Once he removed it from the post, he tossed it into the ship as well and carefully eased one leg into the boat. It rocked precariously with the addition of his weight, drifting closer to the dock; after taking a moment to ensure his balance was sufficient, he swiftly pushed off from the pier and drew his other leg into the small vessel. The force pushed the boat away from the wooden structure and out into the waves. Yosetsu grabbed a little paddle and stuck it into the water, then began to row out to sea.

His boat was little more than a dinghy fit for two, so he did not row far- only to where the water was about fifteen feet deep or so, with the land still clearly in view. He hefted up his anchor and tossed it into the water; in plunked into the waves with a tremendous splash before plummeting the short distance down to the seafloor, where it sunk into the thick mud and probably startled some scuttling crabs or perhaps disgruntling a flounder. Yosetsu picked up his casting net and spread it out with both his arms, hooking some of the salty thin rope with his teeth. With practiced movements, he then flung the net about a yard into the water. The heavy weights sewn into the rope caused the thin and light material to sink rapidly down into the depths and hopefully trap a collection of nice fish and crustaceans within the spiderweb-like netting. Once the tension slacked in the string in his hand, he swiftly reeled it in.

Water cascaded from the net as he hauled it over the side and splashed around as the trapped fish fearfully flapped about. Yosetsu grabbed one of the metal ten-gallon-buckets that stocked the boat and scooped some seawater into it before loading the acceptable fish from his haul into it. It seemed his daily ritual had again borne fruit; the net contained several sizeable crabs and a nice, fat trout, perfect for roasting over a crackling fire. He had only just begun, but he still grinned to himself at the possibility of a haul so good he could take a day off.

Yosetsu continued fishing until the sun had reached its highest point. By this time, he had stripped off his loose cotton shirt; the hot rays made the thin sheen of sweat glimmer on his tanned skin not unlike the light playing over the water. He had five ten-gallon buckets filled to their brims with a various assortment of fish and other sea creatures. He grinned as his eyes swept over the impressive haul, his mind whirling of the various ways he could salt and season and grill them over the next few days. Two-thirds of his catch he was going to take into town to sell to the local fish merchant and earn himself a pretty penny. Could probably get myself some new boots, he thought as he wiggled his big toe, watching the pink flesh and dirty toenail poke through the frayed leather.

There was a little more room in the last bucket, so Yosetsu decided to try his luck with one more cast. He flung the net out into the water and waited for it to sink to the muddy bottom, holding the string tight in his hand. His eyebrow quirked when he the thin rope lurched some in his grip. He grinned, thinking he had caught himself a nice fat monster fish. However, the string then lurched violently in his grasp, making him cry out and stumble over to the edge of the boat. He planted the sole of his boot on the edge and leaned back at a forty-five-degree angle, gritting his teeth as he gripped the rope tight with both hands.

“Nuh-uh. You’re not getting away from me, dinner!” he grunted through clenched teeth. The rope dug into the calloused flesh of his palms to tear away the roughened skin and bite the soft, vulnerable layer underneath. It began to burn terribly, and smears of red blood began to appear on every inch of the gray-white nylon he tugged back, but he refused to let go. His eyes went as wide as saucers as a massive, glittering red tail began to thrash at the surface of the water. He began to whoop and holler with glee. “Well dammit if that ain’t the biggest redfish I’ve ever seen!” he howled. The crimson scales gleamed in the white sunlight, sparkling like millions of fine-cut rubies. The shade was a bit vermillion to be a redfish, and he couldn’t spot the signature brown circular mark that identified the species, but if it wasn’t a redfish, then what the hell was it?

As it turned out, it was not a redfish.

Yosetsu went slack-jawed as the gigantic tail disappeared under the water, only to be replaced with the upper half of a human woman. She tugged aggressively at the white nylon netting twisted snug around her body, but her fine fingernails had no chance of rending the thickly woven rope. She had thick black hair that was voluminous even with the water streaming from the strands in rivulets, and pretty black eyes that shone like onyx pearls in her pale white face. He gawked at her shamelessly, the rope loosening in his hands from the shock. “A mermaid,” he breathed when his tongue finally decided it wanted to work, “I caught a fucking mermaid.”

Her head snapped to him once he spoke. Her gaze dropped to the thread of rope connecting the net proper to himself, and he hastily tightened his grip again lest she decide to try and spring away. Her eyes slowly trailed back up to his face; they were hard, calculating, distrusting… but gleaming with the tiniest bit of curiosity. Yosetsu flushed a little under her unyielding stare and bit down hard on his lip as he contemplated what exactly he should do.

Mermaids were urban legends, fairy tales, the subject of raucous sea shanties- yet here he was with one tangled in his cast net! If he hauled her in and showed her off in the nearby town, he was almost guaranteed to skyrocket into the highest tax bracket. He could sell her off to a zoo or a scientist or even the government for millions, and boom! No more hovel on the seaside, no more slaving in a dinghy to drag in fish all day- he’d be lounging in a hammock sipping piña coladas out of coconuts surrounded by pretty girls in bikinis! He giggled languorously at the colorful fantasy. Yet, when he looked back at the beautiful mermaid staring silently at him, the dream bubble burst over his head.

Guilt began to burn like acid in the back of his throat. What was he thinking? She was a living creature, no different than he. With her tail suspended below the water, it was like he was looking at a human girl. How dare he fantasize about profiting off her misery? He tried to ignore the whispers of dollar signs in his ears as he slowly crouched down, beckoning her over with a hand. “It’s all right. Come here.”

She tilted her head to the side as she eyed him warily. He couldn’t blame her; mermaid horror stories probably consisted of terrible tales of what humans would do if she were ever caught. Smiling gently like he would at a stray dog, he beckoned her again. “I promise I won’t hurt you. That netting must hurt, right? Lemme untangle you.” The mermaid hesitated for a moment, then slowly swam up to the edge of the boat. The waves had calmed down since early morning, so now he could see her vermillion tail gliding just underneath the surface; wispy pinkish-red fins adorned the scaly body. It seemed she even had a flair for fashion, as she had strings of colorful glass bits and dark green kelp wrapped around her midriff like a belt with lines of them trailing down around her like a shredded skirt. He was so busy staring at the interesting garment that he hadn’t noticed she had leaned up to rest her arms on the edge of the boat- that is, until she coughed politely right in his ear.

He scrambled back too fast and landed on his rump, rocking the boat tremendously. She giggled cutely at him, bobbing up and down with the boat’s movement. With pink cheeks, he straightened his headband and crawled back to the other side of the vessel to sit on his knees in front of her. When he procured his pocketknife, her dark eyes flickered to the chipped blade before looking at him nervously. “It’s all right. I’ll be careful not to cut you. I just don’t think I can untangle you with how much you thrashed around,” he explained softly. He waited until she nodded slowly in acknowledgment before getting to work.

He started with the netting around her chest. Due to her whipping and flapping around, most of the net had wound itself around her middle. It was drawn painfully tight, digging into her supple white skin, and there was a faint wheeze in her breaths as she struggled to breathe with the tightness. Yosetsu wormed the tip of his index finger beneath the thin rope to pull it up enough to slip the blade under, careful not to nick her, and slice through the nylon. He tried not to think about how expensive that net had been and how he would probably have to forgo new boots in favor of purchasing a new one. At least I got a good haul today, he lamented with a wry smile.

Once he had cut through a good portion of the netting around her middle, the mermaid released a long sigh of relief. Her body sagged down into the water a little and she drank in a few heavy breaths; Yosetsu waited patiently for her to recover from the strain, as he was sure it had been uncomfortable for her, then began to work at the netting around her neck. That was the most painstaking part, as he had to be exceptionally careful not to cut the artery or vein there. She craned her chin up as he diligently worked, but her black eyes remained fixed on him the entire time. It was quite daunting, actually, and a faint blush remained on his cheeks throughout the entire ordeal.

“Here we go,” he smiled as he pulled the loose netting over her head. For a second, he thought of the way a groom removed a veil from the face of his bride, and his blush darkened to a plum color. The mermaid seemed not to notice, for she was smiling giddily and shaking her cascades of black hair away from the clinging strands of the net. The afternoon sun had dried her hair out considerably, making it shine like threads of obsidian. Transfixed, Yosetsu could not help but reach out to touch it; it was incredibly soft against his fingertips, despite the incredible amount of salt it came into contact with daily. The mermaid didn’t shy away, only watched him with a blank expression. “Sorry,” he stuttered when he realized what he was doing and snatched his hand away. “It’s just, um, really pretty.” His heart thumped in his chest at the happy smile she gave him. She hadn’t said a word yet, so who knew if she even knew what he was saying? She was probably just reacting for his benefit.

He motioned for her to roll onto her side, and she did so, exposing that giant vermillion tail to his awaiting eyes. Rubies, he thought again as he beheld the magnificent appendage. He leaned over the edge of the boat to begin cutting at the netting. It was much less careful work due to the healthy hardness of her scale, so he finished quickly. With a small sigh, he dragged the last of the ruined netting from her body and deposited it in the small fishing boat. With his back turned, he fully expected her to disappear beneath the water and swim away into the depths, never to return. He frown when he heard no splashing, however, and turned back to see her still there. She had her chin propped up on her arms and was just gazing at him with a tiny smile.

“Um… I’m done now. You can go now if you want to,” he told her awkwardly. Her smile widened, and for the first time, she spoke.

“What’s your name?” The question threw him for a loop; really, at this point he thought her to be mute, or at least incapable of human language.

“Y-yosetsu Awase,” he stammered quickly. “What about you?” he asked and edged a little closer to her. “Do you have a name?” She made a series of clicking and chirping sounds that he supposed was merfolk language. He had no idea of how even to begin replicating it, so he just gave her a crooked smile. “Uh, that’s, uh, a pretty name.” She giggled airily and pulled herself up so that they were now eye-level. Her face was only a few inches from his. He could kiss her if he wanted to. Stop that, he scolded his shameless unconscious.

“You didn’t understand that, did you?”

“No. Absolutely not. Not a word.” She giggled again. He found himself smiling at how beautiful her laugh was. It reminded him of the bells ringing in the docks of the city harbor as they signaled the morning sail of the shrimp and charter boats. Her body bobbed up and down with the waves, occasionally bringing her face a few centimeters closer to his. Her black eyes continuously searched his expression, but he knew not what she was searching for.

“Well, then… Why don’t you give me a human name?”

One hears thousands of names in their lifetime, but as he gaped at her, he could not even think of one. Subconsciously, he glanced down and spied the peachy-pink color of her wispy fins.

“How about… Momo?”

“Mo-mo?” she echoed inquisitively. He flushed, thinking she found it ridiculous, but then she flashed him a toothy grin. “I like it. You may call me Momo, Yosetsu Awase.”

“You can just call me Yosetsu,” he corrected her quickly. When she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, he quickly explained, “Humans have two names, a first and a last. Humans usually only call each other by one, so… You can call me Yosetsu.” He figured it would be too much trouble to explain the intricacies and manners of given and surnames, so he just elected to keep things simple. She smiled cutely at him.

“All right, then… Yosetsu.” The conversation died, but not uncomfortably so. Yosetsu very much liked just looking at her. She really was a magnificently splendorous creature, and he couldn’t believe that thirty minutes ago, he was considering selling her off to the highest bidder.

She poked around his boat a little, inquiring about the various tools and such he carried with him. He found her delight and curiosity to be more refreshing than the briskest sea breeze and smiled all the while. She was like a charmed young child, entranced by even the most mundane of human artifacts. He gave her a cowrie shell that he had fished in with his net, and she reclined back in the water to watch the light play over its brown-striped surface with the purest look of rapture he had ever seen. It reminded him of how much he really took for granted in day-to-day life. How had the wonder of all the small things in the world just dissolved away? Although, he thought wryly, I do have my sunrises.

“Momo.” She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Will you… come back tomorrow morning? Before the sun rises?”

~~~~~~~~~~

The early morning air was cool on Yosetsu’s skin as he tromped down the worn dirt path leading to the rocky shore, but he didn’t have his cast net with him this time. The scraping of his worn soles on the even more worn dirt was the only sound in these pre-dawn hours; the sea birds were just beginning to blink sleep away from their beady black eyes and ruffle their feathers to shake away the dew that clung to them like diamond beads. There was that, and Momo’s greeting floating on the sea breeze from the shoreline.

Like every morning, Yosetsu ignored the veer in the dirt path to instead pick his way down the slick collection of rocks to stop just short of the splashing waves. Momo lay with her upper half sprawled over a large, flat stone with her black hair gathered over her shoulder, and the milk-white skin of her mostly bare back gleamed like limestone in the moonlight. Her crimson tail floated on the surface of the water behind her, those delicate pink fins rippling like fine silk in the swilling waves. “Good morning,” he smiled as he came to a stop beside her.

“Hello. What is it you wanted me to see?”

“Just be patient,” he instructed her breathily as he eased himself into a sitting position on the flat but slimy-wet rock. He eased off his boots and socks and set them aside so he could dip his bare feet into the cool water. He dug his toes into the goopy brown mud with a contented sigh, then looked over as Momo swam a little closer to him. She was eyeing him curiously, like he was going to bring out something at any moment. “Just look at the horizon,” he ordered, punctuating it with a point of his index finger. She blinked but obediently did as he asked, reclining against the rocks and staring out at the point where sky met sea. A smile crept up his lips as the first tinge of red began to bleed into the indigo sky, slowly following by the burning yellow sun, and he looked at her to see her eyes gradually widening.

The red, orange, and yellow spilled forth into the sparkling waves like paint poured over a canvas, bleeding together in colorful harmony. At the same time, it spread upwards into the black ink of the sky, like a battalion of soldiers forcing back the terrible demons of the night from whence they came to return light to the world. The golden-white sun bloomed on the horizon like a trembling bubble, ready to burst at any moment with energy but never doing so. Yosetsu had seen this image countless mornings; it had been burned into his mind like a brand, so he did not need to look at it that morning to marvel. No, instead, he marveled at the gorgeous mermaid beside him as she beheld her first sunrise. Her pink lips parted with an awed gasp while her black eyes shone gold as they caught the first rays of the morning sun. So enraptured was she that she didn’t even smile; she just stared at the sun as it inched up the sky, until with one final flicker it detached itself from the horizon to rise into the brilliant expanse of blue.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispered. He raised an eyebrow as a tear leaked out of her eye and rolled down her cheek. He wondered if he had been so moved the first time that he saw the sunrise. Probably not, because unlike Momo, he took the wonder of the small things for granted. She turned to him with a beaming, grateful smile so big it made her eyes scrunch up a little. “Thank you, Yosetsu. I’ll never forget this moment, never.” He blushed at the solemnness of her vow and scratched at the back of his head bashfully.

“Well… If you want to… You can see it every morning. The sunrise, I mean. I do it every day before I go out to sea.”

“Then I’ll be here every morning waiting for you,” she promised. He gave her a lopsided grin. She pulled herself up onto the rocks so that they were eye-level. Her face was only a few inches from his. He could kiss her, if he wanted to- and oh, how he wanted to. Her eyes flickered down to his lips as he experimentally leaned in a little closer. She did not retreat from his advance, only gazed invitingly at him with those eyes like black pearls.

“You know somethin’, Momo?” His breath ghosted over her face, and his lips hovered mere millimeters from hers.

“What?” The word was but a whisper, a flitter of wind against his mouth.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as he closed the minuscule distance and gently pressed his mouth to hers. His hands found her waist, just above the junction of ruby scales to skin covered by strings of glass shards and kelp wrappings, and tenderly caressed the soft flesh still gleaming with seawater. He only held the kiss for a mere moment, as fleeting as the crash of a wave against the shore. When he pulled back, her onyx eyes glittered as she smiled sheepishly and cupped his wind-roughened cheek in her hand. There, in the space where sky met sea met land, Yosetsu again marveled the wonder of all the small things in the world and was thankful.

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

Text

Induratize | 02

Genre: Smut, PwP

Pairing: Sugar Daddy/Creative Writing Professor!Namjoon x Student!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected doggy style sex in a bathroom (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses), fingering, squirting, Dom!/Top!Namjoon, swearing/cussing, dirty talk

Summary: It is near impossible to guard one’s heart against love, especially during the prime years of youth. Slowly but surely, resistance is harder to keep up when affection is shown on a daily basis from a forbidden side.

However, forbidden does not always necessarily mean wrong.

Such is the argument of a wolf longing for a little doe.

Author’s Note: Induratize (v.); to make one’s own heart hardened or resistant to someone’s pleas or advances, or to the idea of love.

Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

There is only so long one can run from wolves, especially when having aggravated them. The sounds of the massive crowd rushing over the concrete of the station does not distract the clear focus of the predator nor does the amalgamation of the warm scents of freshly brewed coffee from one of the many spots around the historical edifice. As long as the light falls in through the glass ornate ceiling above the tracks and the artificial lamps remain turned on in the wide halls, the hunt shall not be stopped.

‘Where do you think you’re going, little doe?’ A generous arm clad in warm onyx wool wraps around the middle out of nowhere to draw it back into the fresh scent of a forest after the rain, the mocking lips of the pied piper chuckling into hair.

‘Prof- Professor,’ the fast-beating heart in the heated chest of the tawny wolf is pressed against the spine, the sheer presence and weight of it as curiously mesmerizing thanks to its possessiveness as what had been pressed against the behind earlier as well, ‘this is, ahem, highly inappropriate.’

Why keep up this fantasy? I know I am nothing to you, that you are just sadistically toying with me.

‘Is it? Nobody here knows what we are to each other. For all they know, I’m your boyfriend.’ A kiss on conflicted strands goes paired with a boyish giggle almost nullifying the perversity of the situation, lashes fantasizing about having a real relationship fluttering close in sheer bliss for a moment. Content, even if the bond is based around money and emotions are never really reciprocated. ‘They don’t know I’m your sugar daddy.’

‘I- I-’ Hips snap as they did in the train, erasing every sense of logic thought in a split second as the sensual heat from before rekindles. ‘I, mhm, sir, I don’t nee- need- oh, fuck!’

‘I told you to call me by my name, didn’t I? So why won’t you?’ Plush lips ghost over the side of the neck, warm breath setting every nerve on fire in paradoxical anticipation. ‘Maybe I need to convince you. Or,’ teeth sink into the side of the throat as digits glide over the mouth opening in a surprised gasp, ‘ teach you manners.’

In a flash, the hold from behind is made undone to be replaced by a firm grip on the wrist, resulting in being dragged along to the nearest unisex bathroom. Here, freedom is temporarily granted during the small moment it takes to lock the door before a sturdy hand grabs the waist whilst its counterpart snakes around the back of the neck, hiding beneath loose locks whereas the other violently tugs down the fabric of the haphazardly pulled on leggings. Any other woman would have been afraid if their professor had done the same, but that unknown man is not Namjoon and the situation would not have been fuel for sinful fiction. Henceforth, consent to the rough handling is given wordlessly in the feigned helpless gaze at the domineering tutor.

Eyes meet anew in the mirror after being harshly turned around, maintaining contact as slender honey digits explore the wanton desire which essentially forms the foundation for every tale that comes forth in class and private. The toying continues for a bit, the creative writer clearly finding pleasure in the gradually building desperation finding a voice in weak whines.

‘You’d really leave me hanging like that? It’s not polite to let me walk to university with an obvious bulge, little doe, especially,’ all play is over as it takes solely one intruding advance to nullify every thought immediately and be thrown into the melting that feels like wildfire, ‘when you’re the cause of it. What did I tell you each time you wanted to move on to a new project without finishing the old one?’

There is no room to adjust to the unprotected sheer size of the author unintentionally kept on a leash, harsh hips relentlessly claiming what has been longed for. The answer to the question does not surface because every time it tends to, it is cruelly shattered to incoherent bits by a savage growl unable to be kept waiting in the chase for possession and oblivious ignorance. ‘I- I can’t, shit! I can’t r- re- remember.’

‘Finish what you started, Y/N. That’s what I told you and so you’ll take my veiny cock, whether you want to or not.’ A low baritone chuckle filters through the haze behind closed eyes as a warm secure palm folds over lips bitten down on by teeth endeavouring to restrain pathetic mewls hardly containing their overwhelming joy. Forcefully, a look in the mirror is established, the sight melting the last remnants of muscle in shaking legs but fortunately being kept steady by compelling darkened espresso eyes glaring from between tightly held messed-up locks. ‘Look in the mirror, see how I, how your wolf is fucking that tight pussy open. God, you’re gorgeous. Nice and complacent, having no choice but- Yeah, tighten around that big dick. No choice but to take me.’

The loud embarrassing drip of something on the tiles breaks through the baritone grunts and muffled ruined mascara cries of pleasure, something in the sudden hollow sensation in the aftermath of the first explosion of sensual elevation being much to Namjoon’s delight after a disgruntled yet surprised snarl. ‘I didn’t know you’d like it that much, little doe.’ Without a word of warning, bodies are joined in coyness once more. Notwithstanding, the union is a paradoxical mixture of pain and satisfaction in a different manner, for now, overstimulated nerves are denied the recovery from their watery floating in ignorance and brutally brought back to the wonderfully fulfilling reality. ‘But guess we’ll- shit, still tight... fucking wet, do it like this from now on since preparation apparently isn’t, grm, needed.’

From- From now on? I... I’m his?

The conflict likely shining through in the flowing tears finds assurance in the confirmation which was already assumed yet could not be believed. ‘Yes, from now on. I’m what you need, what you want. You’ve made that clear more than once.’ A particular hard advance compels the upper body to lie down on the cool counter entirely, forced into complete submission to the tawny wolf wonderfully claiming what has secretly been his all along. ‘Thirsting after me, squirting over my cock like that. Don’t think I haven’t seen you stealing glances at my bulge, baby.’

A protest wants to be made but is swallowed down before it can find an unintelligible noise to be voiced in for sneaky peeks have, indeed, been stolen in the classroom or lecture hall when thought to have been unnoticeable. Clearly, the opposite is the truth of the matter.

‘You like it, baby? This is how it feels, how your wolf feels. What I’ve wanted all this time, wanted while fluffing myself before- hrm, ah- before teaching you.’ Trying and succeeding in deepening the primal bond, growling teeth leave behind a gorgeous mark of belonging on the side of the neck while hips accelerate, driven to utter madness. To the degree nothing can be said by the human beneath the skin of the beast and thus lets the body speak for itself. Exactly like the little doe irretrievably hypnotized by the bruising grip on the waist in combination with the sharp sting of hair being tugged on and lewd noises resonating between the walls.

The revelation alongside the brand makes the heart almost dance in perverse joy, the knowledge to grace unspeakable fancies and being claimed thus evoking a misplaced yet wonderful delight. So much so that it is enough to be kicked off the edge that precariously has been balanced on again, taking the forbidden lover along by unconsciously narrowing the connection and letting fingers entangle in messy dark golden locks.

And for a while, everything is extraordinarily beautiful and right. The filling intimacy, the warm breath on the side of the throat, the sturdy arms around the waist keeping up both fools standing in delirium. Outside this very moment, there is nothing.

Nothing except us.

All that is misguided.

‘I want you to stay after class.’ The contextless command, for tone leaves little room to assume it is anything else, pulls the mind floating in personal reverie back to the present to reflect on the implications of giving in to the tall dominant writing tutor.

‘Namjoon... I- I mean, professor.’ Irises having regained a sense of Logic turn away from the lovely view in the mirror of tawny locks still enjoying their high burying their adorable button nose into personal strands, breaking it up. It is a crying shame, but the incomprehension calls for elaboration on why the academic would want more time together. Certainly because this is a mistake. A grave, severe mistake. ‘Wha- What we’ve done. I shouldn’t- I didn’t want to lead you on.’

‘Don’t call me that. Just call me by my name.’ Unapologetically, the wonderful physical spell is made undone for the second and last time, the expected comfort at the awkward hollow sensation below remaining absent as punishment. A mocking grin tugs on the corners of plush lips, apparently finding something humorous in the messed-up situation. ‘Funny how you blame yourself while I’m the one who initiated it. You liked it, didn’t you, little doe?’

‘Y- Yes, but... it’s, ah, well, uhm...’ The caress of honey digits over the brand on the side of the throat ending in a squeeze of the shoulder alongside the one over the cheek melts away the ability to speak, all vocabulary craftily used when writing vanishing at once at the gentle touch of the affectionate gaze looking down.

Watching over their territory.

Guarding what they love.

That which they should not.

‘It’s what? Use your words, baby.’ A low chuckle evokes warring feelings of Sense and Passion, not knowing which should prevail outside the university grounds where it is possible to be anything and anyone. Nobody here knows about the actual relationship that goes on between a tall young man and a wee lass differing in age with him a tad.

Notwithstanding, the wonderful reverie is lifted when leaning sideways to undo the intimacy after mustering all inner strength and let palms soak in the cold of the stone sink by moving ever so slightly to untouched spots on the surface. ‘It’s wrong, si- Joon. I’m your pupil, someone taking classes from you.’

‘You might be, but I’m still a man, Y/N.’ Undaunted by the sudden distance, big palms rest themselves on either side of the waist as cushiony lips place a chaste kiss on the forehead. ‘A man who wants to take care of you, who wants to be more to you than simply a professor. I promise you our relationship won’t be solely about sex. I’ve shown that more than once by offering to pay for your food and coffee, didn’t I?’

‘So...’ Fluttering lashes barely dare to look up at the adorable button nose of which the eyes hold nothing but sincerity in the oddly loving expression that makes the heart flutter in spite of trodding down the wrong path with the pied piper. ‘When you asked me to have lunch together, you’d never wanted to, you know, let this happen?’

‘Not without your permission.’ Hands rub the upper arms affectionately, smiling faintly when small palms place themselves on bared honey hips. Their voice is sincere, assuring of holding nothing but honest intentions despite the forbidden aspect of the relationship that might overtake entirely if it is not stopped at once. ‘I won’t make you do things you don’t want to. All those times I asked you to eat together, I genuinely wanted to make sure you’d at least had something in your system to make it through the coming hours.’

A low chuckle speaks another truthful wish for one who should not be loved in the way she is. Nevertheless, a little doe is. ‘Though having dinner together would be a nice change of pace.’

And it is entrancingly exciting.

‘Dinner?’ A pretty image of sharing a meal by candlelight unwillingly carves a timid though anticipating smile onto lips, fiercely longing for something that cannot be.

Or can be if the game is played cunningly and outside spectators are kept in the dark.

We could do this because maybe, no, he surely loves me. Why else would he be my sugar daddy? Although, perhaps that is precisely where the fault lies since the bond would still be based around money and sex. That’s how these types of relationships work.

‘Yeah. And I’d walk you home afterwards, just to be sure you’re safe and sound. And only if you’d want it,’ foreheads rest on each other in a warm air of a lush forest and water lilies blooming in a pond beneath an orange tree when spring comes, plush lips ghosting over an eagerly following mouth which hungers for more, ‘I’d stay.’

‘Is that why you want me to remain after class?’

Please let that be the reason. Please promise me this will indeed not be solely about sex. That I am also more to you just as you are to me.

‘Maybe.’ An innocent grin nullifies the sexual atmosphere as palms briefly relieve their protective hold to swiftly correct the dislocated clothes below. However, when trousers are in order again, Professor Kim... Namjoon envelops the waist again in a loving embrace going accompanied by an unavoidable affectionate peck on the nose, stilling the stupid worry that the gesture of making one’s outfit in order after what has transpired indicates being solely interested in sensual transactions. ‘But I thought it’s nice if we hop on the bus together and I’ll drop you off at the right tracks before going home myself.’

‘That’s sweet.’ The response comes out more mockingly than intended, bitter Logic still endeavouring to kill any hopes of actually continuing this make-believe for that is essentially what this is.

Has to be.

A silly game.

Unsustainable.

As it might turn out to be in reality, but not in imagination as stories have proven time and again. Henceforth, let another be shakily written at this starting point.

And see its way into the world.

The brilliant creative writer picks up on the persevering doubt caused by conflicting thoughts and emotions, every molecule making up the novice writer engaged in the ancient war of Mind and Heart, and in turn becomes hesitating himself. Voice contains a pleading undertone as the low hug fuses two lovers together albeit not in the coy sense, but just as intimate with the desire to stay. ‘You’re doubting me.’

Together.

This is wrong, but he’s good to me. Always has been. Maybe he really is in love with me, though it could just be a farce simply to get sex. No, he isn’t like that. He cares and that’s why he does what he does. I’m going in circles. We could try. I could let him try.

‘I’m not! It’s just that- I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel about this.’ Happiness is anxiously within reach, the alluring manifestation of a goal never to be thought to actually be achieved with the tawny wolf. Withal, it is right there, right here, ripe for the taking. If only all inhibitions are let go of and the truthful Self, the newbie novelist heavily in love with her muse, turns selfish as a reward for doing the right thing for so long. After all, such a change should be allowed as a reward.

Right?

‘Maybe you will after we get some coffee. You look tired and I’m afraid you won’t make it through the day after what happened here.’ The concentration on indecision is broken up by a hand affectionately caressing the cheek like before, turning the chin upwards a tad to lock gazes after setting every vein on fire by gliding over the jaw. ‘In any case, know I’m not lying. I’m really head over heels for you.’

Long honest-speaking legs lower into a crouch to pull up the roughly pulled down legging again and correct today’s simple outfit. Once composed enough to face the public again, Namjoon holds out an arm clad in onyx wool to clutch along the way. ‘You can hold on to me and we’ll find somewhere nice and quiet. Come on, let’s go.’

#BTS #BTS smut #BTS x Reader #thekimlinenet #hyunglinenetwork #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Induratize

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ren-c-leyn · 4 years

Text

Dearest Vengeance

Continuing to clear out my drafts, finally down to under 350 prompts saved that I’ve always wanted to use but couldn’t find the motivation/inspiration for, so, yay. This one was writing these 1,2,3,4 prompts by @humdrummoloch, these 1,2 by @thependragonwritersguild, these 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 prompts by @givethispromptatry, this prompt by @gingerly-writing, this prompt by @scrawl-your-heart-out, this prompt by @unpromptly, this prompt by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor, this prompt by @write-it-motherfuckers, and last but certainly not least, this prompt by @scandy-inspo.

So, this piece is most definitely on the darker side of my writing style. A tale of betrayal, revenge, death, and regrets. It’s probably the closest to horror I’ve gotten in a long time, but I don’t know if it actually crosses that line between dark fantasy and horror or not. There are several deaths mentioned. I try to stay away from the gore, but there is definite fight scenes and anticipation of the end bits.

That day... that day had always haunted me. So long ago and so far away. I could still hear it, still hear the laughter and the screams. It never goes away, never fades. I still hear it echoing in my ears, particularly on cold, Spring days, like that one....

“She saved us!” I had shouted.

“She’s a killer!” the commander had replied, raising his hand to give the signal.

“She is our savior and if you wish to do her harm we will stand as obstacles. She may be a killer, but will you damn yourself to that label as well?”

He looked me in the eye.

“This is what must be done, by order of the princess.”

His hand came down as he stared me down. I tried to jump forward but two others held me back while the rest of the party closed in on her like rabid wolves. To her credit, she fought as well as any other I had ever seen, weaving magic and blades together... but there were too many. Far too many.

“What have we become?” I had asked in a breathless whisper, staring down upon the bloodied remains of our former comrade.

“Who cares? Grab the loot and let’s go,” one of the cowards had replied, joy in his voice.

Turned on my heel, practically snarling like a wild animal.

“It amazes me sometimes how low you are willing to sink.”

“I got the mission done, didn’t I?! Besides, she was doomed to die, anyways. Leave her to the land, I say.”

They split her belongings, along with the treasures we had collected along the journey among each other. I took only one thing, her beloved pendant. It’s weight still feels so heavy, so cold, as if I’m carrying the burden of her judgement, of her betrayal, around my neck.

I rubbed the smooth surface of the crystal, watching the clouds roll by just like the lingering memories when the doors to my quarters were flung open, the heavy oak slamming against the stone walls hard enough I feared it would crack. Spinning on my heels, I confronted the breathless man.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“My apologies, but you have received summons to the war room by her majesty.”

I growled at that. What I wouldn’t give to walk out of this damnable castle and leave her majesty, the former princess,’s command. But she would not have it. No, I would be hunted down and put to a worse fate than dear Evelyn.So I settled for storming through the halls, watching the servants and guards stumble out of the way before throwing the war room doors open just as roughly as the hapless servant had done to mine.

Only, it had a far different effect than the outrage I had hoped for.

Instead I was confronted by paled faces and drawn blades. There was a fear and nervousness that I was unfamiliar with. It dissipated only slightly when they recognized me and put their blades away, but I knew these men and women. I knew them not to fear anything alive, not even their own wickedness, for they were the group that was apart of the expedition that killed her... the monsters that murdered Evelyn. At least, most of them. Two of the faces were missing, but I cared not to see the pair that scored the finishing blow on her.

“Now that all are present,” the queen spoke, pointedly staring at my former commander, “explain yourself, Richmond. What prompted this gathering?”

He stared at her with wide and wild eyes, dark bags practically dripping from his eye sockets.

“I saw her. And I know it was her.”

“Richmond, we can never be sure,” Lucy had begun, but her cut her off.

“You think I’d miss those purple eyes?! Those gleaming eyes....” He trailed off, slumping forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the lavish table to support his trembling form. “She killed them. Evelyn killed James and Sam. Just... just ran them through with her bare hands, those horrible, horrible glowing hands.”

“You told me you had succeeded,” the queen snarled.

“We thought we had,” he spoke, barely above a whisper. “She had no heartbeat, drew no breath... some sort of magic, I assume.”

A frustrated growl escaped her majesty’s lips as she rose from her chair.

“Then do not fail me again! The sorceress is to be slain, do I make myself clear?”

He shook his head.

“We cannot kill something like that.”

“Refusal is not an option!”

He looked her in the eyes.

“Neither is success possible.”

Everyone else in the room shuffled uncomfortably as he rose from his seat and began to wander towards the door.

“I did not dismiss you!”

“With all due respect, your majesty, I don’t give a damn. I’m going to spend my last few days, hours, minutes, the way I wish.”

With that, he slammed the war room doors closed, only for me to fling them open seconds later. I had to know if it was true, if she lived. And if it was, I had to know where she was.

I chased him down, trying to catch up with him.

“Wait!” I shouted.

He paused in the abandoned corridor, my own voice and the echoes of our footsteps ringing out. Richmond turned to face me, face drained of all energy and resolve.

“Where did you see her? Is she truly alive?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but a third voice answered that stole both the heat in the air and our breaths away.

“No, not in the traditional sense.”

And with that, I saw it, a glowing purple hand reaching through Richmond’s chest, like she was grasping for me. He gurgled and sputtered, coughing and wheezing. The hand retreated and he fell to the floor, shivering violently as if he was caught in an ice storm.

Standing just behind the fallen man was a figure I never thought I’d see again. She looked so familiar, so beautiful, I just wanted to step over the horrid man and hug her, hold her, never let her go... but something was terribly wrong. Her dark purple eyes held no light, frost clung to her lips, the air around her was cold enough to freeze my blood and soul, and the wicked smirk on her face.... No, no this wasn’t her. This was not dear Evelyn.

“Three down, six to go.”

And with that, she stepped over the convulsing man, walked right through me, leaving a terrible chill in the very marrow of my bones, and disappeared. I looked around with wide eyes, glancing down at Richmond and back up the empty halls. I found myself torn between what the right thing was. Her vengeance, which surely we all deserved, or saving lives. In the end, I found myself sprinting up the hallways, shouting intruder at the top of my chilled lungs.

I burst back into the war room, heaving from my run.

“How dare you run out like....”

“She’s here!” I shouted at the queen before she had finished. “Evelyn has....”

I was cut off by a peculiar sensation, a frigid hand gliding through my back to somewhere between my throat and lungs. Within the short second it took to realize what was happening, the cold had sunk beneath my skin and taken root somewhere under my ribs. As I breathed ice came forth and I found that I could not say a word. My voice had frozen in my chest.

I pawed helplessly at my throat, turning to face her. Evelyn stood behind me, that blindingly brilliant smile on her face. She winked before walking past, entering the chamber.

“Haven’t I killed you before?” the queen asked calmly, likely up to something.

“I got better.”

The atmosphere tensed as the others shuffled around the room, positioning themselves just so.

“Seems impossible from the reports I received. Was I deceived?”

“No deceptions, except your own, dear sister.”

Instead of an answer, the queen’s hands crackled with magic energy and she shot a bolt of lightening at Evelyn, the specter of Evelyn, as my fellows cut at her with naked blades, just as they had before. But she only laughed, laughed as her form broke apart into a frigid mist.

The rest, I did not rightly see, as a fireball burst within the cloud and sent me sprawling out in the hall. I coughed and rubbed at my chest, trying to break apart the ice, fearing I would suffocate if it continued to spread.

There were screams, horrible screams, and the queen ran out with John on her heels. She grabbed my by the collar and yanked me onto my feet before dragging me down the hallway. We went through several corridors, my breath coming out in little white puffs as the echoes of battle and painful deaths chased us at a dulling distance.

She did not stop moving until we were safely tucked into a small room off the throne room. Using fire, she warmed my throat and unfroze my voice before grabbing my collar again and pulling me nose to nose with her.

“What did you do?!”

“Nothing, I did nothing. I... I went to ask Richmond where he had seen her and... she killed him.”

The queen snarled before releasing me.

“Who? Who summoned her back to the living plane if not you?!”

“I know not the ways of magic, your majesty,” I replied.

She just growled and paced, while I scrubbed at the place above my heart, trying to rub away the ache that had settled there. It was not long until we heard shouting down below. The shouts of sorceress and intruder did not fail to catch any of our attentions. John was at the balcony first, staring down at it all. The queen followed after him, gathering the velvet folds of her scarlet dress.

“It was never meant to end like this…”

The murmur was almost lost amongst the screams, the queen staring out upon the devastation with an expression of grief and heartbreak, one hand clutching at the fabric over her chest, as if to stifle the pain she felt there. I was silent for a moment as I watched her out of the corner of their eyes, before letting out a deep sigh, the slightest of frowns marring my features as I finally turned to follow her gaze.

“No…. I don’t suppose it was…” I snarled as I watched Lucy running for her life on a frozen leg, the specter dancing and weaving through hails of arrows and sword slashes as she hunted her down.

The queen turned on me, eyes hard.

“And it wouldn’t have happened,” I pressed, “if you hadn’t brought your own evil upon us all, your majesty.”

She rose her hand to slap me, but John’s shrill voice stopped her.

“She’s going to die if we don’t do something!”

“So? Let her. It’s not like she’d go out of her way for you,’ I spoke coldly, still staring into the queen’s dark orange eyes.

I turned my back on them and started to walk towards the door. A wall of flames sprung up, stopping me.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave! You can’t abandon your queen in a time of crisis!”

I looked back at her.

“You are not my queen.”

She snarled.

“Traitor!”

“That is your title, sister,” Evelyn’s cold voice echoed in the room for a brief moment before her form rose up out of the floor. “You’re collapsing under the weight of your own lies, sweetheart. It was bound to happen eventually. That is why you cannot command loyalties, why you have never been able to keep friends.” Evelyn shook her head, her dark hair dancing around her misty shoulders. “Honestly, you never changed. You only live to poison this world. That’s why father was going to pass the throne to me, instead of you. I wish I was sorry, but you’ve fucked me over one time too many. You already had your last chance. This ends here.”

The queen started trembling.

“So what happens now?”

“Are you kidding me?” came the sneering reply. “Now I kill you. Or I die again trying.”

“No, no you will go back to your grave!” the queen screeched. “John, kill her! Kill her again!”

John hesitated. Being one of the ones that held me in place, he hadn’t actually killed her the first time, only helped. Now, seeing all whom did die... I doubted he wished to confront the image of vengeance we were now faced with. I had been her only friend on that fateful day, and I did not even wish to be in this freezing room with her any longer. But Evelyn gave him no choice. She glided towards him with a cruel smile.

He swung his blade, catching only mist and air, but her glowing hand found it’s mark: his throat. I shuddered as I watched him claw helplessly at it, knowing the feeling he was undoubtedly experiencing. The queen, however, had no pity, no sympathy. She just attacked with magic, having little more effect than we had. But the blades of ice the specter conjured sent ribbons of red splattering across the fine floors. And when neither of them moved nor make any more sound, her form solidified and she collapsed to the floor, all of the old wounds from that terrible spring day reforming.

Timidly, I went to her, kneeling by her form.

“What did you do to them?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“What I had to.”

“Did you have to?”

“Perhaps... not... but here’s nothing quite like victory.”

“This hardly counts as a victory, Evelyn.”

She shrugged. I watched as pure black drained from her veins and arteries out onto the cold marble floor. I swore, as her eyes fluttered, as her breathing heaved, that I could see speckles, tiny little stars flecking the void-colored blood.

“Why is it always you?” I asked, but my only answer came in the form of her body misting again, slowly turning to a cold fog before disappearing altogether.

Years passed after the bloody slaughter at the castle, or perhaps icy slaughter is more apt. I got my wish to leave it, finally, after a cousin of Evelyn and the former queen stepped up to take the throne. He said he did not wish to keep a cursed person so close. At the time, I was too happy to be rid of the chains of my station to question it, but now... I wonder sometimes.

Because on cold, spring days, I can feel her frigid hand on my heart.

#short story #fiction #fantasy #angst #horror #tw death #original story #my writing #writeblr #a story by Ren

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unordinary-analysis · 4 years

Text

Episode 167

Honorable mentions:

Going to ignore Blyke for this week until we have some more development

My analysis of episode 161 is very closely related to this one (give or take a few statements), so I suggest going and reading that, though you don’t have to :)

^^^ like very closely related

If you do read it though, not all of what I said I would like to discuss again in this post because either I am unsure about it or I have better ideas now. I might say something in this post that contradicts what I said in my post about episode 161. Do not consider episode 161 equal to this episode. Everything I say in this post is what I am currently thinking and is more important at the moment. BASICALLY: RELEVANCE>

TLDR at the end

I tried to make the quotes I used in this analysis as easy to read as possible, but there were a lot of parentheses in the quotes I used so whenever I wanted to explain what something meant or clarify something, I completely closed and reopened my quote. Sorry if I made things more difficult to understand. It’s a struggle.

Anyway, this is wordy on purpose and meant to be formatted formally because I really like that style of analysis as compared to my looser commentary type.

Parallels:

Parallels are the best things. They’re phenomenal. And they create this easy way for readers to reflect on stories. And the one in this episode? Ooooooooo boy. I mean, it’s not exactly a new parallel, but it is the best and most important, recurring parallel in the entire plotline of UnOrdinary. And because of the way this parallel presents itself in this week’s episode, it will be discussed in the section below. This section just had to be included to acknowledge the great parallel work in this comic. Parallels are just such a great element and their use in UnOrdinary is extraordinary. Felt this needed to be said, repeatedly.

John:

This section will be the main, and only section for this episode analysis (discluding the small bit above) because it is extremely important and deserves your full attention. The episode this week was obviously very John centered and put heavy emphasis on his unhealthy relationships with Cecile, Seraphina, e.t.c., and though things similar have been touched on in the past, this episode has been the most obvious, the most telling, about this theme.

In this episode, we are reminded, again, of John’s obsession with Seraphina. And I said something similar in my post about episode 165, but, until recently, this hasn’t really stood out to the extent that it should. John has always seemed ‘obsessed’ with Seraphina, but there has never really been proper focus on that, as there is more and more of now. In episode 165, Arlo was explaining to Seraphina his history with John and kept saying that John would work himself up into a rage on her behalf, which, yeah we all knew, but it had never been pointed out as something as extreme as what Arlo described it as, which allowed us to view the whole situation in a whole new light. In this episode, John’s obsession with Seraphina is even more obvious, him growing so overwhelmed with anxiety at the thought of Seraphina not siding with him. He gets violent with Cecile, who really had nothing to do with Seraphina’s actions, and then right after hitting her to the ground, grabs her, and demands that she tell him what Sera said about him. The intensity of the way the panels read is hard to replicate in words. The comic really puts effort (the colors, blurs, etc) into stressing the feeling and passion behind John’s actions and words, multiplying the impact of what he is doing, what he’s saying. John’s anger is meant to be an intense thing and has always been meant to.

Now, the surface level objective of this episode is to stress John’s obsession with Seraphina, as the comic has been touching on and doing for the past couple of episodes. We are working towards a confrontation of some sorts, there is no doubt. But another very standout thing in this episode, and what I teased on in the introductory section, are the flashbacks from John to his past at New Bostin. The images of Adrion and Claire keep plaguing him. They always have. I said in the beginning of this post that they are “recurring”. In episode 161, there were similar flashbacks to this episode, and John kept seeing Claire. Anyways, these flashbacks, though they’ve always been recurring, have been becoming more and more common as of recently. And as I kept repeating in my analysis of episode 161, it’s hinting at how John’s past has slowly been catching up with him, overtaking him. John has been running from his past for so long, but now it’s leaking into his new created personality. This is very important to what my main idea of this post is.

The particular use of the parallels in this week’s episode is very interesting as a development from episode 161 because in ep 161, the images of Claire and New Bostin came in flashes as John’s subconscious saw similar images before him. In this episode, however, John doesn’t only get these split second flashbacks when he sees something that reminds him of his past, he is actively thinking about his past, which is such a huge leap. There is a major difference between being reminded of something because of a similar image and being reminded of something either because you experience a similar emotion (the beginning of this episode) or if you are seemingly unprompted by the current moment (the end of this episode). It is a sign that those images and thoughts are circulating around John’s head more and more (especially considering that there was a time when John would go months without experiencing a flashback). Again, this is teasing how John’s past is overwhelming him bit by bit. I keep repeating this and it’s for a reason. It. is. Important. John has been able to feel angry or passionate in the comic without reexperiencing his past before and the implication that that is no longer true is alarming.

I know I keep referring to the fact that John’s inner self, his past self, has been overwhelming and overtaking his new personality. I literally just said it. I’ve said it multiple times in both this post and in episode 161. And I’ve also just described the stark difference of John’s flashbacks in the earlier days of the comic until now. John rarely would get a flashback, only in nightmares or maybe an image every once in a while. Now, because the last few scenes where we got to see inside John’s head have included flashbacks, it’s safe to say that this is a very common occurrence now. This means that not only is the John of John’s past is overtaking him, but also that it has already made a huge amount of progress. I said in my analysis of episode 161, “His [John’s] evil half (symbolized by Joker) is interacting with, confronting, his better half (symbolized by Sera),” (referencing an earlier comment about how Sera represents the good in John), “. . . . -In both the image of Seraphina and the image of Claire, either John or Joker is standing above them, obviously a more powerful and evil force. And the fact that both are direct symbols of John implies that this [John’s evil side] is the side of John that is much more dominant.” The fact that there was sensible enough evidence in episode 161 that I felt I could tell that John’s dark side, his past self, was already greater than his better side means that currently, as we are now at episode 167, it is even greater. Assuming, of course, that the concept of it’s growth really is how I’ve described it to be.

All of these statements lead up to the same conclusion: John now isn’t the John he tried to be (the cripple, the dreamer, the passive). The fabricated John has been the lesser percentage of John for at least (and likely greater than if we look at the rate of growth) seven episodes now, using my evidence. This means:

John isn’t the John we know, isn’t the character we were introduced to in 2016. He has regressed back into the old John. The John of New Bostin who became king and went on a violent rampage, brutalizing, what was it, half of his class? We don’t know much about him other than that because John tried to hide from that side of himself for so long. And the idea of John not being who he tried to be is confusing as a concept when you realize that we don’t fully understand exactly who this ‘dark John’ or ‘past John’ is. And more importantly, we don’t know yet why he’s come back. I know that I’ve already said that the flashbacks to New Bostin have been evidence of the takeover, but why did they occur in the first place? Why couldn’t John maintain that illusion of the person he wanted to be?

I’m going to be straightforward with this part. First of all, Seraphina actually unknowingly played a huge part in John’s fantasy. We know that he relied on her. We know that he trusted her. But recently, Seraphina has been spending less and less time with John. Because: obviously, she knows now that he is Joker and wants nothing to do with him. Seraphina’s (who, again, for John represents his improved, fake self) absence has strongly affected John’s mind and rationality. The second reason as to why John wasn’t able to continue pretending to be who he wanted is a little more simple. It’s because John’s fabricated self was just that, fabricated. A fake was never going to hold up against John’s true nature or his true mind. And we know that John’s false personality was just him avoiding his old self, as John has canonically said multiple times. Due to the extreme lengths that John went to to delay his past self from overtaking him, old John is coming back strong.

Here’s where things get more interesting for me and more closely related to the concept of the recurring parallel that I was talking about earlier. John’s past self has been slowly manifesting itself into the fabricated John’s mind through flashbacks of their past. And because nothing else seems to get fake John as responsive, I’m going to assume that this is the only way that the true John has been able to make progress towards overtaking John’s body, through unwanted flashbacks reminding John of the reality of himself.

I’ve been very vague this whole analysis, not really using details from the actual episode (this episode: episode 167) to support anything that I’ve been saying, just using the general concepts, but here I want to talk about the flashbacks in particular and their contents. In this episode, the first flashback we get from John is after Cecile describes to him how Seraphina and Arlo have been meeting up and talking with each other. John instantly thinks of something that happened at New Bostin: his old errand boy, Adrion, is telling him that Claire has been meeting up with the jack. Not only that, but that Claire and the jack were gathering a crowd of students to attempt to take down John. Hold on to this because, obviously this mental association is going to impact John’s future actions.

The last flashback in this episode is when John is at home and rethinking his conversation with Cecile. We get the same images from John: his past self being warned that Claire and the jack were recruiting his enemies behind his back to take him down. But this time, after, we get the thought, “Sera… She wouldn’t… would she?” And the use of this particular scene in context of Seraphina and John’s relationship plus their current situation is very obvious about the message it is trying to convey.

The content of the flashbacks paired with John’s current situation suggests that John is relating what is happening to him now to his past, molding them together into this illusion. Because of the images of New Bostin appearing, John has convinced himself that he is in the same situations once again. This is big. This is huge. John’s flashbacks are making it so that John cannot separate the present from the past. He cannot exist at Wellston without his subconscious relating everything that is happening to what happened to John at New Bostin. He cannot tell the two apart, which is what I’ve been trying to express for this whole post and what I’d like to talk about. It caused the downfall of his attempt to reinvent himself and will cause the downfall of John in the future of the comic as both a leader, and as a friend.

But there is another flashback in this episode that I want to point your attention to. It does not appear in the same form as the others. It is not an image. It actually occurs in John’s outburst at Seraphina. It was obviously something so unexpected from John for him to blame Seraphina’s problems on her. Seraphina hasn’t done anything to wrong John, correct? In fact, she is (or was), in a way, acting as his emotional crutch, helping him in creating that illusion of his fake self. And yet, we see this fit from John at her expense, dragging her down, blaming her. I’m here to say that this. Is. A. Flashback. You will see why later, but honestly, because I’ve labeled this as a flashback for you, I’m sure it’s clear what I’m trying to get at and it’s been clear, but just in case you don’t understand my main point:

I keep saying that John cannot now separate his present from his past, but I haven’t exactly stressed what that means. This means that John also cannot separate people at Wellston from the people he knew at New Bostin. This episode’s flashbacks to Claire and situations revolving around her and the comparison to current events revolving around Seraphina, and especially the outburst by John at her; they all suggest that John doesn’t see Seraphina as her own person anymore, maybe that he never has (I’ll give John the benefit of the doubt though and say that for the majority of their friendship, he was able to view her in an unbiased and unaffected way).

It’s become clear that John is, currently at least, viewing Seraphina as another Claire. And I think that I’ve become numb to that after literally days of being obsessed with that fact and sorting through my thoughts to write it down here. But I first thought of this the night episode 167 came out and it completely blew my mind because everything lines up.

And obviously, the outburst in this episode towards Seraphina was formed from pent up anger towards Claire when she betrayed John. It’s pretty obvious now after I’ve told you what I think, but to John, because Claire’s betrayal started in the same way that it is presented that Arlo and Seraphina are talking, John is automatically assuming that it is the exact same situation. And he is channeling all of his anger at Claire for betraying him at Seraphina because he thinks that she’ll do the same thing Claire did because obviously, he has trouble distinguishing Claire from Serpahina, has trouble realizing that just because Claire would do one thing, Serpahina could do something completely different.

This statement helps to clarify all of my previous statements of, ‘the parallels in this comic, and especially this episode are amazing.’ Before now, there hasn’t technically been a clear parallel, but this parallel? It is no doubt the most important in UnOrdinary. So if the praise had seemed a little bit unwarranted until now, I apologize. I just really love parallels.

Anyways, the main idea of this whole post is that: John’s subconscious isn’t able to move past the events of New Boston, and while creating a whole new personality did help John pretend like he did for a while, it was only a temporary fix and is causing him to experience this fresh wave of trauma that wouldn’t have been as harsh if he didn’t run from it. John will never be free from the events of New Bostin and he will never be able to forget it. And: he will also never be able to move past being the person he was, the real him. Becoming his true self, the New Bostin John, is, and always was, unavoidable. And because his subconscious will never develop or evolve from New Bostin, because he can never move on, John is not able to completely distinguish between the past and the present, forever returning mentally to New Bostin. He is not able to fully view other people as separate from his past and automatically associates his friends and classmates with people he used to know, holding on to the biases from his past (ex. Hating on Seraphina because he associates her with Claire). John is also associating any current event with something that happened to him in the past, causing him to act disproportionately or irrationally when the situation does not call for it.

Even shorter: John thinks Sera is Claire and is hardcore relating the current storyline to his past at New Bostin. And parallels are literal works of art. Good day.

Bit of a choppy ending, but I was never good at those.

#unordinary #episode 167 #official #webtoon #unordinary webtoon #episode analysis

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mrrightandmrbubble · 5 years

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Any time I find myself going over the story of the last house over and over - ground i’ve covered dozens of times with no new information, still looking for a clue for myself that in all likelihood has already been uncovered - I go back and read my posts about him. How the night I had to push him off me when he insisted we “definitely should have sex” was when it changed. How he projected every quality he detested in himself onto me. How he’d rehearse his abusive language, play them back to himself on his speakers, until they had the tone he wanted - getting into character. How he’d list off every way in which I somehow don’t cut it as a woman, only to bring home women from the club at 4am who were carbon copies of me. How he knew my feelings about drugs in the house and felt the need to escalate his sessions a little more each time, knowing he could get violent, just to make a point about superiority. How his image was designed to be generic, easily recognizable, all about style and champagne tastes, and people looking to party and nothing an inch deeper would find that appealing, but he’s incapable of making a real connection so he was left to cry in his room when he thought I couldn’t hear him and admit in a screaming match with a friend, “I’ve got no one! No one!” How that image shattered when he met a woman who turned him on his head and he revealed himself as a deer in headlights, utterly frozen, incapable of anything honest. How he learned I was citing DV on our tribunal hearing and his response was, “What if this shit goes viral? Do you know what this could do to my reputation?” How he tried to secretly film me during an argument and posted about it on Facebook instead of showing up to the hearing.

I know it’s not up to me to get to the root of his problem because it isn’t my weight to carry, but it it helps me to understand that I was not the vulnerable one there. He had to go to all that trouble, controlling and pressuring others, to prevent exposing himself to his own emptiness and inadequacy. He isn’t blind to this construct, though - it’s wholly intentional, along with the fall guys lined up to be pointed at and blamed for the way he is. At the same time, he models himself on exaggeratedly macho TV characters who answer to no one and can convince anyone that they like being treated like dirt. Because he is playing a character, trying to sustain a fantasy out in the world with living people. His real fragility is an inch below the surface and so no matter how I felt for a few months, he will always be unsafe in his own skin. That’s one thing i’ve got over him.

Abusers are the most insecure people you’ll find. But it’s their insecurity that makes them dangerous, the structures they’ll build around them to protect themselves and the lengths they’ll go to in reinforcing this system. All in all, you’re just another brick in the wall.

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years

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Will there be any more chain of command?

Always, Anon.

Pulling the cloak tie around her middle, Claire snuck downstairs leaving Jamie to put Fergus to bed. They hadn’t long been home and her need for him was growing by the second. Seeing him with their son made her even more wanton and as they’d approached the house, Claire had seen some of the kitchen staff in the windows and it had given her an idea.

As stressful as it had been when neither Claire or Jamie had been able to openly court one another, there was something quite tempting about reconnecting with that side of herself. Admittedly she hadn’t basked in the feeling of being parted from Jamie at the time - but the idea of seducing him in this way made her heart beat steadily faster.

She’d quickly undressed, leaving only her half undone bodice beneath the cape Ellen had carefully made for her a number of years ago. Sneaking out of the bedroom whilst Jamie’s back was turned, Claire made her way quietly down the stairway until she found herself in the cellars below. The scent of fresh meat hung in the air as she twiddled and messed with the toggle beneath her chin.

“What are ye doing, mo nighean donn?”

Jamie’s voice echoed through the dark room as Claire finally released the tie and allowed the covering to fall from her shoulders, exposing her back to Jamie as he stepped further into the room and closed the door shut.

“Bolt it, Jamie,” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Bolt it so that they can’t find us.”

“And Fergus?”

“He’s asleep, isn’t he?”

“Aye, he is.”

“Then he’ll be alright without us...just for a wee while.” Claire finished, her back still facing towards Jamie, her fingers trapped between the laces holding her corset together.

“How long do ye think a ‘wee while’ is, a ghraidh?” Jamie questioned, a quirk to his brow that challenged her to vocalise the strength of his virility.

“Why don’t you to come over here and show me, Jamie?” She replied, the shoulder of her shift slipping a little to expose her milky-white flesh. “You haven’t touched me in so long, I don’t think I can recall -specifically- how *long* wee is…”

Half focused on ensuring the door locked securely behind him and half focused on removing his clothing, Jamie staggered towards Claire with his kilt half pulled from beneath his belt as he slid his boots off. She looked glorious, the floating material of her shift skirting around her ample hips and his fingers itched to reach out and grab Claire and pull her against him.

“I can almost hear you thinking,” she whispered, tilting her head so that he could see the silhouette of the side of her face, “do you want me...Mr Fraser?”

“Mr Fr-...?” Jamie began, confused for just a moment before finally catching on. “Want ye, mistress?” He continued. “When yer stood in front of me dressed in so little how can I think of anything but wanting ye?” Tugging at his belt, Jamie removed the thin leather, allowing his kilt to fall at his feet easily now. Taking one final step forwards, he placed one solitary finger against Claire’s clothed back.

“You don’t know much I want you, sir,” she replied, her fingers undoing the laces so that her bodice fell to the floor with a light thump.

“I think I might have some idea, Claire. Christ, lass...” he sighed trailing off as he brought his hands slowly around her middle and up to rest over her breasts.

“Does anyone know you’re here?” Claire asked coquettishly, thrusting her chest into Jamie’s waiting hands and rolling her shoulders back to rest against his chest.

He could feel her nipples harden through her shift, her heart rate increasing rapidly beneath his palms as he rubbed her through the thin material. “Nobody...mistress...it’s just you and me, aye?” He replied quietly, his lips hovering dangerously close to her ear as he rocked his groin against her arse.

Part of him, the more primal part, wanted to move her next to the table, to bend her over, lift her shift and just take her against the hardwood of the ancient carving bench.

As if hearing his internal monologue Claire drove her bottom close to Jamie and placed her hands over his, helping him to knead her own breasts in a way that didn’t aggravate her. She was still swollen from breastfeeding but having him touch her this way felt good. It alleviated the throbbing pain a little, leaving her breathless and wanting. “Do it, Mr Fraser,” she said, licking her lips and bending forwards.

“Ye want me to act like a beast, aye, mistress?”

“I just want you, Jamie, I don’t care how…”

“Jamie is it now?” He whispered, nipping at the almost translucent skin on her neck. Grabbing her hands, twisting his beneath hers carefully, he placed her palms flat on the surface of the table. Holding her left hand he left her right free as he used his spare hand to shimmy under her shift and move the material over her hips so that she was bared before him.

“Oh,” Claire groaned, spreading her legs apart and leaning her tummy against the wood to stabilize herself, “y-you have me at a disadvantage...sir,” she said, correcting herself and returning to her recently unveiled fantasy as she tried to take herself back to those illicit encounters her and Jamie had been privy to in the early days of their flourishing relationship.

“I dinna think so,” Jamie replied as he took back hold of her hips, moving fluidly against her.

Letting out an incredibly loud moan, Claire’s fingers dug into the surface of the gouged table, her back arching in pure bliss as Jamie pushed himself fully inside her. She wanted to twist her head around, to take his lips beneath hers and kiss him into oblivion as he rocked gently against her, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to even begin the movement she needed. To lost in the sensations rioting through her intimacy-starved body, all Claire could do was rock her hips backwards and forwards to match Jamie’s almost perfect rhythm.

“O-oh God...Claire....” Jamie gasped in between thrusts, his hands shaking as he held her steady against him. “Am I hurting ye,” he sighed, his body flopping forwards so that his crotch lay almost flat along her arse, his front level with her back as he continued to move within her.

He was delicate, a little slow but purposeful and it made Claire shiver all over.

“No. Don’t stop.” She said lowly, her forehead resting in between her hands as she began to adjust to the rhythm Jamie set. “Doesn’t h-hurt at all. You feel so good.” She panted, her elbows flattening against her sides as she slid her arms backwards, trying her get her hands level enough with Jamie’s that she could combine their fingers.

Kissing the back of her neck softly, Jamie placed his hands over hers watching as her skin glistened in the low light of the candlelit preparation room.

“Harder,” Claire cried out, angling herself ever closer to Jamie as she curled her toes and rolled her spine. “Do-don’t be gentle, Jamie,” she continued passionately, her hand slipping from beneath Jamie’s as she reached around to claw at his side as best as she was able in her current position.

Taking the lead from her, Jamie began to slam his hips against her, using his now free hand to angle one of Claire’s legs so that he could get closer...deeper…

It didn’t take him long, his thrusts becoming ragged and unsynchronised as his vision blurred and he cried out with his climax. Panting unevenly, Jamie lay his head against Claire’s sweaty back, his arms shaking violently as he struggled to hold himself up. “Ye didna…” he began, his voice sounding breathy and far away.

“Doesn’t matter,” Claire interjected, her own breath coming short and fast as she internally checked to make sure all of her limbs were still properly attached, “your mam told me the first time after childbirth is always hard. I just wanted to feel you, Jamie. Everything else can wait.”

Nodding, Jamie made a mental note to make it up to her later - when he’d finally got some of his energy back.

“I love ye, a ghraidh,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against her shivering shoulder blade.

Carrying Claire carefully in his arms, Jamie managed to unlock the door, jostling Claire as little as possible as he swept her upstairs and placed her beneath the sheets of their freshly made bed. Curling the duvet up and around her chin, Jamie snuck in beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Are ye awake, mo nighean?” He asked tentatively, his lips moulding against her neck as his hands roamed over her belly.

“Maybe,” Claire answered breathlessly, her thighs aching and bruised from their previous activites.

“I canna leave ye wanting, Claire…” he said seductively, “let me touch ye, aye? Ye’ll sleep better afterwards, ye ken it.”

Allowing his agile fingers access, Claire parted her knees, waiting patiently for Jamie to slowly walk his fingers down until they met where she desperately needed them. Gasping, she pushed her hips closer to his warm palm as he slid his digits against her damp flesh. She was still soaked, the stain of his release coating her upper thighs, which aided Jamie’s journey and made Claire sigh in pleasure as he found his rhythm.

“Just let go when ye need,” Jamie whispered some time later, not rushing her but sensing how close she was to coming apart beside him, “I want to feel ye, Claire.”

“Yes,” she returned, her face turned into the pillow as she bit into the fabric, her legs clamping around Jamie wrist as she spat the material out and convulsed, calling out loudly as her release gripped her. “Jesus...God,” she whispered afterwards, her heart-rate lowering as she turned -letting Jamie’s arm free now as his fingers gently slid out from inside her- and huddled herself directly against Jamie’s chest. “I love you, Jamie Fraser,” she murmured, her eyelids heavy, her body completely fatigued and pleasantly sated, “you always look after me.”

“As ye do me, aye, Claire. I’m sae lucky to have you wi’ me.”

In the cradle by the bed, Fergus yawned and turned, twisting his baby blanket between his tiny feet. Glancing over, Jamie lifted his head just a little smiling as his son blinked, his large blue eyes open for just a second before falling directly to sleep once more. “Thank ye, mo nighean, for yer love and for my son.”

“Sleep now, Jamie,” Claire coaxed, her words slurring together as she struggled to stay awake a moment longer.

#;Mod MBD #Chain of Command #jamie x claire #Smut

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love-me-romantically · 6 years

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EXO x Reader Scenarios (6/9)

Title: Kitten

Park Chanyeol x Reader

Word Count ~1.5k

Summary: "Your mouth feels so good kitten." or in which you give in to your boyfriend's weird request.

Tags: pet play (kinda), oral, kitten (obviously)

The first time Chanyeol handed you the clip on kitty ears you just shook your head at him, saying that you wouldn't do it for anything in the world. Of course, Chanyeol accepted. He would never try to force you into doing anything that you are uncomfortable with. Still, you could see that he was maybe just a little bit disappointed.

You've been in a relationship with Chanyeol for a few months now. Still in that stage of relationship that feels like being freshly in love where the sex is plenty and everything looks bright and beautiful. But yet you've known each other long enough to be comfortable with each other and trust each other with fantasies that otherwise you would maybe hide away.

It has only happened a few times that Chanyeol asked you to try something with him, because for the most part he is actually a pretty tame guy and perfectly fine with vanilla sex. And so far you never said no to his ideas. The cat ears are a first. And maybe it was kind of unfair of you to just shut him down like that, but you kind of freaked out a little.

Chanyeol's friends have on multiple occasions joked about him secretly being a furry and even though you know that there is a huge difference between being interested in a bit of pet play and being a fury you were just weirded out a little. But that does not really apologise you're behaviour and thinking back on the way Chanyeol looked at you with those sad puppy eyes when you told him no without even considering it makes you feel guilty as hell.

With a small sigh, you get up to from the bed where Chanyeol left you. It's his bed which somehow makes this whole thing even worse. He left his own bedroom to give you some space after you were rude to him.

Sometimes you're not sure if Chanyeol is just really good at making you feel guilty or if you're really being a bit of a bitch.

You softly knock on the door of the room that Chanyeol refers to as his hobby room, but in your eyes, it's almost a professional music studio. He has his instruments in there as well as some computer thingies that probably are used for recording or mixing music somehow. Chanyeol is really passionate about this stuff and he tried explaining all his equipment to you several times. You always listen but you don't quite get it. But it makes Chanyeol happy so you love it just as much as he does.

Right now he's sitting at his desk, back to the door and headphones on his head. The cat ears are on the messy surface of the table. Probably he just tossed them there. You carefully approach him from behind.

"Hey, I'm sorry, if I came off as rude earlier. I guess I was just a little surprised that you'd be into that stuff", you murmur, softly pressing your lips against the nape of his neck. Chanyeol stiffens at first but relaxes once you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, crossing your hands over his chest.

"Don't worry about it, I guess it's a little weird after all", he chuckles. He gently takes on of your hands, it looks so small compared to his huge fingers, and presses it against his lips. You giggle a little but get back to being serious quickly.

"Still, I could have at least thought about it a bit more. I didn't even give you a chance to explain it, I just freaked out", you still speak with your lips pressed against Chanyeol's skin which muffles you voice a little but you don't want to move away from him again. Chanyeol sighs.

"It's okay."

You violently shake your head, which finally forces you to pull your lips away.

"It's not okay", you say. "I should have let you explain."

Chanyeol chuckles again. He carefully pushes your arms off of him so he can turn around and face you.

"I just thought you would look cute as my little kitten", he whispers, slowly reaching out a hand to caress your cheek. Something about the word kitten makes your insides twist and heat boils up in your lower stomach. Maybe you like that idea after all. Maybe you like being called kitten. And maybe you just like it because it's Chanyeol's voice calling you that.

You never considered yourself as particularly submissive but when you hear that low voice you are about ready to drop to your knees and reply to everything with yes daddy. Chanyeol's voice has always had this kind of effect on you. Especially when he speaks in that low whisper. He's probably not even aware of how much control he could have over you. Maybe it's for the better that he does not know.

"Hey, maybe we could give this a try after all, as long as you don't want me to meow or anything like that", you whisper. Chanyeol, of course, notices the sudden tension in your voice and slowly raises an eyebrow.

"You don't have to do this", he replies. But his voice is unsure. Shaky. He wants you to do this. With one swift motion, you grab the cat ears from the desk and hand them to Chanyeol.

"Please help me put those on", you explain before you get down on your knees in front of him. Firstly so he can reach your head better and put the ears on you and secondly because your hands are already fumbling with the fly of his jeans, trying to rid him of the unnecessary article of clothing. Chanyeol's hands shake a little while he pins the cat ears into your hair. You can hear him exhale sharply when you finally manage to pull down his jeans enough to free his already erect cock.

"You're such a pretty kitten", he whispers while caressing your head softly. You almost purr. It's crazy what his voice alone can do to you. While Chanyeol still plays with your hair you lean forward to start giving his throbbing erection the attention it's begging for. Usually, you would just begin by taking his tip in your mouth and teasing his slit with your tongue but today you take a different approach. You start flicking your tongue against his shaft, playfully licking all the way up from his balls to the tip and back down again. Playful, just like a cat licking its milk. You feel a little stupid about yourself but the way Chanyeol reacts makes it so worth it. When you look up you can see his eyes rolling back, mouth falling slightly open. You flick your tongue against the tip a couple of times experimentally before you start a surprise attack aimed at the slit. A low moan escapes Chanyeol's lips as you push your tongue in to tease him. The sound it elicits from his pretty lips makes your insides boil.

Slowly you move your head down a bit more, taking more of Chanyeol's length into your mouth, making sure to continue playfully swirling your tongue around him. Then hands that are still playing with your hair and around the ears that are clipped into it start grabbing onto your head with a little more force, pressing you down. You gag a little around Chanyeol's dick in your mouth but try your best to keep pressing your tongue against it. Chanyeol moans.

"Your mouth feels so good kitten."

You let out a muffled moan while you keep sucking with even more motivation now. You want him to keep calling you that in his low hoarse voice. Want to keep hearing those deep moans he lets out just for you.

"Careful Kitten, I'm going to come way too soon if you keep going like this", Chanyeol says through gritted teeth and of course you keep going even harder. Suddenly he pulls back, maybe as a panic reaction, and a few seconds later something warm and kind of sticky hits your right cheek just below the eye without warning. Instinctively you flinch back a little and slowly touch your face while you can hear Chanyeol mutter curses and knock over something on his table, probably while looking for a tissue. You carefully run your fingers about the somewhat slimy substance on your face and gather a bit of it that you then lick from your finger. Just like a cat licking milk from its paw.

"I'm so fucking sorry", Chanyeol mutters, face flushed red and probably not all of it is due to embarrassment. You just smile up at him.

"Your Kitten would like a reward now."

#exo #exo smut #exo scenario #exo imagine #chanyeol #park chanyeol #chanyeol x reader #idol x reader #reader insert #unrequested #this took me way too long #and it kinda sucks #but yeah #have fun :D #Admin A

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easyhairstylesbest · 3 years

Text

Ella Hunt on Masking Sue's Grief and Playing Emily's Muse in 'Dickinson' Season 2

There’s nothing conventional about Dickinson, the Apple TV+ series that dramatizes the world and works of Emily Dickinson (Hailee Steinfeld) into a 30-minute sitcom-esque serial. Whereas season 1 gently blurred the boundaries between fantasy and reality (a Jason Mantzoukas-voiced bee visits the poet during an opium-induced bender; Emily imagines escaping to the circus after a vicious fight with her father), season 2 edges further into surreality, from regular visits with a ghostly manifestation of Dickinson’s famous “Nobody” to a hallucinated heart-to-heart with Central Park architect Frederick Law Olmsted (Timothy Simons).

It all culminates in a trip to the opera in episode 6, which represents an emotional juncture for the poet: on one hand, she’s scorned by her editor, Sam Bowles (Finn Jones), for perceived romantic advances (she just feels too much, you see!); on the other, she enters a near-religious rapture during the performance, imagining that her estranged lover and sister-in-law Sue (Ella Hunt) is singing her poem “Split the Lark” onstage.

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“I was really trying to write a version of a psychological thriller,” Dickinson creator Alena Smith tells ELLE.com of the episode, also titled “Split the Lark.” “A sense of angles and surfaces slipping under each other and nobody quite knows what anyone else is thinking or feeling—and the audience doesn’t know either.”

It’s a particularly destabilizing effect when it comes to Smith’s interpretation of Emily. She cannot divorce the emotional from the artistic, so even bruises like Bowles’ rejection can manifest in a sort of creative ecstasy. Whereas another character would sink into despair, Emily is soon distracted and overcome by the art she’s witnessing in real-time—so much so that it causes her to hallucinate Sue, her greatest muse, performing her own work.

For Hunt, the episode offered an opportunity to flex her own singing skills while building upon the version of Sue Emily idolizes in her mind. “It was exciting to enjoy the freedom that Emily’s surreal sequences give us, to do something that [the real] Sue would never do,” she says. “To be standing in that incredible gold dress and singing and looking into Hailee’s eyes was the most wonderful shooting experience.”

It’s a blissful interlude in a season steeped in private battles. As Emily wars with the prospects of fame and fortune, Sue masks the agony of a miscarriage by throwing the most glamorous parties in the county. For the first time in their relationship, the two women are incapable of giving the other exactly what she needs, and a distance threatens to engulf them for good.

Below, Hunt opens up to ELLE.com about transforming Sue for season 2, the grief her character carries with her, and why Emily has always been Sue’s endgame.

Last year you told me that Sue would be a completely different person in season 2. Can you talk me through transforming into “influencer Sue” and how you prepared for it?

I knew when I signed onto season 1 that the Sue of the history book was this infamous hostess socialite. It was a bizarre thing, actually, shooting season 1 and playing this very grounded, pained, mourning-stricken Sue when I knew that, at some point, we were going to get around to her being this fabulous hostess. She’s like a girl you knew in school who went home for the summer as this prim, quiet kid and comes back in September as the queen bee with the best clothes and the most money.

I had a lot of conversations with Alena about how we ground Sue’s transition in understanding why she’s doing that: what she’s been through and how the mourning she’s experienced in the past, coupled with the miscarriage, impacts her. I think the way she’s written Sue this season, the audience has a lot of windows into moments of Sue in pain and trying to hide it and push it beneath the parties, the clothes, and the house.

Did you bring any threads from season 1?

Oh, for sure. Hailee and I talked a lot about finding moments in the season, particularly right in the first episode and in some of the later episodes, where we see the original Sue coming out. And really, Emily brings out Sue’s true self. I love in the edit, there’s a moment in episode 1 where Sue’s looking at herself in the mirror. It’s like she almost doesn’t recognize herself. She takes a deep breath and puts a smile back on.

And there’s a moment with Austin in episode 4 when he comes in and tells her that the twins are going to move in with them. She’s so cold and vicious to him when he’s in the room, but the minute he’s out, she curls up in a ball and we have this moment of seeing how vulnerable and she is. I think Alena really, really carefully wrote and edited the story so we are constantly reminded that the old Sue is in there.

“Emily brings out Sue’s true self.”

What was one thing you wanted to convey between seasons 1 and 2?

The thing I came to set thinking about most each morning was, How do I keep the audience understanding why Sue is the way she is? How do I keep reminding them of her past and the difficulty of her life and how isolated she is? Lonely in a crowd is such a huge part of Sue this season, and actually, it’s something I haven’t been able to talk about much so far because I haven’t been allowed to talk about the miscarriage. It was a spoiler. But now that the episode is out, I can.

One of the remarkable and sad things about miscarriages is they are something women predominantly go through silently. It’s been really incredible recently, seeing how women in the public eye like Meghan Markle and Chrissy Teigen have both spoken publicly about their experiences. Shooting this arc of Sue, it was amazing to me how many women I had conversations with at work and in my family who had gone through miscarriages. They’re really not something we talk about very much. I took it as a great responsibility to portray this story of a woman violently grieving.

In the show, Sue has always existed as both herself and an image of perfection in Emily’s imagination. How do you separate those two characterizations as you perform?

Often, before we shoot a scene taking place in Emily’s imagination, I’ll have a conversation with Hailee and Alena about what they’d like to see of Sue, because at the end of the day, it’s Hailee’s Emily imagining Sue. So I often come to Hailee with questions of, “How do you think Emily is imagining Sue here?” It’s wonderful to be on a set that collaborative. And Sue is in Emily’s poetry as well, so finding the Sue of Emily’s poetry, the Sue of history, and the Sue of Alena’s imagination—it’s so many levels to be functioning on. I never get bored for a moment on the Dickinson set.

And the fallout that happens between Emily and Sue this season…Sue is responsible for a large part of it, but also Emily’s expectations of her. Emily’s so enraveled in her own personal quest to work out what she wants for herself as an artist and as a human, that at times she forgets the pain that Sue is working to suppress. She can be selfish in that way. They’re both coming at their relationship from selfish points of view.

Ella Hunt and Hailee Steinfeld in Dickinson season 2 episode 6, “Split the Lark.”

Apple

What’s going on between Sue, Emily, and Sam Bowles? We can see that Sue really wants Emily to be fulfilled as a creative, and to her, that means publishing her work under this major editor. But is Sue also self-serving? Is she trying to prove something? What was that triangle about for you?

In terms of Sue pushing Emily towards Sam, I see it as, there is a part of Sue that really believes Emily should publish. She thinks Emily’s poetry is extraordinary and wants to see it in the world, and she can’t fathom why Emily wouldn’t want that. Especially because in the first season, Emily is kind of youthfully excited by the idea of publishing her work without really thinking much deeper into the impact it could have on her as an artist—because she’s fighting the patriarchy and her father’s expectation of her. But I also think Sue wants to push away anything that makes her think or feel deeply. And Emily’s poetry is really the epicenter of that for Sue. It’s a huge responsibility to be Emily’s only reader and one Sue doesn’t feel emotionally able to handle when we meet her at the beginning of season 2.

And her own interest in Sam, I think, comes from a place of [how] women had so little power. Being a socialite was a form of power, was a way for her to get the intellectual stimulation she was craving in her life and a way of escaping, not only from the pain of her miscarriage and from the pain of Emily’s poetry, but also from a very unhappy marriage to Austin. I loved researching for this season. In the 1700s, there were these Parisian salonnières, they called themselves, and they were very wealthy women in unhappy marriages who threw these salons. They got to choose the guest list. They would choose the talking points, they got to control the conversation, and they would mediate between the men. It wasn’t only a form of intellectual stimulation; it was also political power that they didn’t have because they couldn’t vote, but they could get these men together and make them have conversations. It is an incredible form of power within a societal structure that doesn’t leave a place for women otherwise. Sue is interested in Sam because him reviewing her parties and writing about her in her newspaper gives her more of that power she otherwise wouldn’t.

Where do you see the breakdown between Sue and Austin this season?

Adrian talks about this so beautifully, that the pressure of toxic masculinity creates this environment where it’s very, very difficult for Austin not to feel like he has to tick the boxes of the grand house, the baby, the best job. He’s coming up against both wanting to be a different kind of man but also feeling the pressure of those expectations.

This is a super relevant conversation for couples now as much as then: He gets to a point where he realizes he does want to have children. Divorce isn’t something that exists in those times. They’re stuck with each other. So Austin is trying to find a delicate way of bringing children into the house, and Sue, having not communicated the pain of the miscarriage, leaves Austin in a place where he doesn’t understand why she’s so cold on the subject. If they could only communicate to each other and be honest with each other, they wouldn’t be in the situation they’re in. But at the heart of it, Austin and Sue are never going to be able to be honest with each other in the way Emily and Sue are.

Julie Kosin Senior Culture Editor Julie Kosin is the senior culture editor of ELLE.com, where she oversees all things movies, TV, books, music, and art, from trawling Netflix for a worthy binge to endorsing your next book club pick.

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Ella Hunt on Masking Sue's Grief and Playing Emily's Muse in 'Dickinson' Season 2

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The Weekend Warrior - BLOODSHOT, THE HUNT, I STILL BELIEVE and more!

Since this is gonna be a pretty busy weekend with four … oops, make that three wide releases, I’m just gonna get right into it, and discuss last weekend’s movies down below. Cool?

Of the three new releases, it’s likely that all three of them will make somewhere between $10 and 20 million, although I could see a couple of them ending up on the lower side of that number. All of them have some intriguing pluses and minuses.

Up until last weekend, the STXfilms family action-comedy MY SPY, starring former WWE wrestler (and soon-to-be WWE Hall of Fame inductee) David Bautista, was being dumped on this weekend after being delayed numerous times. This past Saturday it was moved again… to April 17, so one less movie to write about this week… yay!

First up is the very first movie based on a Valiant Comics character as BLOODSHOT (Sony) comes to theaters with none other than Vin Diesel playing soldier Roy Garrison, who has been brought back to life using power-enhancing nanotech that turns him into an assassin for the RST Corporation, led by Guy Pearce.

Directed by David Wilson, co-founder of Blur Studios with Deadpooldirector Tim Miller, the movie also stars Eiza Gonzalez (Baby Driver), Sam Heughan from Outlander, and Toby Kebbell from lots of stuff, including the “Planet of the Apes” movies (he performance-captured the villainous Koba), and yes, Kebbell was also Victor Doom in the most recent Fantastic Four movie.

This is one of the weekend’s more interesting offerings, firstly because it’s the second comic book movie of the year (if you don’t include Sonic the Hedgehog), but because as I said above, this is the first movie based on a Valiant Comics property. Valiant was founded by former Marvel Editor-in-Chief Jim Shooter in 1989, beginning by reviving and updating a number of popular Gold Key characters like Magnus, Robot Fighterand Solar, Man of the Atom. Bloodshot was created in 1992 by Valiant co-founder Bob Layton along with Kevin Van Hook and artist Don Perlin, and the character became quite popular while going through several incarnations. It wasn’t until 2005 when a group of entrepeneurs, including Dinesh Shamdasani, bought the rights to the Valiant properties where things started moving forward with a relaunch of Valiant Comics in 2012 as well as development on a number of movies including BloodshotGetting Vin Diesel on board helped move the project forward as Diesel had revived popularity due to returning to the Fast and Furious franchise.

Obviously, the success of Bloodshot relies entirely on Diesel and his popularity, although his movies outside the “Fast and Furious” ones haven’t exactly made big waves. Sure, he’s had a few other franchises like the Riddick character originated in 2000’s Pitch Black with director David Twohy, but the 2013 Riddick only made $42 million, just a little more than the first movie. There’s also the Xander Cage character Diesel created for 2002’s xXx, just a year after the original The Fast and the Furious.

Diesel’s return to that character in 2017 with xXx: The Return of Xander Cage did just slightly better than Riddick four years earlier. The point is that Diesel just hasn’t been able to sell other characters which brings us to 2015’s The Last Witch Hunter, an attempt by Diesel to introduce a new character to his fans, and that opened with just $10.8 million.

Granted, I’m not sure that there are that many Bloodshot and Valiant fans compared to the comics from Warners and DC, and even with Neal Moritz’s production company (which just had a hit with that aforementioned Sonic movie) behind Bloodshot, I’m not sure it will get fans excited, especially with its more cerebral take on superheroics.

I’d like to be more excited about the movie, but opening this weekend against The Hunt (see below) and Blumhouse’s The Invisible Man still doing decent business, I just don’t see this opening north of $15 million. Hopefully I’m wrong, as I would truly like to see more Valiant movies.

My Review of Bloodshot

The movie that might offer the biggest competition for Bloodshot and possibly could sideline it and maybe even beat it this weekend is THE HUNT, the latest film from Blumhouse’s deal with Universal. The movie was originally supposed to be released last September but was delayed due to the controversial content. On the surface, The Hunt, directed by Craig Zobel (Compliance) is about a group of rich people that are hunting a group of “deplorables,” an interesting premise written by Damon Lindelof and Nick Cuse (son of Lost co-creator Carlton Cuse), who have found success together with HBO’s The Leftovers and Watchmen.

The movie stars Betty Gilpin from Netflix’s "Glow,” Ike Barinholtz from various comedies and even Glen Howerton from “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.” It also stars Emma Roberts, who has done a lot of genre stuff, and two-time Oscar winner Hilary Swank, who hasn’t. It’s definitely an interesting cast but like many horror movies, this one is more about its premise and whether it interests moviegoers.

The problem I see in The Hunt is that it’s so political in terms of being a battle between liberals and conservatives that might just be too on point with what people get from watching CNN or other 24-hours news cycles, so why would they want to see this brought into their entertainment? Barinholtz should definitely know this as his politically-tinged directorial debut The Oath, which only made $401,000 a few years back despite an attempt by distributor Roadside Attractions to open it wider than the 300 theaters it got.

The Hunt may have the advantage of opening on Friday the 13thwhere many moviegoers like going to see horror movies, but why would they go see this over Blumhouse’s other offering, The Invisible Man, which has been much better received?

We’ll see how the reviews go – you can read mine below--but the fact this was delayed and then put into this weekend less than a month back didn’t give Universal much time to market it, and the best they’ve been able to do is try to build on the controversy. In any other instance, I could see this making $15 million or more, but because of the circumstances that surround this movie’s tougher sell, it will probably make somewhere between $10 and 12 million.

Mini-Review: To say that it’s difficult to talk about The Hunt without potentially spoiling everything that makes it such a surprising and clever premise would be a huge understatement. What writers Damon Lindelof and Nick Cuse have done along with director Craig Zobel (Compliance) is an amazing twist on Richard Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game” pulled writhing and screaming into the country’s current political climate. That last bit might decide who loves and who absolutely loathes this movie, but there’s no question that everyone will have an opinion, either good or bad, with few able to be outright indifferent about the movie.

The basic premise, if you hadn’t heard or seen any marketing, is that a group of very wealthy people have kidnapped a group of people with plans to hunt them down. Before we get to the hunted, we see texts between a few of the hunters talking about “the hunt,” “the manor” and their upcoming (seemingly annual) plans. We then meet few of them in person on a private jet to “the manor” before we meet the “contestants,” a group of a dozen individuals seemingly from disparate backgrounds, many of whom are quickly picked off in exceedingly gory ways.

The key player on the side of the hunted is Betty (“Glow”) Gilpin’s Crystal, a Southern woman seemingly with a military background who seems to be up to the task of fighting back more than some of the others in the group.

That’s all I’m gonna say about the general plot and premise because where The Hunt excels is in the number of twists it throws at the viewer. That’s actually something I realized that I liked about Blumhouse’s Fantasy Island on a recent rewatch in that it seems like a simple enough premise but there are enough twists and surprises that it keeps you guessing, and that’s the same with The Hunt.

The thing about The Hunt is that I don’t see it so much as horror but as violent political satire because the fact that the hunters and hunted come from opposite sides of the political aisle and there is no clear “side,” so to speak. In that sense, it reminds me a bit of Ike Barinholtz’s own directorial debut The Oathwhere it’s snarky and sardonic humor though in this case with more action and violence. The hunters are extremely left-leaning liberals always trying to be conscientious to social justice and equality… but also wantonly killing people, so no heroes there. And the hunted aren’t politically correct and are labelled as “deplorables” although even the most liberal viewer might find themselves rooting for them.

What’s interesting is that this premise is shared somewhat by the recent Brazilian drama Bacurau, but I generally like how The Hunt handles things, more because I somewhat thought I knew what to expect going in with the latter and only partially was correct.

While Gilpin is fantastic throughout, it’s when she finally confronts Hilary Swank in the film’s big climax where you realize that the filmmakers were building up to something quite amazing. Unfortunately, few of the other actors get enough screen time to please any of their fans.

There’s no question that The Hunt won’t be for everyone, and I wish I could discuss it at further length in terms of which parts might click with viewers and which might lose them completely. Either way, it’s worth a look just by how daring it is for a studio film in these times when everyone is on edge, ready to be outraged about anything and everything.

Rating: 7/10

The third offering this weekend, which stands a good chance at doing even better than the other two movies above is the faith-based drama I STILL BELIEVE (Lionsgate), which stars the popular K.J. Apa from the CW show Riverdaleand Britt Robertson, who is just a great up and coming actor who actually starred opposite George Clooney in another Lindelof-penned movie, Disney’s Tomorrowland. Robertson also starred in the attempted young adult sci-fi romance The Space Between Us a few years back before shifting to television, including Netflix’s Girlboss.

The movie is based on the real-life story of country singer Jeremy Camp (played by Apa), who built his career around Christian music and the faith he relied upon after his young wife (played by Robertson) was diagnosed with cancer. Camp won five gospel awards and received a number of music nominations but his title song “I Still Believe” from his 2004 debut album was popular enough that it got the attention of the filmmaking Erwin Brothers, Andrew and Jon, who had a bit hit with I Can Only Imagine, which grossed an astounding $83 million after a $17.1 million opening in March 2018. Their earlier film Woodlawn didn’t do as well, making just $14.3 million total, but clearly, Lionsgate are full behind the filmmakers behind their 2018 faith-based hit and hoping I Still Believe can bring in the same sized audience.

Not really being in tune with the Christian audiences, it’s hard for me to judge how the marketing is being received, as I personally haven’t seen a single commercial, but I have to imagine the popularity of Camp and Apa as the lead on Riverdale should be enough for the movie to bring in $13 to 15 million or maybe even more for a strong second place. The movie will screen for regional critics outside New York and L.A. since those blue state cities are clearly filled with agnostic heathens who won’t give the movie a chance, but I’m not sure reviews will make much difference either way.

Onward shouldn’t have a problem holding onto a lead in the top 10 with over $20 million despite the weaker than expected opening, and Ben Affleck’s The Way Back should hold on decently but still end up pushed out of the top 5 by new movies. We’ll have to see how either of them fare in the long run especially with next week’s A Quiet Place Part 2. There’s also the matter of the panic around the country about the corona virus, so we’ll see if that’s still in effect. Otherwise, I Still Believehas the strongest chances at besting both Bloodshotand The Hunt, which will likely be cannibalizing each other’s business.

This week’s Top 10 should look something like this…

1. Onward (Disney-Pixar) - $24.5 million -38%

2. I Still Believe (Lionsgate) - $13 million N/A (down $1 million)*

3. Bloodshot (Sony) - $12.5 million N/A (down $1.5 million)*

4. The Hunt (Universal) - $10.5 million N/A (down .5 million)*

5. The Invisible Man (Universal) - $8.5 million -44%

6. The Way Back (Warner Bros.) - $5.2 million -37%

7. Sonic the Hedgehog (Paramount) - $4.3 million -44%

8. The Call of the Wild (20th Century) - $4 million -41%

9. Emma. (Focus Features) - $2.9 million -40%

10. Bad Boys for Life (Sony) - $2 million -35%

*UPDATE: We’re clearly in new and strange times with the few week’s movies being postponed, delayed and maybe some eventually cancelled, but we saw that this weekend as many of the new movies lost theater counts from the estimates earlier in the week with Bloodshot not even getting 3,000 theaters. And expect it to get worse when theaters start shutting down which may even happen this weekend

LIMITED RELEASES

Due to a last minute scheduling change, this week’s “FEATURED FILM” is now going to Eliza Hittman’s fantastic drama NEVER RARELY SOMETIMES ALWAYS (Focus Features), a smaller indie that might have a difficult to remember title, but it’s a title you’ll never mess up after seeing it in context in the film. It stars young newcomers Sidney Flanigan and Talia Ryder, as Autumn and her cousin Skylar, who travel from Pennsylvania into New York City when the former gets an unwanted pregnancy and has to get an abortion away from her judgmental community. This really was a riveting film with a very simple premise that’s driven by the performances of the two young actors. It reminded me of two other indies, Lodge Kerrigan’s 2004 film Keane, starring Damian Lewis and Abigail Breslin, which also takes place at the Port Authority where much of NRSA takes place, and Julia Loktev’s Day Night Day Night, which similarly follows the journey of a teen girl who is sent into Times Square as a suicide bomber. Like I said, it begins as a very simple tale but watching the two young girls having to deal with being in New York with no money really makes it quite a heartbreaking journey to watch. HIttman finds a way to tell this story sans pathos and the drama always comes from a real place.

Sally Potter returns with her new movie THE ROADS NOT TAKEN (Bleecker Street), a character drama starring Javier Bardem and Elle Fanning as father and daughter, Fanning playing Molly, a young woman who needs to check in on her father Leo, who is suffering from some form of Alzheimer’s or dementia – it’s never made clear what is going on with him – but it leaves him speechless with limited mobility and therefore a difficult person to manage for Molly. As we watch her trying to bring him to routine dentist and eye doctor visits, the film flashes back to Leo’s past with his early love Dolores, played by Salma Hayek, and later in life. I have to be honest that I’m not 100% sure I understood what was going on since as with much of Potter’s work, its very arty, relying less on narrative or storytelling than mood and tone, but I did love Bardem and Fanning’s performance, and there’s a small appearance by Laura Linney as Molly’s mother that’s also great. So yeah, apparently, this is the year that I not only begin to appreciate Kelly Reichardt (with her current film First Cow) but also Sally Potter. I was particularly impressed with the film’s score and only realized with this film that Potter always does the music for her films.

Inside the Rain (Act 13/Killer Films) is a really interesting feature directorial debut from Aaron Fisher, in which he plays college film student Benjamin Glass, who suffers from ADHD, OCD and borderline personality disorders and is also bipolar, referring to himself as “recklessly extravagant.” When his illnesses lead to a possible drug overdose, the dean of the college decides to give Ben the boot, but he decides to use his filmmaking skills to make a film to fight the dean’s decision. Along the way, he meets a sex worker (Ellen Toland) who he convinces to be in his movie although he starts developing a crush on her. What’s interesting about Fisher’s film is that a lot of it is based on personal stories since he himself suffers from personality disorder and is bipolar, but he decided to use his talents to inform others on what it’s like to dealing with these issues, getting the likes of Rosie Perez and Eric Roberts to be a part of the cast. I’m not sure this movie will be for everyone, but I think it’s quite a brave effort by Fisher which I hope people will check out. It opens at New York’s Village East on Friday and in L.A. on March 20 and other citieson March 27. (For the sake of transparency, I helped with some of the publicity work on this film.)

Opening in select theaters this Friday and then streaming on Hulu next Friday is Jason Orley’s Big Time Adolescence (NEON), starring Pete Davidson from “Saturday Night Live” and Griffin Gluck, the latter playing 16-year-old Mo, a mostly innocent guy who is trying to navigate high school with the guidance of his best friend and college drop-out Zeke (Davidson). When Zeke starts teaching Mo untraditional life lessons about dating, partying and drug dealing, causing Mo’s father (Jon Cryer) to realize he needs to step in. The movie premiered at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Famke Janssen star in Danis Tanovic’s thriller The Postcard Killings (RLJE Films), based on James Patterson and Liza Marklund’s best-selling novel with Morgan playing New York Detective Jacob Kanon, whose daughter and son-in-law are killed in London. As Jacob starts learning about a series of journalist murders in Europe, each one preceded by a postcard, he goes after the killer to get justice for his daughter. As with most RLJE films, it will get a limited theatrical release and be On Demand and digital.

Australian actor Rachel Griffiths makes her directorial debut with Ride Like a Girl (Saban Films/Paramount), based on the true story of the first female horse jockey to win the 2015 Melbourne Cup, Michelle Payne, as played by the wonderful Teresa Palmer. Sam Neill plays Michelle’s father Paddy who supports her when she decides to leave school as a teenager to become a jockey, overcoming tragedy and a nearly fatal fall along the way. The movie will open in select theaters (including New York’s Village East) as well as On Demand and Digital this Friday.

Cindy Meehl’s The Dog Doc (a somewhat self-explanatory title there?) will open at New York’s Quad Cinema this Friday and at the Laemmle Royalin L.A. next Friday, March 20. It takes a look at veterinarian Dr. Marty Goldstein whose practice at the Smith Ridge Veterinary Center where he treats animals using holistic care.

Meanwhile Adam Bolt’s doc Human Nature (Greenwich), opening in New York and L.A., deals with the breakthrough and controversial medical process known as CRISPR which looks at how DNA can be changed from before birth to avoid diseases and even be used to “design our children.” The film talks to the scientists behind CRISPR and how it will change our relationship with nature and evolution. (Note: The Village East Cinema has a lot of amazing guests talking about the movie and its implications over the next week, including the one and only Dan Rather!)

Last up is Philip Harder’s Tuscaloosa (Cinedigm), based on the Southern novel by W. Glasgow Phillips, which takes place in Alabama, 1972 with Devon Bostick playing Billy, a young man who falls for a patient at his father’s mental asylum (played by Natalia Dyer from “Stranger Things”). At the same time, Billy’s best friend becomes involved in the civil rights movement against Tuscaloosa’s power elite. Having premiered at the Nashville Film Festival last Fall, this hits select theaters, VOD and Digital HD this Friday.

REPERTORY

Besides the usual repertory theater offerings in New York and L.A. (listed below), select AMC theaters will be screening the horror classic The Exorcist on Friday night as part of the “She Is Risen” lead-up to A24’s upcoming horror film Saint Maud. This will continue over the next few Fridays until an advance preview of Saint Maud on Wednesday, April 1.

METROGRAPH (NYC):

Let’s see what’s going on at my favorite local NY theater. Well, first of all, the Metrograph will be screening Satoshi Kon’s fantastic 2003 film Tokyo Godfathers over the weekend and probably into next week. (Saturday afternoon will be the only English-dubbed screening of the movie with an intro by voice actor Shakina Nayfack!) This Friday night will be a screening of Michael Mann’s 1992 movie Last of the Mohicans, starring the great Daniel Day-Lewis, as part of its “Academy at Metrograph” series.This weekend’s “Late Nites at Metrograph“ is John Waters’ Cry Baby (1990), starring Johnny Depp, while “Metrograph Matinees” will present James Neilson’ sci-fi satire Moon Pilot (1962).

ALAMO DRAFTHOUSE BROOKLYN (NYC)

Tonight’s “Weird Wednesday” is the 1985 action film Swords of Heaven (already sold out, sorry!) Next Monday is the latest in the Alamo’s “Remakes and Hot Takes” series with Eddie Murphy’s 1996 film The Nutty Professor. A day later, my pal Ted Geoghegan is showing another esoteric offering for “Terror Tuesday,” with 1990’s Death Spa, and the Alamo is also doing a “The Departed St. Patrick’s Day Dinner” also as part of the “Remakes and Hot Takes” series but this one with a special St. Patrick’s Day menu. Next week’s “Weird Wednesday” is the 1985 aerobics movie Perfect, starring John Travolta and Jamie Lee Curtis.

Over in L.A., the Alamo Drafthouse Downtown L.A.will screen Bobcat Goldthwait’s 2011 movie God Bless America as the “Weird Wednesday” tonight with Joe Lynch and Adam Green filming an episode of their “The Movie Crypt” podcast after the screening. (Sadly, it’s already sold out.) Thursday’s screening of Michael Mann’s 2006 Miami Vice movie is also sold out, unfortunately. Saturday’s “Champagne Cinema” is the comedy classic Bridesmaids. Sunday’s “Remakes and Hot Takes” is the 1996 The Birdcage (two shows sold out!) and then later that night, John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982) gets two screenings, one which is sold out. Monday evening is a “Billy Madison Quote-along” which should be fun, while L.A. does its own “The Departed St. Patrick’s Day Dinner” Tuesday and its “Terror Tuesday” is 1962’s Carnival of Soulswith the wonderful Alicia Malone from Turner Classic Movies. Next week’s “Weird Wednesday” is two screenings of 1994’s Tammy and the T-Rexwith Paul Scheer at the 9pm screening.

THE NEW BEVERLY (L.A.):

Weds’ “Afternoon Classic” matinee is Clint Eastwood’s The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976), while the Weds/Thurs cross-dressing double feature is La Cage Aux Folles (1978) and Blake Edwards’ Victor/Victoria (1982). This Friday’s “Freaky Friday” is appropriatelyJason X (2001)with screenwriter Todd Farmer in person. Friday and Saturday night, there’s an awesome double feature of Edgar Wright’s Hot Fuzz(2007) with Benny Chan’s 1996 Hong Kong film Big Bullet. Saturday night’s midnight is the Malcolm McDowell debut, O, Lucky Man! (1973) while the Kiddee Matinee continues the Harry Potter run with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1. Saturday and Sunday also sees this month’s “Cartoon Club” offerings. The Sunday/Monday double feature is two movies starring Barbara Stanwyk, The Two Mrs. Carrolls (1947) and The Bitter Tea of General Yen (1932). Monday’s matinee is New Jack City, starring Wesley Snipes. The Tuesday night Grindhouse double feature is the action movies Zebra Force (1976) and Bare Knuckles (1977).

EGYPTIAN THEATRE (LA):

“Noir City: Hollywood” continues through the week with The Long Haul(1957) and Black Gravel (1961) on Wednesday, The Naked City (1948) and Hardly a Criminal (1949)on Thursday, and then the double feature of Gun Crazy (1950) and Pale Flower (1964) on Friday. The “End of History: The Cinema of Lav Diaz” continues Sat. with 2014’s From What Is Before, and “Noir City: Hollywood” has an all-day five film marathon all in 35mm with 1947’s Out of the Past, The Guiltyand High Tide, and The Prowlerand Try and Get Mefrom 1951. Sunday’s matinee double feature as part of “Noir City: Hollywood” is Portrait of Jennie (1948) and Girl with Hyacinths (1950) and then that night is The Spiritualist (1948) and In the Palm of Your Hand (1949). In other words, if you’re a fan of film noir and you live in L.A. and you’re not spending at least a few hours at the Egyptian this week, then I’m not sure what to tell ya.

AERO (LA):

Greg Proops Film Club presents Akira Kurosawa’s 1963 film High and Lowon Weds. night, and then Thursday’s matinee (free to members!) is Truffaut’s The 400 Blows. The “Woman Film Editors: An Assembly” series begins on Thursday with Paul Thomas nderson’s Punch Drunk Love (2002) and Barry Jenkins’ Oscar Best Picture Schmoonlight(2016). The series continues Friday with a double feature of George Lucas’ American Graffiti (1973) and Francis Ford Coppola’s The Outsiders (1983), while the Saturday double feature is Soderbergh’s Out of Sight and Tarantino’s Jackie Brown with Michael Keaton playing the same character in both of them! Sunday is a special DCP screening of Cecil B. Demille’s nearly four-hour The Ten Commandments (1956)!

FILM FORUM (NYC):

The series “The Women Behind Hitchcock” continues with Hitchcock’s 1950 film Stage Fright and the Joan Harrison-written 1944 film Dark Waters on Wednesday, as well as Young and Innocent and The Passing of the Third Floor Back, plus a lot more through the weekend. Honestly, the best thing to do is click on the title link above for the full schedule. This weekend’s “Film Forum Jr.” is the Marx Brothers film Go West from 1940.

MOMA (NYC):

This week’s Modern Matinees: CicelyTysonscreenings are 1981’s Bustin’ Looseon Weds, Tyler Perry’s 2006 movie Madea’s Family Reunionon Thursday and 1974’s The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittmanon Friday. In Character: Daniel Craig

Continues this week with Matthew Vaughn’s 2004 Layer Cake on Weds, Sam Mendes’ The Road to Perdition (2002) and Fincher’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011) on Thursday, Roger Michell’s Enduring Love (2004) on Saturday, as well as the 2012 Bond film Skyfall (also directed by Mendes) and then Spielberg’s Munich on Sunday.

FILM AT LINCOLN CENTER (NYC):

This week begins the series “Mapping Bacurau” with movies that influenced the filmmakers of the Brazilian film Bacurau. The films include Paul Morrissey’s 1974 film Blood for Dracula, Carlos Diegues 1980 film Bye Bye Brazil, Sergio Corbucci’s 1970 film Compañeros, Sergio Leone’s Duck, You Sucker! (1972) and more that will extend over the next two weeks.

NITEHAWK CINEMA (NYC):

At Williamsburgthe Friday midnight movie is Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter from 1984 and then the Saturday matinee is the 1982 sci-fi classic Tron. Also Saturday afternoon, the “Uncaged” series continues with 1992’s Honeymoon in Vegas. For St. Patrick’s Day on Tuesday, Prospect Park will be playing the 1993 horror film Leprechaun.

IFC CENTER (NYC)

In preparation for the release of Hirokazu Kore-Eda’s French film The Truthnext week, IFC Center is doing a one-week retrospective called “Family Portraits: The Films of Hirokazu Kore-Eda” beginning with After Life andMaborosion Thursday, Shopliftersand Like Father, Like Sonon Friday and more through the weekend, including a sneak preview of The Truthon Saturday night. Weekend Classics: Luis Buñuelis taking another week off, but Waverly Midnights: Hindsight is 2020s will screen 2000’s Mission to Mars and Late Night Favorites: Winter 2020also takes the weekend off.

ANTHOLOGY FILM ARCHIVES (NYC)

At the East Village’s primary rep theater, the current “1995: The Year the Internet Broke” continues through Thursday with single screenings of Kathryn Bigelow’s Strange Days (Weds), and Johnny Mnemonic andGhost in the Shell(the original Anime) on Thursday. Neil Jordan’s Breakfast on Plutoalso screens again on Thursday.

MUSEUM OF THE MOVING IMAGE (NYC):

“See It Big! Outer Space” continues on Saturday with a screening of Andrzej Żuławski’s 1988 movie On the Silver Globe followed by a Masterclass with cinematographer Andrzej Jaroszewicz.

QUAD CINEMA (NYC):

Cane River��continues through Thursday, although at this writing, there doesn’t seem to be any repertory stuff this weekend.

BAM CINEMATEK (NYC):

Charlie Chaplin’s 1936 film Modern Times will screen on Sunday afternoon as part of BAM’s “BAMkids Movie Matinees.”

ROXY CINEMA (NYC)

A few more recent Nicolas Cage movies will play this week, last year’s Mandy on Wednesday and the more recent Color Out of Space on Thursday.

LANDMARK THEATRES NUART (LA):

The Friday midnight movie is the 1990 horror sequel Child’s Play 2.

STREAMING AND CABLE

There is new stuff on Netflix this week but nothing I really know much about: the first season of Norwegian anthology series “Bloodride,” the third season of something called “Elite,” although I’m kind of interested in Liz Garbus’ Lost Girls, starring Amy Ryan. You know what? Other than getting the trailer in January, I have heard absolutely nothing about this movie, so I guess if Netflix doesn’t want their movies covered, that’s just fine by me.

Premiering on Disney+ this Friday is Star Girl, the new romantic drama directed by Julia Hart (last year’s Fast Color), starring Grace VanderWaal as Stargirl Caraway, a colorful new girl at school that captures the interest of Graham Verchere’s Leo Borlock. That’s about all I know about it.

Next week, it’s John Krasinski’s horror sequel A Quiet Place: Part 2!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or send me a note on Twitter. I love hearing from readers!

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