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rottendollface · 26 days

Text

The Horror of Our Love. Chapter 4.

Co-author: @bigtimesalt8196

Character: Childe Tartaglia | Ajax.

Image: Picsart Al.

Warnings: NSFW; Ajax is older than in canon;

broken time line and age line for the sake

of plot; female virgin reader, incestuous

relationship, family abuse, self-harm,

misogyny, mentions of rape, unprotected

sex, black magic, blood and flesh magic,.

body horror, sacrilegious, Foul Legacy

Childe, breeding kink, miscarriage, marriage

grooming, pregnancy, erotic lactation.

murdering, abyssal soulmates, serfdom

system in Snezhnaya; all the characters are

adults; 18+.

Time was running mercilessly and the date of Ajax's departure was getting closer. Your mental state improved and you opened to your family, but the common joy ended quickly, as you hid into your wordless shell again, frustrated with a hollow feeling of upcoming loneliness.

Ajax was stressed out. It wasn't rare for you to find him talking to himself, discussing plans for the future and even arguing. Ajax's short temper and unreleased anger were showing at these moments: he was gesticulating in an excited manner; if not, he was walking back and forth, and sighing heavily.

It happened again when you were searching for Ajax to tell him to come and help others on the stable. You heard his heavy footsteps on the second floor. Before you knocked on the door, you overheard him saying something about grandmother.

“How in the world could an uneducated hard-working woman become a witch? Still can't get it right in my head.”

You shouldn't be heeding to his words – you were taught not to eavesdrop, but something in your mind told you to stay and spy on Ajax. You pressed your ear to the door and leaned on it. It was unusual and exciting for you until you heard someone answering him.

“You don't need to have specific knowledge to become a witch. She was in so much despair and pain it made her prayers especially sweet and strong. We couldn't ignore such a broken soul. After she got the power, she got the education as well – we taught her to read and count in one hour.”

You frowned, trying to understand who Ajax was talking to. You didn't hear that voice before and it sounded strange: loud, deep and hoarse. At first you couldn't even understand what the person was talking about – their speech was gibberish without words. You heeded, then your mind translated it to a normal humanly sounding state.

“Brilliant. And who was she praying to?”

“She was praying to the devils, young master. The disadvantage of her choice is simple – you never know who will answer to your call.” The person chuckled. You frowned. “In her case, it wasn't just a deal. It was a salvation. We saw a potential in her: her hatred and thirst for vengeance were commendable. She wanted someone from her family to inherit the power and continue the legacy. Just like in the prophecy.”

“A prophecy?”

“Not now, young master. You want to ask me about the diary and the missing part of the power, I can feel.”

“Don't you dare tell me what I want to do.” Ajax hissed. “I had enough of this! One more time you and your fucking henchmen show me these lousy dreams I'll send you all to the deepest of the Abyss and let the guards have some fun with you all in the same manner. Speak and then get lost, son of a bitch.”

“So, part of the power was passed to your dearest sister and there is no way for you to get it back from her, but she will share it with you.”

“What?!” Ajax was stunned.

“Ask her yourself. Not in my duties to explain everything to you. But I must confess she has a rather beautiful birthmark on her pretty back. Such a pleasure to watch her dressing up in the morning.”

You felt that someone pushed the door and jumped back so as not to fall into the room.

“Ajax! Father needs your help on the stable.” You spoke first and played like you didn't hear anything. Ajax froze with an aggressive expression on his face, but his gaze became softer when he looked at you.

“'Thanks,” He didn't wait and rushed to the stable. You stood aside to give him enough space, then looked into the room.

You made a step into it. The atmosphere here was different. A cold sweat broke out your body when you realized whom Ajax was talking to. In a second you felt that everything around you was hostile and hurried to get back to your room, but the door closed right in front of you. In fact… you had questions too, but you were afraid to build up communication with those ghoulish creatures.

“How can I get rid of you?” You asked into the fake emptiness.

“There is no way.” The answer was given to you immediately. You cried out, regretting your decision. “We serve your brother.”

“What about me? You said I have the same power as him.” Your brain was running fast, as you tried to rate the risk of the situation. You didn't want to repeat your recent journey of escaping demons, so you stayed alerted. Just a reminiscence of it made you weak in your knees.

“You stole a part of it from him. We mean no harm to you because of the master's order, but we have no desire to help you.” A mocking voice said, leaving you angry.

“You caused me a lot of harm.” You flared up. You realized that you wanted to play dirty on them. “I'll ask your master to execute his threat. You'll get what you deserve.” You grinned, imagining the torture Ajax promised to them. “Open the door.”

The door opened with a creak. You stepped out and the daze fell from your mind. Your heart was beating like crazy and your limbs started shaking from the fact that you commanded those demons.

“I hope you are suffering in a sulfur flame, grandma!” You couldn't keep the sudden outbreak of anger inside your throat. It all was her fault. Ajax and you were doomed to repeat her miserable fate because of her selfishness. The old fool believed in some prophecy – you were sure it was just a fiction of the demons to trick her into selling her family's souls to the devil as well. “Stupid cunt! Why couldn't you kill your husband without this fucking heresy?!” You screamed and froze. You opened your eyes so wide they hurt and pressed your palms to your mouth, trying to understand what you just said.

You made it to your room, feeling dizzy from the overexcitement. You laid down to rest. You felt so disgusted by your attitude you couldn't even believe that you let these words out of your mouth. Guilt was gnawing at your heart. Your head and your chest were heavy, you were about to doze off to sleep. Recently you got health issues: no matter what, you always were sleepy. With every day it was harder for you to wake up and get out of bed. You slept for ten and more hours, skipped meals and house work, as you felt completely drained out of energy. Even father stopped bothering you: despite his strictness, he was concerned about your health.

Suddenly you remembered about the diary and your attention focused on it. You got up but sat down on the edge of your bed, because your vision blacked from a sudden move. You took the diary from its secret place and started reading from the very beginning. You didn't know what you hoped to find, and everything you read didn't make any sense. The words were written in a normal human language, but you couldn't understand a thing from it, as if the diary itself didn't want you to know its secrets.

You stopped in the middle part to examine a magic circle that was drawn on a page. It was a simple circle with two smaller size circles inside of it. The smallest one had inside two triangles merged in the shape of a star, and in the free space in the middle of the triangles there was an eye; outside the smaller circles there were four crescent moons. You looked at it carefully, then read through the text on the next page and managed to understand it. The text was about an astral plane – an experience of lucid dreaming with the astral projection of your soul traveling through the spiritual world. Flashbacks of grandmother's house attacked your mind right after you decided to explain to yourself the definition of the spiritual world. There was no other useful information to gain and nothing was said on how to get into another world.

You returned the diary to its place, then realized that there was something wrong with it. It seemed like the diary was deciding which information to give to you, and which one to hide – maybe it was some sort of magic. Bewildered, you took a deep breath and laid for a nap. You were in a slumber when Teucer opened the door and came to your room on his tiptoes. He looked around, then stared at your face.

“Older sister,” he whispered and shook you by your shoulder. You woke up with a scream, making him jump back. “There is a noise inside your room!” By Teucer's tone you could tell he felt as scared as you.

“What? I heard nothing.” You rubbed your sleepy face, hardly understanding what he was trying to tell you.

“No! I could swear I heard something inside!” In a second Teucer turned into a whiny boy, his voice got crying notes – it was his usual strategy to attract attention to his words. “'Like someone was scratching on the wood!”

“It was mice, probably.” You tried to wave him away. You were too tired to talk: your whole body was heavy and your eyes were clothing on itself. You couldn't sit anymore and laid on your side. Teucer's ginger hair irritated you with its bright color, it made your eyes hurt. You couldn't hear him anymore, simply ignored everything he tried to tell you. Teucer ran away, as he got no response from you.

Just a moment after he came back with Ajax, lamenting on your behavior. Ajax sighed, patted Teucer's head and promised to take a look at the situation. Teucer, who was feeling like a hero, left Ajax and you alone. “What's wrong, dove?” Ajax closed the door and sat on the bed. He brushed away hair that fell on your face. You could feel his peculiar look with your skin.

“Nothing.” You mumbled, hiding your face in a pillow. “I just want to rest.”

“Don't want to seem rude,” Ajax's voice was anxious. “but you are resting too much. Are you okay?”

You didn't answer him, as you fell asleep already. All Ajax could do was to cover you with a blanket and leave, tormented by conjectures. He asked the devils by his side about your health, but their answer was vague – an eclipse was about to happen. Ajax spent the day without you, hoping that you would wake up, but you didn't.

As usual, he came to your room at night when everyone else was asleep. Ajax found you awake, reading the diary. Two candles were illuminating the room; the wind was howling behind the window, bringing chilly air through the loose shutter. Your room was the coziest in the whole house to Ajax, because it was you to leave here. It was located in the back of the house, poorly furnished and cold, but your presence made it comfortable and welcoming. You closed the diary and put it in the secret spot.

“Do you mind sharing something interesting with me?” Ajax blew out the candles and made himself comfortable in bed. He laid on his side, so he could face you.

“Just a magic book paired with an autobiography.” You did as well, looking at your brother in the dark. “Ajax,” you started, but stumbled, afraid that your question would make him angry. Still, you continued. “Is there any chance for us to return to a normal life?”

“It is our normal life now. You better get used to it.” Ajax sighed. “It is our fate, dove, and we can do nothing about it.”

“I don't want fate like this. I would better die, than…” you bit your tongue, realizing how foul your words were.

“We were talking about the diary.” Ajax replied with a stern voice that sent shivers down your spine.

You got nervous and scratched your clavicle. “I don't understand what is happening. Why are we talking so casually about something like this, ignoring all the devilry that is surrounding us?”

You were the voice of sense, and Ajax lost all his words. You were right – for him it was a usual topic, but for you, who almost lost one's mind contacting the devils and was contaminated with abyssal power against one's will, it was a delirium of polluted brain.

“That's not something we should discuss for a night. I'll tell you everything later.” Ajax put his pinky finger towards you and you did so, sealing the promise.

In a small talk you were the one to lead the conversation. Ajax kept you in his tight embrace, replying leisurely. His warmth and soft smell of his sweat made you feel relaxed – in this chaos of life Ajax's hands were the only space you felt safe in. It was selfish, it was unfair, but Ajax was the only reason that kept you in this world. His love was your motivation to live and become better. You wanted to protect Ajax in your own way by giving him solace he needed. No one could replace you in his life, no one could love him and comfort him better than you. Was it jealousy? It definitely was. You couldn't even imagine Ajax doing the same things he did for you to another woman. Those fantasies made you feel angry and reckless.

You turned your head to him, his lips were dangerously close to yours. You looked at him, waiting for something more – out of sudden the desire to be closer awoke in you. Ajax tarried, taken aback by your sudden move, so you pressed your lips to his gently. He slightly opened his mouth, helding your lower lip between his. You felt Ajax fingers brushing over your jawline, that made you hold your breath. An unusual drawing feeling curled in your lower belly; it made you thirsty for more than a kiss – your nipples hardened, full of lustful sensation.

“This is wrong…” he whispered, pulling away from you. The two extremes were fighting inside his soul – being on the verge of another Fall, Ajax suddenly remembered that he was a virtuous man once. Even his corroded heart contracted nervously. He desired to have you, but you were his sister.

Perhaps, he just needed a little push into this abyss.

Ajax quickly got on top of you, his trembling hands caught your hips. It was the first time he touched a woman in such a private place, that left him overly excited: the beast he was restraining broke out. His mouth covered yours, he placed heated kisses across your face, got down to your neck, biting soft skin, then traveled lower, until your night dress. Ajax's ardor surprised you, the way he forcefully pushed his tongue inside your mouth and squeezed your breasts with tenacious slender fingers made you squeak.

Ajax lost his mind: all the moral borders were broken and he was striving to push his erected member into your hot, wet place. Afterall, you were a woman in the first place, so it was nothing wrong in sharing the bed with you and making you bear his children.

It was hastily and clumsily, as arousal and thrill of being caught took over both of you. Ajax pulled down his pants quickly; you felt the tip of his cock pressing to your entrance. It was more painful than you expected it to be, so you bit on your index finger to ease that stinging feeling.

“Please, relax…” you heard your brother's husky voice. You did as he asked, and Ajax showed more of his member into you. It was hard not to cry, as it felt like you were about to split in half from this burning and stinging ache. Ajax's lips were trembling, as he was close to climax already.

You kept silent when Ajax started bucking his hips into yours. The process wasn't pleasurable at all and left you praying for it to end soon. Ajax, unlike you, couldn't keep his voice inside his throat, and moaned quietly: your quivering wet walls wrapped him around, sucking his cock deeper inside your womanhood. He had never felt more pleasure in his life. It didn't take long for Ajax to cum, staining your walls with his seed.

The following fuss went in a shy and wordless atmosphere. You left to clean yourself up, and Ajax stayed in the room to fix the bed. Intimacy proved to Ajax that you loved him the way he loved you – and your relationship should result in a marriage. He was ready to marry you right now, but it was impossible to his own regret. Demons suggested Ajax take you to another village and introduce you as an orphan to a priest, so the marriage would be possible. His mood lightened – it was the first time those devils recommended something good to him.

You came back and curled on the bed, as your lower tummy still disturbed you. Ajax hugged you and fell asleep right at the moment, soothed by your warmth. Your brain was restless. For demons it was a triumph, you thought. Despite the fact that this night was calm, you still felt their presence. They were a part of your normality, so you tried to think positively of them. It was very convenient to have servants like them, probably: all the dirty and impossible work was on their shoulders and they couldn't say no.

You snapped out of your cogitation. You got an awareness that it wasn't your thoughts. They belonged to your head, but were planted in here artificially. You knew yourself well enough (at least you thought you were) and it wasn't in your character to have such destructive ideas. You didn't want to end up like Ajax – losing yourself over uncontrollable animal impulses that were implied to him by demons. They were trying to take control over you, you were sure, and Archons did nothing to protect you, which led you to a painful question – was there any point in praying to someone, who didn't respond to you? Slowly you started to understand your grandmother, and it sent shivers down your spine.

To calm down you got out of bed and came to the window. Looking out, you saw the Moon. It was unusually bright today, you could see its surface in detail out of your window. It was exciting, for a moment you forgot how to breathe, beholding celestial beauty. Was it possible to reach it? You never heard of experiments of entering outer space, but you were sure it was possible. Why didn't Archons try it? Or, maybe, there were experiments, but in your obscure village no one heard of it. You sighed heavily. You were jealous of Capital citizens, they had everything on their plate by birthright. Ajax promised you that he would find a school for you in the Capital, but you were sure it wouldn't happen. He would be a regular soldier, no one would even think about doing him favors at the beginning of his career. If only you had access to actual knowledge and science… you brushed it away. You had enough disappointments in your life and didn't want to focus on sadness before going to bed.

Unexpectedly, out of nowhere, you saw a green lightning in front of you. It disappeared before you could react, and something fell on the floor, making a sound of fallen glass. You picked up what turned out to be a trinket, something similar to a pendant by its shape and design, but it lacked a chain.

Shadows in the room started shifting chaotically.

“What happened?!” Ajax jumped on the bed, aware of a strange sound. He quickly made it to the window and looked out, then he rushed about the room. “I heard something.” Ajax was turning his head, his eyes peering into the darkness.

“I don't know…” You came to him and showed the find. “It appeared here.”

“A Vision!” Ajax exclaimed and covered your hand with the trinket. “You should hide it, okay? Don't let someone see it.”

“Why? Is it bad?” You got scared and wanted to throw it away, thinking of it as some kind of cursed treasure.

“No. I don't know what you wished for, but Celestia found your desire worthy of attention and granted you Vision. It allows you to manipulate a certain element of nature,” Ajax took his hand off and looked at it. “Dendro, in your case. I have one too. Mine is Hydro.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” You spoke with an offended tone. You thought Ajax would share such a great thing with you, but he chose to conceal it.

“I was told not to. I'm sorry, dove.” He got a guilty face and scratched his head. “But it means we became even closer! You and I both have extraordinary powers. I'll teach you how to use them.”

“I thought we were close enough already. Thanks, I guess.” You looked at the Vision again and decided to hide it in the same spot with the diary.

You had no idea on how to use it and why you needed it, but at the same time it gave you a hope – if Celestia counted you as worthy, then your future was determined to be interesting and wasn't bonded with this gloomy village.

One day was left until the set date. You thought parents would prepare some kind of celebration or a farewell dinner, but nothing was done. Everyone took it as a natural part of his life, as if nothing had to happen. You were puzzled, until you realized: for them Ajax's enlistment in the Fatui was a shame. Instead of saying proper goodbye to Ajax and spending time with him, father brought his friend, Pavel Korneevich, into the house and introduced him as your groom to everyone.

You could swear: you physically sensed the immediate tension and confusion coming from Ajax. Your opinion wasn't welcomed, so you stayed silent, afraid to stand up for yourself. You weren't just shocked – you were scared to death. All your dreams for a happier life were about to be broken with a marriage.

It was scandalous: Pavel Korneevich was old enough to be your father. You were indecently younger, yet it didn't stop father from bringing this man into his own house. With this gesture he showed how little respect for you he had had, and the scanty amount of good things he had ever done to you was immediately forgotten by you. That grain of love you had for him was destroyed and turned into pure hatred. But Pavel Korneevich… How could he even think about marrying you? He was out of his mind, if he thought of you as a suitable wife for himself.

“Is this some kind of a cruel joke?” Ajax's aura gave you shivers. His tone was serious, yet soft and sickly sweet, while his slightly narrowed eyes were fixed on the guest and father. “Don't you dare to put a ring on her while I'm out. I want to see my dear sister walking down the aisle with my own eyes.”

Ajax's words didn't make sense and you hoped that he said it only to win time. Ajax stood behind your back and put his heavy hand on your shoulder, that almost broke at the weight and a tight squeeze that he gave you. You portrayed a labored, trembling smile.

“Of course,” Pavel Korneevich nodded. “We need no rush in such things.”

“Sure,” Father grunted, munching on his wrinkled dry lips. “You are free to go. We have business to discuss.” Then he looked at you and, without calling your name, addressed you. “Pasha will talk to you later.”

On numb legs you made it to your room, Ajax following you like a shadow. As soon as you entered the private area, you cried out and fell on your knees, helpless and miserable. All he could do was hold you in his arms and remain silent.

A familiar shadow appeared in front of Ajax, waiting for instructions. Ugly, ridiculously slim and tall, the demon in the shape of a man with a pig's nose was looking right into Ajax's soul. A second shadow, small and stout, showed up right near the first one: the same pig nose, but also small sly eyes. It was too late to pray, so Ajax made an order – to ruin the wedding and kill Pavel Korneevich, but his death should seem natural. By sinister smiles that bloomed on twisted faces and revealed sharp, abnormal teeth, Ajax figured out that the order was taken. They disappeared to prepare their nasty trap.

“Worry not, dove,” Ajax nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. “I'll take care of it. Your brother will never leave you. I'll always be here to help you.”

On the contrary, Ajax's words made you feel even worse than you did before: dragged away from his home, he would think about you without the opportunity to communicate with you properly. You wanted to disappear, to dissolve, to stop existing in a physical way only to escape from this agony. If not Pavel Korneevich, then somebody else would be chosen as your groom. Parents wouldn't miss an opportunity to get rid of you. What could you do?

“Take me with you!” You clutched at the collar of his shirt, your gaze crazy behind the clumped lashes and redness of the eyes. “Take me with you, or I will run away!”

Ajax hardly endured your emotional breakdown. Your broken voice and hysterical ideas were impossible to listen to; at this point he wished for the night to come sooner and take him from this cursed house – he didn't tell you that Fatui would take him in the night to avoid unwanted attention. Ajax stayed until you cried yourself to sleep. The last day with you was meant to be tragic, for his own regret. When the clock struck midnight, Fatui appeared in the yard, waiting for him. Mother gave Ajax a heartless kiss at his cheek, and father remained uninvolved. Ajax left without looking back not to torture his soul. For the first time of his life he found calmness.

The gate grated, soldiers in heavy boots left, leaving deep footprints on the snow; a small lamp went out inside the house. The moon was unusually bright, its agily light oozed into the house through every crack. Your room was filled with moonlight, making it as bright as day. In your dreamless sleep you heard someone calling your name, and your body, hit by impulses, stood up on its own, pursuing the voice; step by step you made it to the front door.

The door opened on itself and closed, when you walked out. Your bare feet touched the snow; it melted from your heat. A bigger celestial body closed the Moon, causing the eclipse and hiding all the blissful light that Illuminated you. You felt like falling: the horrifying hungry maw of abyss opened under your feet, swallowing you into the darkness and covering your body with snow. You opened your eyes and saw nothing. You landed on the stone floor, all your body responded with pain.

It was a big room with just one chair and a burning fireplace. Cold walls of unknown color were hidden in the dark, as well as other spaces of the room. You heard steps and a woman appeared in front of you. She had long white hair and manic crimson eyes. Her expressionless face scared you.

“This must be a joke.” She smiled to herself. “How could a worm like you deserve the Forgotten God's blessing? This is ridiculous.” She turned back on her heels. The cape on her bony shoulders followed her moves, and you noticed dozens of death masks that froze in scream on the hemline.

“Where am I?!” Your voice broke on scream. It couldn't be that the nightmare from your grandmother's shack found you in Morepesok.

The woman sighed irritably. “He had one job – yet he failed. You are in the Abyss. The power you stole from your brother brought you there.”

“I want to go back.” You stated. Unusual hardness in your voice made the woman laugh. “This ain't funny! I'm tired of these devilish tricks I'm being involved in! I swear this time I'll fight you instead of running away!”

“Then fight.”

At an impossible speed she made an attack that struck you into your shoulder and made you fly to the nearest wall. You couldn't breath at the pain you felt – it seemed like your clavicle, scapula and ribs were crumbled into tiniest pieces. You were opening and closing your mouth with no sound, just like a fish that was taken out of water and left to die on the surface. It was a pure shock that paralyzed you and concentrated your brain on the inhuman pain.

The woman sat in the chair and looked at the fireplace, as she immediately lost her interest in you. You didn't know how much time had passed since you were left to suffer, but it felt like decades to you before you were able to stand up.

“You possess great power, yet I bet you know nothing about it. That's why you should think before stealing.” She spoke, watching the fire. “I heard a prophecy about brother and sister, who would free us from the shadows we were trapped in and restore the ancient order. It doesn't matter anymore – deep inside I stayed skeptical, and it proved that all prophecies are lies. Look at your right hand.”

You did as she said and staggered. One of your wrists was abnormal: your fingers, palm and veins got black, traces of the same color ascended until your elbow.

“I'll teach you the concept of ritual – that's the starting point of your journey. Then, you will be on your own.” She let out a short chuckle, full of sadistic anticipation.

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fic #genshin impact smut #childe x you #childe x fem!reader #childe x reader smut #childe smut #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader

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sungbeam · 30 days

Text

BIRD HUNT — three

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ genre, au, etc. bat family au, dc comics inspired, dark, vigilantes au, slow burn, ceo/billionaire au, cat woman!reader, murder mystery au, action, suspense, angst, slow burn-ish?, love square??; choi line inspired by dick grayson (csb), jason todd (cyj), and tim drake (cbg), including bruce wayne for choi minho and damian wayne for nishimura riki, inspired by 2022's The Batman

▷ chapter warnings. swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of weaponry, depictions of violence, use of pepper spray, breaking and entering

▷ word count. 4.4k // taglist: open

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FILE_03 : by the tail

gotham city.

[seven days since your mother was murdered.]

"Is she here?"

The voice was familiar to your sensitive ears, and although your eyes remained fixed on Mrs. Lee, you shifted your attention mentally to the two—no, three—wait… four?—figures making their way over to where you and Mrs. Lee stood in the home office space. Their footsteps were as quiet as heeled loafers could be against hollow wood floors. The Lees' home in the suburbs was a safe distance from the heart of Gotham, so the neighborhood was much nicer and much more like a home. The Lees had been ushered here after Lee Sungjae had been found murdered, and they'd resided here since.

You had been called in the day after the incident happened—that was the day after you had gone to see your father. We must work fast, Yn. They've already gotten to one of my… men. That was what he'd told you, and when he elaborated, you had discovered that every news channel now blasted footage of Lee Sungjae's dead, glassy eyes.

You had been busy since, trying to both grieve in peace and work at the same time.

"—take more time, Yn-ah. Losing a loved—" Mrs. Lee's voice cracked slightly and she covered her mouth.

"Mrs. Lee—"

She waved your hand away, angling her body away slightly so she could regain composure. "No, no. It's alright. I'm alright. I just… I know how it feels, and I think you deserve time to yourself, as well."

Of course you told her about your mother. You had to take another day off when one of your coworkers had noticed how spaced out you were when you came in. No, you didn't tell her your mother was murdered the same way her husband had. That was between you, your father, and the motherfucker who did this.

But for now, you were supposed to be here to answer the police's questions about your employer. You had been one of three of Mr. Lee's secretaries for the past several months now, having come under his employ about a year ago after Choi Enterprises turned you away. But magically, a few days afterward, this offer from the office of one Lee Sungjae had arrived in your inbox. When one door closed, as they said, another opened. Whatever guardian angel was looking over you then certainly wasn't looking over you now though.

"Miss Ln?"

You turned around and expected to see Commissioner Kim Namjoon and your co-secretary, Shin Ryujin, but you hadn't expected the two others with them. They stood behind the two aforementioned, both in black domino masks that covered the top halves of their faces. Their suits were skintight, most likely to allow for more mobility, but they also accentuated their starkly muscular figures. The taller one wore a suit of dark blue and black, while the other donned a maroon red and black ensemble. You recognized them, respectively, as Gotham's very own Nightwing and the Red Robin. Vigilantes. What were they doing with Commissioner Kim?

Ryujin bowed her way out, gently taking Mrs. Lee with her. That left you with the others.

"Hello, Miss Ln," Commissioner Kim greeted with a tired, but not unkind, smile. He fished a small notepad out of his coat pocket, ballpoint pen clicking to life. "My name is Commissioner Kim. These two… not sure if you need any introductions."

When you remained silent with only a nod, he continued, "We're here investigating the murder of your former employer, and we were informed that you often handled his familial affairs. We've already spoken with Miss Shin and Mr. Yun, but we wanted to ask where you were last Wednesday night at ten o'clock."

You were very aware that Nightwing had decided to wander about the office, eyes taking in the shelves and the notes and the desk… then there was Red Robin, who's attention was pinned intently on you, arms crossed firmly over his chest. There was something awfully familiar about these two. "Is that an accusation, Commissioner?" You asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.

"It doesn't have to be," he said airily. "Just answer the question, Miss."

"I was at home," you answered, schooling your face into neutrality. "You can ask my employer's wife and my coworkers—I was taking time off to grieve my mother's death."

The shock was not the most stark on the commissioner's face, but on Red Robin's. "She's dead?—" He coughed; even Nightwing had paused his movements. "I mean, I'm sorry for your loss." You didn't recognize the voice, but you suspected it was probably being disguised with a voice modulator.

The commissioner sent him a bewildered look, but turned back to you. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Yn. Truly." He asked with almost a grimace, "Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts? I understand you were most likely home alone, but perhaps a neighbor, a significant other…?"

And there it was again—that shift in energy as both the vigilantes in the room stopped to focus on you.

You shook your head with a tight smile. It probably wouldn't bode well if you revealed to them who your father was or that you paid the Iceberg Lounge a visit that day. You were also a little too preoccupied with survival to have a significant other, and you hadn’t been close enough to a neighbor in years. "No. Just my cats."

There was something so familiar about this Red Robin character, but you couldn't put a finger on it. Or maybe it was the way he was staring at you with such pity (and sympathy) that made you wish he was someone else. Either way, you needed to know why these two vigilantes were put on the case, and what they might have already found out. At the moment, it didn't seem like it would pose a problem, but you thought it wouldn't hurt to be a little more careful.

When you arrived home that night, bones aching as much as your head pulsed, you collapsed on the couch. A few of your cats began to swarm your legs, soft fur tickling the skin exposed when your pant leg lifted. Blue, a very introverted Russian Blue who you managed to make an extrovert when it came to you, plopped himself onto your lap like a warm, vibrating mass. You ran your fingers through his fur to the symphony of someone's purrs (you figured it was Byeol; he was quite vocal).

"Should I invite him to the funeral?" You murmured to Blue in question.

He stared back at you, then silently turned his gaze to a particle of dust floating in the air.

You exhaled back against the couch cushions. "I'll take that as a yes."

In the dead of night—because there was always a dead of night, even for Gotham City—you pulled a dark beanie over your head and the top half of your face. Two holes had been cut and sewn for your eyes to see through, and at the top of the hat, two little triangles sat akin to ears. You recalled the night you had crocheted this on a whim, your mother having done most of the work.

"Blue wants it to have cat ears, mama," you'd told her just as she brought out her tub of yarns.

Your mother's eyes glittered. "Is that right? Well, we'll have to add cat ears then, won't we?"

You thought it would be fitting to find her killer in this. You thought it fit you quite well, at least.

The rest of you was dressed in black, and your hand grazed over Soul's fluffy, white head as you propped open the second floor window. "I'll be home soon," you whispered to the last of your family, then disappeared into the night.

"I can't get why this is so familiar to me," Beomgyu voiced into the echoes of the Batcave, hands braced against the main monitor as he stared at the copy of the note: A Debt Repaid. He had been staring at it for the past week, not consecutively, but it hadn't left the forefront of his mind. Like you.

Soobin trudged over to his brother with a bowl of cereal cradled in his large palm, the other hand spooning the sweet milk and wheat flakes into his mouth. "Mm. Maybe give it a rest for a little, Beom."

"And do what?"

"How do you know Ln Yn?"

Beomgyu whirled around just as Soobin settled into the desk chair, waiting. Beomgyu made a scoffing noise, eyebrows flying up to his shaggy bangs. "Where did that come from?"

Soobin smiled and shrugged. "You tell me." He slurped up a bit more milk before adding, "You're the one who reacted like that in front of everyone when she said she was grieving her mother's death. You sounded shocked that she died."

"Well yeah, wouldn't you be shocked to hear someone else died so close to another's death?"

"Stop trying to bullshit him, Gyu."

Both the brothers looked up at the voice who had just entered the underground space. Yeonjun strolled into the main area in a white tank top and sweats, hair sticking up in different places. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned loud and wide.

Soobin cocked a brow at him. "Nice of you to finally join us, hyung. How'd the date go?"

"Great," Yeonjun quipped. "We're going on a second one soon. I think Felix almost sent me off with a kiss goodnight." He slumped onto the edge of the desk, eyes lazily taking in the images and information displayed on the many monitor screens. "This is our stiff, huh?"

Soobin sent him a look that distinctly said 'No, we're just looking at dead bodies for fun.'

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied. "The note the killer left is so familiar to me though. Have you seen it before?" He knocked his knuckles against the monitor with the note.

Yeonjun's eyes narrowed on the screen, before he leaned back with that bored look renewed on his face. "You're both idiots. It's from that one killing a couple weeks ago."

Beomgyu and Soobin traded looks. "What?"

Their eldest brother leaned down to reach the lowest drawer at the desk. From its depths, he fished out a large bag of chips and grabbed a handful to stuff his face with. "Y'know," he garbled and gestured vaguely with his crumb-dusted fingers. "Beomgyu, you know! You were there with me. It was that one lawyer guy who was found dead in his car beneath the bridge. That same note was taped to his windshield."

"Oh yeah," Beomgyu drawled, while Soobin shook his head with a sigh. The former then knocked his foot against the latter's shin. "Aye! You didn't even know it."

"Yeah, because I wasn't on that case," Soobin fired back. He finished off the rest of his bowl of cereal and set the empty ceramic in his lap before crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes, like his brothers' were lined beneath with heavy eye bags. Someone was supposed to be on patrol around the city right now, but neither of the three brothers were in any rush to get up. "So it's just one person going after these people then."

Yeonjun chewed his bottom lip. "Then we just gotta find the connection."

"Was the lawyer guy from a couple weeks ago Lee Sungjae's attorney?" Soobin asked.

Beomgyu grabbed a hold of the wireless keyboard on the desk and braced it upon his thighs. He pulled up an internet browser and typed in their inquiry. All three brothers made noises of disgruntlement; if the lawyer hadn't been Sungjae's attorney, then how were they connected? It was no secret that 99.9 percent of the population here in Gotham had some sort of… shadow looming over their shoulder. It was almost impossible to get anywhere without the help of a corrupt figure, whether that be a mob boss like the Penguin or loan shark with special strategies to get someone to pay up.

Either way, there would be lots of digging required.

"Let's start with Lee Sungjae and the lawyer's records,'' Soobin decided as he sat up in the chair. "We'll sort through phone records, acquire security footage of their movements, their texts, etcetera."

"I call none of those," Yeonjun said. When his younger brothers scowled at him, he raised both hands in feigned surrender with a giggle. "Fine, fine. You're both lookin' at me like I murdered your favorite puppy."

They remained silent.

"What, too soon?"

The basement headquarters suddenly erupted in a dull siren sound, and Beomgyu was swift to pull up a set of footage on one of the monitors. It displayed a section of the sky, a white spotlight circle cast against a massive, dark gray cumulus cloud with a distinct bat shape in the center—their call to action.

All three men were on their feet in an instant—keyboard and cereal bowl abandoned on the table, capes and utility belts clicked into place.

"Meet you losers there!" Yeonjun hollered as the cave filled with the revving roar of his motorcycle engine like a clap of thunder.

Soobin and Beomgyu hurried over to their respective cycles. "Hey, we're not done talking about Ln Yn!" Soobin called to his younger brother.

Beomgyu flashed him a thin smile. "That's what you think!" And he sped away down the runway.

Soobin chuckled to himself, grinning. Then he revved his engine and launched himself after his brothers.

To be completely honest, you had no idea what you were doing. Actually, that was a lie. You kind of knew what you were doing, but that was leagues away from completely knowing what you were doing until it was muscle memory. Right now though, as you gripped onto the side of the building, fingertips digging into the concrete ledge like a lifeline (because it might as well had been one), you couldn't wait until it became muscle memory.

God, your arms were going to ache tomorrow morning.

"It's worth it, Yn," you muttered to yourself, under your breath, and that was what made you reach up one more time and grasp onto the ledge of the window sill. You had always wondered why buildings like this lacked security cameras, but based on its practically smooth facade, it was no wonder. Only a crazy person would dare scale something like this.

The law firm building was not one of the largest nor one of the dingiest. If it had been some place like Clark & Field, you would have considered other ways to get into the building, but it would probably be through the inside (because scaling a fifty story skyscraper without a net was not on your bucket list). And if the building had been on the dingier side, it would have, frankly, been much easier to find footholds and places to brace. Except for any mold or crumbly parts. That was not fun either.

Or maybe you could classify scaling buildings as just… not fun in general. But the skills and the strength would come with time.

This time, however, was fueled by pure willpower.

But the universe was on your side for once, and the window you clung to gave way and granted you entry. The stupid lock picks had actually worked.

Despite being dead for two weeks, Yang Eunhyuk’s office still looked like its owner was still alive. There were documents left out in the open, all of the furniture had yet to be touched, there was an old (upon further investigation, really old) cup of coffee on the desk, and a two-week-old calendar for the week’s appointments and cases. You peered at the calendar and skimmed its contents, but found nothing terribly noteworthy. You strolled by the bookcase, footsteps light as a cat’s, and glimpsed the titles. There were a lot of convoluted-sounding titles on the shelves, and honestly, you doubted that he even read half of the books there. They were probably just for show when clients came in.

After you had given yourself a tour of the space, you determined that no one had truly cared enough about this man to really clean up for him. The door out into the hallway was locked, and through its frosted glass door, you could make out the distinct yellow police tape crossed over the frame. This was no crime scene, but the police had still had the room locked down… odd.

You figured they didn’t care enough. But maybe this guy had more connections than you were giving him credit for. He had been one of your father’s clients, after all. (Actually, that wasn’t enough to determine whether or not Yang was smart or not. Resorting to your father’s ever-generous solutions was stupid; and you were very well-aware that that made you stupid, too.)

Your father had sent you to this office for something in particular.

“Yang Eunhyuk was an idiot and a half,” your father had told you the day you had come to him. “But he knows how to hide his things when he needs to.” He had carefully relayed all of the necessary information to you as the two of you sat on the couch together to outline your next steps and what exactly he was asking of you. “He owes me a compilation of files and a burner phone.”

When you’d asked what for, there was that gleam in his eyes as if he found the question amusing. “Well, to find out who betrayed us, of course.”

“To find who killed Mom?”

He had nodded at you—waved his hand flippantly. “Yes. That’s the same thing, Yn.”

A burner phone and a compilation of files. Your father had already searched Yang’s personal place of residence, but there had apparently been nothing but “shit." So here you were… sorting through more shit.

You drummed the pads of your fingers on the surface of the desk.

“Where would he hide you, hm?” You murmured to yourself. You tried all of the drawers under the desk—four of the seven came up locked. The top three drawers were all filled with a smorgasbord of knick knacks and junk like a fidget spinner, fidget cube, a package of cigarettes, and even a used gum wrapper. (Gross.) You slipped a lock pick out from your sleeve as you considered the remaining four locked drawers, then realized that Yang Eunhyuk might not have kept your father’s files in the same place as his regular, ol’ case files.

And so, you moved away from the desk.

You figured there were specific places a lawyer would keep their most sensitive files to ensure discretion and privacy. You recalled how your late employer, Lee Sungjae, often had his most precious files stashed away in a place that was so obvious that no one would ever assume any person in the right mind would hide such things. For Sungjae, it had been a picture frame on the wall of his office, the one with him and his entire family pictured. It was cute; but when one peered behind it…

There was only one picture frame in the entire office space. It was small and it housed his law degree. You wondered if it was phony.

You decided to give it a chance and reached for it with a gloved hand.

When you took the frame off the wall, a frown slipped onto your face at the solid wall behind it. Huh. It was worth a—

You stepped backward and inhaled sharply when your leg hit the back of his cheap office chair. You managed to right yourself, but your ears had also perked up at a curious sound. You swiftly replaced the frame on the wall and knelt down by the desk chair and twisted your body to peer beneath it.

The sound you had heard had been a soft swish. It was subtle and not at all loud, but thanks to the empty office and your own hearing, you had picked up on it. It was practically a miracle.

Your heart pounded in excitement as you stuck your hand beneath the chair and felt up the bottom. There—you felt a distinct, padded folder—and there—

Your fingers wrapped around a small device no bigger than the palm of your hand. It must have been attached to the bottom of the chair with some kind of tape, and you gave it a good yank. And behold… in your hand was the alleged burner phone, staring up at you, just begging for you to sneak a peek into its logs. But before you could, you removed the file that had been hidden beneath the chair as well. It was a standard manila folder stuffed to the brim with papers and, you assumed, lots of sensitive information. Your eyes were widening like your smile as you just struck gold.

Not too bad for your first time in a while.

You startled at the sound of a thump.

There was a figure, a shadow, standing on the window sill by the end of the desk. He was familiar to you with his dark hair and domino mask, and his red and black uniform. His cape flowed from just off the precipices of his shoulders and hung around the backs of his knees—imposing and regal but not in the way of any movements he made. The Red Robin had stood before you just earlier in the day at Lee Sungjae’s suburban home. He had been the one with the familiar presence to you, along with his… colleague? You didn’t know his and Nightwing’s association or relationship, but you weren’t about to interact long enough to find out.

“Breaking and entering is illegal, y’know,” the masked vigilante mused, and you could just make out the shadow of his smirk in the darkness. “Even at crime scenes.”

You rose from your spot on the floor, slipping the burner into the holster pocket on the garter around your thigh and tucking the file in the crook of your arm. There wasn’t really a place you could hide the chunky piece of shit. Despite your heart palpitating in your chest, you maintained a cool exterior. He didn’t know who you were, and you expected that he wouldn’t be able to recognize your voice since you had only spoken to him once.

“Nothing done in Gotham is illegal,” you replied to him.

His head cocked to the side, arms folding over his chest. “You’re not wrong about that. But…” He nodded at the file folder. “I really can’t let you leave with that.”

Oh, dear god. You needed an escape plan—and fast.

Nothing was coming to mind; it was just get out get out get out! (Very helpful, as always.)

“I’m sure you can make an exception for me,” you said with a mocking pout. “How’d you even know I was here? I didn’t realize Yang Eunhyuk had a connection to Gotham’s exclusive Bat Boys.”

A scoff from him. “He doesn’t. Your luck just happened to be running out, sweetheart.” He stepped off the window sill and entered the office, stalking toward you with slow, methodical steps because he knew you were cornered. You really should have tried that office door when you had the chance.

As you began backing away, you shook his head and tsked. “C’mon,” he coaxed. “Give me the folder.”

“And I can go?” You wondered how fast you could disappear once you flung yourself out of that window.

He smiled. “If you give me that burner, too, sure.”

Your heart stopped for a millisecond. God damn it.

He must have seen the doubt in your eyes, and that fucking smile of his widened. Something about that was tug-tug-tugging a nerve. He stopped walking toward you as you slowly made a move to set the file down on the floor. “Good girl.”

The file flopped onto the wooden floor.

"Slowly," he drawled, eyes glued to your form as he watched your hand move toward the holster pouch.

All the while, you were counting down in your head.

Before he could blink, you swung a leg out and kicked the file back behind Red Robin and toward the window. His head swerved in that direction, and you launched yourself at him before he could realize his mistake.

You kicked at him, one-two, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a virus. He blocked your blows, just as you swung around and made a grab for his mask.

He caught your wrist; you whirled—it was a high stakes tango you had not been prepared for. But you jabbed your elbow behind you, fist flying up toward his nose. Every move you made was desperate and offensive.

You slipped free and ducked, body curling under his arm, under his cape, until you ended up in the flurry of the dark fabric.

The vigilante knew his own cape though. You gave him that much.

He grabbed the opposite end and arced it over your head, arm coming down to wrap you in it—but you threw yourself out of it, landing a swift blow to his shin. Wouldn't do much except make him curse and loosen his grip slightly.

The file was in sight—oh god, it was right the fuck there.

You made a mad dash for it, leaning down slightly and reaching out with your hand—

"Not so fast, kitty—"

You hit the floor with a curse, palms flat against the wood. His foot had hooked around yours and tripped you, his knee set against your back like his own palm as he held you against the floor.

You felt his breath by your ear. "What's in the file, sweetheart?"

"None of your concern," you gritted out, then throwing your head back until you heard and felt that telltale "fuck!" from Red Robin.

You ignored the throbbing in the back of your skull to fling yourself around and throw off his balance again. Your hand dove into your holster pocket to retrieve the small cylinder of mace, then sprayed it in a final move of desperation, breath and chest heaving.

The man sputtered, hand flying up to his mouth as he stumbled backward and tried to eject the chemical from his body. "Dirty fucking move," he spat as you turned tail and made for the file.

Only—

"Looking for this?"

Two others had joined the party, to your absolute horror. Nightwing stood with the file in his hand, while Red Hood—the vigilante from the bank, and supposedly Choi Yeonjun based on your deductions—was perched up on the window sill with zero care in the world.

Well shit.

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ohnococo · 3 months

Text

Between Water and Wind | Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

“He’s not good for you, baby.” You don’t say anything to that, there’s no reason to. He knows you don’t need to be told that, he knows the same things everyone knows. That Sukuna cheats on you, that he barely tries to hide it, that he’d lose his mind if he knew that you did the same.

Sukuna isn't good for you, you know this, Gojo knows this. You can't leave him though, so instead you'll seek comfort in Gojo's arms in secret, even as he asks you to want better for yourself.

Warnings: angst, unhealthy relationship, cheating (both getting cheated on and cheating), Toxic!BF Sukuna, vaginal sex, crying, revenge sex, pining gojo

WC: 1.2k

Satoru Gojo can never stop running his mouth. You’ve loved it in the past, laughing at his antics, giving him the same back, but it’s the last thing you want right now.

“He’s not good for you, baby.”

You don’t say anything to that, there’s no reason to. He knows you don’t need to be told that, he knows the same things everyone knows. That Sukuna cheats on you, that he barely tries to hide it, that he’d lose his mind if he knew that you did the same. It’s different for you, though. You would have never done it if he hadn’t cheated on you first, and you didn’t do it. Not the first time he cheated at least, nor the second, but the third was the last straw for you. You’ve stopped counting at this point, because you know for every one you find out about - by going through his phone, or being told by a friend, or just knowing he’s lying about where he is and what he’s doing - that there must be more. Now you just take the heartbreak, knowing you’ll go where you always end up when he does it again:

In Satoru’s room, fucking all your worries away, if only for a moment.

“I am.” He looks up at you, pleading, before your pussy squeezing at his cock has him burying his face in your chest again, moans barely muffled for a moment before he’s back to begging you for more with those icy eyes. “I’ll be so good to you. So, so good.”

Sometimes he saves this for afterwards, when he’s made you cum until you’re almost convinced fucking him behind Sukuna’s back is an appropriate form of vengeance, even if he doesn’t know about it because he can’t. When he’s tracing patterns over your bare skin, almost pouting as he tells you all the reasons why you have to leave Sukuna. It makes it easier to snap out of that warm afterglow. The pit in your stomach that forms at the thought of trying to be without Sukuna helps push away that budding affection you try to ignore for Satoru.

Because it’s not easy. It’s far, far too complicated, and Satoru just can’t understand it. For him it’s obvious: Sukuna is a bad man. Sukuna hurts the people he cares about. Sukuna doesn’t even care that he’s doing it. So he hates him.

Unfortunately, the math doesn’t quite work out the same for you. You’d never felt as awful as Sukuna made you feel, but you’d also never felt as good, because when he loves he does it with his whole body. His whole soul. Like there’s no option other than being bound together forever because it would always be you. You didn’t think you could live a life where you didn’t get to bask under his glow when he happened to see fit.

Satoru almost makes you think you could, though. Especially like this, with his cock buried deep, because he’s got to fill you with as much of his love as you’ll let him, and this is the only time you let him. In secret, in the centre of his bed and on his lap, rocking your hips against him while he holds you close and pleads his case. He’s pleading your case too, really.

“He’s never gonna change… I’d never do that to you.”

You thought he understood what this was. That you couldn’t leave Sukuna. That you couldn’t even stand up to him. It was why you were sneaking around behind his back, seeking a hollow replica of strength to make up for how weak you were to him just as much as you were seeking comfort for what he kept doing to you.

The fact that Satoru let you seduce him time and again, knowing he was already yours from the day you met, wasn’t a revelation you could take. Not while he was thrusting up into you like that, wet mouth kissing and sucking on your breasts as he pleads and pleads until he’s breathless. He tells you every single time that he’s waiting for that moment, and would keep waiting for that moment, but you can’t let it come no matter how often he picks up the pieces Sukuna’s actions leave you in.

It makes you weaker, it makes you cry, and your tears are hot as they roll down your cheeks. You tilt your head back as you moan, hoping Satoru won’t notice and will assume your gentle trembling is just the orgasm that was steadily approaching as he fucks you tenderly. His perception is keen, though. Especially when it comes to this.

“See? He makes you cry.” He kisses at your tears as they reach your jawline, unable to unwrap his arms from you to wipe them away as he had so many times before. “You can’t love someone who makes you cry.”

He knows that’s not true. Unfortunately, so do you.

“I’ll never make you cry, I promise.”

He was already breaking that promise, but you can’t tell him that. You were hurting enough for the both of you, enough for Sukuna too because you know why he’s the way he is, even if Satoru won’t hear it. He won’t hear a lot of the things you tell him, or the things you tell yourself. He’s only listening for certain words from you: that you’ll leave Sukuna, that you want him instead, that you love...

You can’t even think it, much less say it, and you can’t hear anymore of his pleas while you were so close - so you tangle your hand in his soft hair and pull him into your crushing kiss. Deep enough to make his talking stop, deep enough to make your tears flow faster. It doesn’t matter right now though, with Satoru throbbing inside of you. He lets go of you for the first time since you’d entered his home, only to bring his hand between your bodies to slide skillful fingers at your bundle of nerves, and you’re breathing each other in as you let sounds instead of words convey your feelings.

It borders on too much, like it always does, body clenching, milking him dry, til you’re shaking and panting and able to push all of your worries aside for one brief moment with Satoru Gojo.

But all of the things that don’t matter right now will in due time. The confidence Satoru has in thinking he could pry Sukuna from under your skin if he tries hard enough. The glimpse of your heart that you give him even when you’ll have to hide it away again because it’s not his. The lies you tell Sukuna when you leave to see him, much more believable than the lies he tells you - if only because he wouldn’t even dream that you would do to him even half of what he’s done to you. And he’s right, in a way. He would lie, cheat, ruin you heart and soul, but he would never ever go and fall in love with anyone but you.

All of these things will catch up to you eventually, because Satoru Gojo can never stop running his mouth.

You know this, and it makes you scared for Satoru. It makes you scared for yourself.

#reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #my writing #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #reader insert

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morgana-ren · 3 months

Note

What would gortash and Durge be like in bed?? I always like to imagine a on the path to redemption Durge, who is perhaps slightly more submissive now than they were. Allowing Gortash to absolutely be the rough dominating tyrant he is. No touching, no whimpering, no begging no nothing without his permission. Sit there in some tacky gold chains and warm his cock. If he ever so much as feels that cunt of yours twitch he's denying you for the rest of the night.

Be a good girl, get on your knees under his desk and Open that mouth. let him rest his cock on your tongue while he does some paperwork. Ah ah, no noise, no swallowing, he needs to concentrate.

I think before the mindflayer parasite there whole dynamic was alot more blood and teeth, both fighting for control, but now he gets to have them how ever he wants with all the control. Finds their attempt at being good a little pathetic but their memory loss makes them oh so vulnerable and gives him the perfect opportunity to sink those manipulative claws deep.

They wouldn't drop to their knees for him then, but they will now. He'll make sure of it.

Oh, before the parasite? It would have been a show.

Two powerhouses; the deserved chosen and avatars of Gods-- Rival Gods. Sex is power, and it is a struggle-- it is a fucking fight at the best of times, and the bedroom was an arena between two titans vying for complete and total dominance. Neither would kneel or bend for the other. They would take and claw and battle for the right-- and it's always a stalemate that ends with blood on the bedsheets and one swearing vengeance for underhanded trickery to their cackling counterpart.

Banites do not kneel before Bhaalists; Bhaalists do not bend for Banites. Both command an unyielding air of dominance. Around and around and around it goes. You only get what you can make them give you, and boy, is it convoluted when two mortal bodies want nothing but to sink fang, claw, and cock into each other but the Gods looming behind them demand acquiescence.

Oh, it was great fun for Gortash. There's something simply charming about having a bedfellow comprised of stone and steel and iron will that would not bow before his command. A never-ending game where the prize is always just out of reach-- just beyond the slip of his fingers. He found his consolation prize on the occasions he was able to force her on hand and knee and swaddle himself deep in the confines of her tight, wet body, the furious fires of her rage only serving to warm him with every merciless cant of his hips.

--Yet, there is something so overwhelmingly blissful about the victory of finally cradling her newfound vulnerability in the palm of his metal-laden fingers.

Fire and fury and death incarnate though she may be, she is as a lost little lamb on exile from her flock. Her shepherd has abandoned her, and so she wanders back listlessly to the last place she felt known-- straight into his grasp.

She is a weapon, honed to a fine edge, and there will be matters to attend to later, but for now, he intends to savor his victory.

She remembers little of herself, and knows even less, but he is more than happy to fill in the blanks of her memory-- rewritten to his whims, of course. Poor dear, so lost and alone, it must have been terrible. Those urges that claw and shred at your insides, being shorn of your sanity little by little as it skelters lost behind you, blown about by tumultuous winds of your profane blood.

He will keep her safe and secure, his hand to Bane-- but she must do as he says. Doesn't she trust him? Isn't he the only one she trusts? The only constant she remembers even as her memory was cruelly lobotomized and hollowed away? Surely there is some part of her that knows she can trust him. Is that not why she found him again?

She may not remember, but her body certainly does. She no longer fights the cries caught in her throat, nor does she stiffen the exquisite arch of her back. She takes him without guilt-- without fear of reprisal-- and it is something marvelous to behold.

She is unchiseled marble; an eager, emphatic little thing he shall turn into his own personal work of art through tender hand and discipline. Her mind is a blank book and he shall fill in the pages as he sees fit. As he has cared for her, she too shall care for him to his precise needs. He will make sure of that.

There is something utterly intoxicating about taming a pure predator. She will take him into her mouth but she wouldn't dare bite down to gnash at his flesh. She will not snarl or snap as he wraps a hand around her exposed throat and squeezes. She will not retaliate with claw when he strikes her and warns her to watch her tongue. She only nods, raw need and desire exposed like a tender nerve now that her scales have been shed away.

The golden collar is a gift. A reward for being such a good girl. After all, she always was, wasn't she? She has picked up excellently right where they left off, and she is so proud as he clasps it around her neck. Never mind the chain, my love, it is there to ensure you are safe; that you do not stray too far from where he might protect you.

She takes to her lessons like an obedient pup, and she doesn't seem to notice as the chain becomes shorter and shorter still.

He could not have imagined the resplendence of the sight of her eagerly on her knees, looking up at him with doe eyes and a wet, slack lip, and surely Bane must be pleased as he feels glory lapped upon him as a wave washes over sand. Bhaal's only beloved daughter turned into a concubine of Bane. He uses her in every blasphemous way that his mind can conceive of-- and he is a man of remarkable mental capability.

He has become adept at penning a missive as he cradles her in his lap, and she remains hushed with a perfect, practiced silence as she rides him slow and deep. He cannot have distractions, after all, and if she slips and becomes a little too emphatic, he corrects the behavior swiftly. He is so terribly proud of her ability to take him well into the hollow of her throat, suckling and laving through his throbs. He is expressionless and cold and she has learned to tell from body language alone when to slow her wicked tongue and when to drive herself to gagging.

He had always craved to have her in unconventional ways-- ways she would not entertain when she was of sound mind, how degrading-- and when he now demands she bend for him and beg him to take her there, she does. Her squeals and cries through bitten lip are wondrous, but the way she begins to steadily grind back against him, coaxing his fingers to fist in her hair or encircle her throat, begging him harder and deeper and to make a mess of her is his crowning glory. He practically ruts her ass into dust, driving her into the mattress in his unrelenting lustful haze until the noise surely reaches Waterdeep.

This proud creature brought to ruin just to serve him.

His, his, only his. Any way he needs her, any way he wants her.

There are still bits and pieces of her inside her rattled mind. Dusty remnants of a malevolent, domineering life once lived. The way her tongue swipes across her teeth to lick the crimson from ivory after he 'corrects' her. The flash of fire in her eyes when he commands her about, ripping her back by the hair until she cries in ecstasy from his treatment. The snarl of indignance as he tugs at her chain, demanding she crawl on hand and knee to placate him--

--and he would have it no other way.

A prize easily won is no true prize, and the beloved blood of Bhaal is his pride and joy. She is a lioness, and he would not see her forget it. He taunts and teases her to snapping only to put her back in her place at his feet once more. He stokes those fires deliberately, only to suffocate them with his presence to remind her that she breathes for him and him alone.

His perfect pleasure vessel-- and perhaps more. It's so terribly hard to think as she whines and croons beneath him, demanding more and more of him as he withholds deliberately. His spoiled, bratty little cockdrunk darling has forgone her throne of blood to sit her exalted behind somewhere far more convenient and pleasurable to him.

Still, she must be kept in line. She takes far too easily to demanding. A hissed word, a few bruises and a bit of blood leaves her glassy-eyed and pliable once more. Open legs, open mouth, open heart.

Oh, her daddy would be so utterly humiliated if he could see the things the Banite makes her scream for. Sometimes, Gortash hopes he can.

#morgana and friends #gortash x durge #tav x gortash #predictably inappropriate so read accordingly #mentions of... everything #again I am my own warning #i imagine he can do the 'no touching' thing for all of 4 minutes and then loses it #I can do a fleshed out story if that's better #I more of.. outlined it

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sisterspooky1013 · 4 months

Text

Loved. Lost.

Rated T | 1319 words | Read it here on AO3

Content Warnings: Child Loss, Suicidal Ideation

She can’t escape it. It’s on her skin, in her bones, in every breath she takes. It envelopes her, suffocates her, doubling the force of gravity on her body and pinning her in place. If, for one fleeting moment, she does manage to forget, it comes roaring back with a vengeance, slashing through her gut and disemboweling her, and she falls to the floor in agony.

She still smells him on her clothes, still feels the phantom weight of his head against her chest. Her lips still tingle from the brush of her final kiss to his forehead, her arms won’t stop aching to hold him. Her heart sits hollow in her chest, eating itself alive to fuel her grief. She feels lost in her own body, trapped by the enormity of what’s happened to her. She can’t imagine ever being okay again.

William. Mulder.

How briefly she held them both. How abruptly she lost them, one and then the other. How alone she is. How unfathomably alone.

She thought she knew loss. Her father. Melissa. The months where she believed that the image of Mulder cold and ruined in a grassy field would be her final one of him. Where she faced the reality of raising a child who would never have a chance to know his father. She was so confident that it could not possibly get any worse than feeling William kick against her rib cage as she stood beside Mulder’s open grave. She was wrong. So painfully wrong.

She wishes she could run away. Somehow outpace the constant reminders of the impossible choice that she made. Somehow evade the eventuality of telling Mulder what she’s done, even as she longs to see him with every fiber of her being. She wishes she could forget the look on her mother’s face as she tried, unsuccessfully, to explain. Wishes she could accept comfort from the only person she has left, if not for the guilt that churns up bile in her belly every time the phone rings. Her breasts throb, begging her to nurse, and his unscented baby laundry soap still sits on top of her washing machine, and her mother won’t stop calling, and she wants to run away from it all, but she can’t.

There is one way out. One darkened path that would end her suffering. In the days when William was still safe in her belly and Mulder was dead to her, it was only the beating of William’s heart that kept her earthside. A life without Mulder was not one worth leading, and yet the instinct to love and protect her child—their child—overpowered her grief. Now, her child is gone, and Mulder is as good as gone himself, and it’s becoming harder and harder to find the will to continue living a life where each breath feels like punishment. It’s only when she imagines him returning from wherever he’s gone and learning that she first took his child from him, and then herself, that she re-commits to carrying on. He’s already lost so much.

And so from father to son and back again they have passed the baton of her survival. When was the last time she lived for herself? She can’t remember. It’s too painful to try.

She wonders if this is God’s plan for her. Is her suffering a test of her faith? Job was rewarded for his unrelenting faithfulness with prosperity beyond his wildest dreams. It’s only now, as a mother, that she realizes nothing man or God could do would make up for the loss of a child. How Job’s wife must have hated him for his sacrifice, how she must have grieved every waking moment for her ten lost children. But her grief wasn’t even worth a mention, wasn’t even worth giving her a name.

Whether it was God’s plan or her own free will that had her pass her defenseless, innocent child from the arms of his loving mother to those of a stranger, she feels betrayed by Him. Abandoned. Alone.

And yet, His plan or His gift of free will brought her to Mulder. Brought her to a love she could never have dreamed of, never even knew was possible. A love so powerful it left her gasping for air, clinging to him for survival. A love that made sex feel like a miracle, pleasure so complete that every exquisitely designed cell in her body lit up and exploded at once. Love that defied science and created life where no life was meant to be created. Love that could only be explained by divine intervention.

But the loss. Reaching for Mulder across the mattress and finding only cold sheets. Startling awake to the ghost of William’s cries and panicking at the empty space where his bassinet should be, her hammering heart sending her to her feet before she remembers and the grief takes her out at the knees. The phone is always about to ring, and the door is always about to open, and any minute Mulder will walk in and hold her, pick up half the weight of this completely unmanageable pain so they can carry it together. She feels William crying for her, across miles and mountains, and she paces the room holding a stuffed bear, patting its bottom as a proxy. Her shirt will be wet with tears and milk that won’t dry up when the sun begins to rise, which it continues to do as though her world hasn’t ended.

Would she give it all up if it saved her from this? Would she go back and turn down the FBI recruiter, take the well traveled path? The thought horrifies her. What she would have missed.

Mulder’s smile the first time she told him she loved him, the way something changed in him, like a long held vacancy had finally been filled. His contented sigh when he pulled her closer in the dark and kissed the top of her head, and the way their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Driving down a deserted highway at 90 mph blasting Queen and laughing until tears streamed down her face.

She would have missed lying like parentheses around their infant son as he yawned and stretched his womb-bent legs, and the absolute look of wonder on Mulder’s face. She would have missed the overwhelming sense of pride at giving him something he’d been longing for since the age of twelve: a family.

She would have never known the way William immediately quieted when he felt her touch, the way he relaxed against her like she was his safest place. She wouldn’t have heard the way his baby laugh was shaping up to sound just like Mulder’s, or seen her father looking back at her from his eyes.

She wouldn’t have caught Mulder watching her as she nursed William back to sleep in the dark still of night. She wouldn’t have met his eye and smiled, and he wouldn't have smiled back, neither needing to say anything to understand that they were healing, her mother-wound and his both soothed by William’s satisfied grunts and his fist grabbing and releasing at the hem of her pajama top. It felt like magic, and it was. How could she possibly wish all of that away?

Unexpectedly, she finds solace in the fact that the depth of her grief is equal to the vastness of her love. How lucky is she, to have known a love that it hurts this much to lose. And when Mulder comes back, which she has to believe he will, she takes comfort in knowing that his love will also return to her. All is not lost.

She answers her mother’s phone calls. After a time, she returns to work. She carries on, knowing that a life in which such a love exists is surely worth leading.

It has to be.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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itwasthereaminuteago · 10 months

Text

|| As It Was ||

Frank Castle x Matt Murdock

Tags/warnings: blip angst 😭 but don't worry I wouldn't hurt you like that 😊 @munsonownsmyass gave me the title for an ask game where I'd answer with what kind of fic I'd write for it. I didn't even know it was a Hozier song when I replied that I'd write a blip fic where Frank loses Matt... then I listened to it so many times, read the lyrics and I was just like, fuck.

There is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved

Never I'd had life enough

My heart is screaming out

And in a few days I would be there, love

Whatever here that's left of me is yours just as it was

"I'm just looking after the place y'know, for when he gets back."

Karen nodded, her hand resting softly on Frank's arm as she hoped that them all just believing it would happen would be enough.

When he had found that Karen had been covering the rent and bills for Matt's apartment, Frank had taken them on and eventually with her encouragement, he moved in.

At that time it had been almost a year since half the world went away, since half of Frank's heart was lost. A void that suddenly appeared in his life and sucked everything into the deepest, blackest hole.

Of course there were others, close friends and all the everyday figures in their lives that they must have taken for granted before, all disappeared without trace, but none of them hurt as deep as the love he'd lost. He was shredded up inside, hollow and empty but for the small sliver of hope he held up, the only thing still keeping him going. Keeping him alive.

The empty apartment was both a blessing and a curse. There he could be closest to what remained of Matt, his scent ingrained into the place. Sometimes it was the biggest comfort, but the memories also made it the hardest place on earth to be. He had wandered at first, like a lost dog looking for his owner. He had to try to look, people just didn't vanish into thin air, it just wasn't possible. Although with the kind of shit that had been happening in New York in recent years who knew.

Eventually he admitted that he had to find a coping mechanism. He threw himself into work, helped Foggy and Karen as much as he could, tracking down case leads and threatening those that stood in the way of justice for the people who had lost everything. And before returning 'home', he'd work second and often third jobs just so he didn't have the time or energy to think or dream about him, using hard labour to try to achieve such a state of physical exhaustion so that sleep came sterile and dreamless.

Even so he'd wake up with red eyes, dreaming of Matt reaching out to him and then blowing away on a gentle wind, disintegrating right before him. It didn't even happen like that. He wasn't even with him. They were miles upon miles apart, Frank chasing yet another gang across Middle America for vengeance. Fuck, how selfish he'd been in hindsight. If it wasn't for his blind rage he could have been there with Matt, maybe it could have been different. Maybe it would have taken him instead somehow, he didn't know but it killed him that he hadn't been there.

Just as it was, baby

Before the otherness came

And I knew its name

The love, the dark, the light, the flame

He knows it's futile but his iron grip never lessens even after the months turn to years. The worst part of it is it's not like missing someone as if they had died, at least then you know they're really gone and never coming back. Sometimes he'd experience something, hear something and think, you'd love this, Red.

Years passed and he witnessed others 'getting back to normal', trying to make something of their forever changed lives, some of them meeting to talk through it as therapy, some moving on and dating again.

"You'll always love him Frank, I know that, but it's okay if you want to. Matt would want you to live your life." Karen would tell him, but he would shake his head and give her the same stubborn look.

"I don't wanna live my life without him."

The eyes at the heights of my baby

Let's hope at the fight of my baby

The lights were as bright as my baby

But your love was unmoved

And so Frank didn't move on. He carefully tended the memories he had for fear they would fade, honoured Matt's way of doing good for the people of their city, and prepared for the time when his lover would walk through that door and back into his arms again.

Except he wasn't prepared, no-one was.

When it happened, Frank was backing up the truck in the workyard.

"Woah woah! What the fuck dude?!" A female voice was screaming from behind.

Frank slammed on the brakes, his eyes darting up to the rearview. He could have sworn there wasn't a single soul around when he checked his mirrors and blindspot just a second ago. He cut the engine and got out. The girl he saw in the mirror strode angrily up to meet him.

"Hey buddy, look where the hell you're going next time, you nearly leveled me coming out of nowhere like that!"

Frank squinted at her for a second as she looked around in confusion.

"Where's my car? I parked up right here a couple of minutes ago…"

He shrugged. "Look, I'm real sorry for the scare but there ain't nobody else here but me lady, and I ain't seen no car either. You okay?" Frank asked. The girl was clearly convinced someone had stolen her car.

"It was literally just here! I just locked it to go to the sto-" she cut off, her eyes flicking around the building site they were standing in the middle of. "Where's the… store?"

Frank shook his head. "Ain't been a store here for 'bout 3 years now, you sure you-"

Realisation hit him so suddenly that his heart felt like it was going to fall through him, his awareness spreading out to the frenetic sounds of the nearby street, yelling, car horns honking and a hell of a commotion. Frank paled. The girl tipped her head as she heard it too.

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on, mister?"

Frank takes a deep breath to try and keep his heart from exploding in panic. "Kid, do you have family nearby? Can I give you a ride someplace? I'll explain everything on the way, trust me."

Frank sped home as fast as he could after dropping off the girl to elated and tearful parents, but the streets were pure chaos with nearly everyone trying to do the same thing, desperate to find their loved ones. He caught himself trying to make rare contact with the Big Guy under his breath, a prayer, a mantra that Matt would be there when he got to the apartment, that he'd just appear like the others did. His phone rang out as he ditched the truck streets away and took to running. It was Karen.

She was yelling the words out at a hundred miles a minute. "Frank, they're back! They just appeared, we blinked and there were clients in the office! They don't know, oh god they don't know what happened! Frank where are you you've got to-"

"I know, I'm on my way, he's gotta be there… he's gotta be."

She murmured her agreement. He could hear the tears in her voice. "Let me know, please let me know. There's people I need to- we all need to check on–"

"I know sweetheart. Don't you worry, I'll catch up with you later. You be careful alright?"

She sobs. "Frank… they're back."

He stops before unlocking the door, gives himself a beat.

To do what? Prepare himself to be heartbroken again?

Fuck it.

Just go in, get it over with.

He opens the door, it's quiet. It's like it always is, empty.

Then he feels it.

A draft from upstairs where the door is ajar.

The roof.

He takes those fucking stairs three at a time, slamming the door open all the way when he reaches the top.

"Frank?"

And tell me if somehow some of it remained

How long you would wait for me?

How long I've been away?

The shape that I'm in now is shaping the doorway

Make your good love known to me

Just tell me about your day

Frank stares. He's looking at a ghost. Matt is right there, standing on the roof turning to face him. He doesn't dare blink in case he loses him again. Matt is there. He starts walking quickly towards him, bundling him into his arms, holding his face, kissing him all over and squeezing him so tight that Matt starts laughing.

"Hey! You're back earlier than I thought." Matt says in surprise, momentarily turning his attention away from the unusual commotion he can hear from the nearby streets and apartments. "What's going on?"

Frank buries his face into Matt's shoulder, still hugging him like a bear. He tries to stop his hands from shaking by pressing his fingers into the soft fabric of Matt's hoodie, feeling him so solid and real under them.

"I–I'm gonna need you to say my name again, please baby…"

Matt's brow furrows in confusion but he does as he asks. "Frank, you're only been gone a few days, did you really miss me that much?"

Then the tears come.

"Baby, you don't know, you don't know–" Frank sobs against Matt's shoulder, his voice breaking.

Matt holds him steady. "Hey, you need to tell me what's wrong, what happened? I can hear so many people crying, so much confusion… the air smells different, your heart's beating so fast, I know something's changed, tell me…"

Frank pulls back a little, tries to wrangle his emotions for long enough to try and explain this unbelievable thing, but where the hell do you start?

"God, I don't even know how to…"

Matt's hand comes to his face, he strokes over Frank's damp cheek with his thumb. "It's alright, just take your time."

Frank chokes out a sad laugh. "Fuck, I've had nothin' but time, five years of it, Matt. You… and half the world… you were just gone, nobody knew where, what had happened." He leans his forehead against Matt's, "but I knew you'd come back, goddamn I just knew it somehow."

It's Matt's turn to hold onto Frank as he tries to process what he's hearing.

"I… was gone for five years?"

"C'mon let's go inside, huh?"

After he does his best to explain the Avengers, Thanos, and the infinity stones, Frank finds he's not so surprised with how well Matt has taken the news. He fills him in with the work he'd been doing with Karen and Foggy and Matt beams with pride and relief that his friends were okay.

He doesn't know if Matt's ready to answer such a question, or if it's too much, but he has to know. It's been eating him up since that day.

"When it happened, did… did you feel it?"

"It was strange. I guess it was like, everything just kinda… falling away." He reaches for Frank's hand, placing his own on top.

Frank scrubs his free hand over his face. "Jesus-"

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here." Matt soothes, interlocking their fingers and leaning his body against him.

Frank can't stop pinching himself, making sure this isn't just another cruel dream, that Matt was definitely here to stay and wouldn't fade into a whisper on the wind again when he least expected. He stays close regardless, sits with him on the couch as he touches his face, feels his way around those rugged features even though to Matt it was only a few days ago that he last mapped them out in bed. He's not much changed, maybe the lines around his eyes are a little deeper. He can feel Frank's body as they hold each other, he's leaner, muscle distributed differently to how he was before. Some of his edges have worn, he's softer in his demeanor.

Frank draws Matt's hand to his chest just above his heart. "This is the one thing that ain't changed. Never once stopped thinkin' about you. Never stopped loving you."

Matt sees a reel of what Frank has gone through in his mind, waiting for him, holding on to the thinnest morsel of hope, never moving on. It's a bittersweet thought, his own heart breaking thinking how he'd feel if it had been the other way. His eyes shine with tears.

Frank caresses the side of Matt's face, runs his fingers through the strands of his hair as he peppers kisses along his jawline, treasuring the small gesture so much more now.

The eyes at the heights of my baby

Let's hope at the fight of my baby

The lights were as bright as my baby

But your love was unmoved

"Couldn't bear acceptin' that you were– you'd gone for good y'know? I just couldn't. It kept me goin'."

The tears fall down Matt's face and Frank does his best to kiss them all away. His voice is cracked and rough and he's a mess, they're both a fucking mess but they don't care.

"You waited for me?"

Frank can't help acting like it's an insult to think he wouldn't. "You kiddin' me? You're worth waitin' for baby. I'd wait twenty, hell, I'd wait fifty years if it meant I got to see this face again."

"God, I'm sorry… I'm sorry I left you like that. I'm sorry I left you–" Matt croaks the words out and Frank's shaking his head hard, pulling him closer, holding him to his bones. He can't bear Matt feeling like it's somehow his fault.

"Nah, c'mon don't you do that. Don't you try and take on guilt that ain't even yours. You're here baby, you're back, everyone's back and that's all that matters, right?"

Matt sniffs and finally nods. They sit in silence for a while, content just to exist with each other.

"There's so much to catch up on."

Frank can hear a slight lift in the tone of Matt's voice and it makes him chance a smile, hoping it will stick, that there will be so many more reasons for him to smile like this again.

And the sights were as stark as my baby

And the cold was as sharp as my baby

And the nights were as dark as my baby

Half as beautiful too.

#frank castle x matt murdock #fratt fic #blip fic #frank castle angst #matt murdock angst #fratt fanfic #punisher fanfic #daredevil fanfic

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trashcanalienist · 10 months

Text

Alright fellas I watched the 3pac movie again and now that I've refined my thoughts I am going to share them (tornado warning)

Let's start with Miguel. Or really, with Nueva York. Beautiful, futuristic utopia, endless green grass and distant white skyscrapers against the blue sky, and for all of that there is not a single note of life within it. It's empty, just a hollow monument to "good", like Miguel himself. And like Miguel, its underbelly is dark and chaotic and unknowable - sunless tunnels cluttered with motorways and nothing else, the grinding gears of some unbearably massive machine that doubtless keeps the whole city running in its blind pretense of life, the gears of which visually threaten to crush Miles. Because Miguel O'Hara is a fucked up guy who is not only willing to be so violent against a 15-year-old child, but NEEDS to be. In true vampiric fashion (disclaimer: he's not a vampire) Miguel has an obsession beyond obsession, a predatory drive which must be fulfilled - but not for blood. For vengeance. Because he's already killed an entire universe of human beings. He's stolen a family he was never supposed to have, and then killed them all through his selfishness. And he has to make that someone else's fault. He has to be the Good Guy to live with himself, but inside he is the most detestable of monsters.

(Miguel and Uncle Aaron have a lot in common (inverted) especially with their emotional impact on Miles. He thought he could look up to both of them - but Uncle Aaron failed in regret, and Miguel seeks to amend his failures through more damage. Important that Miguel's theme is distorted synth, the same distortion which they used to create the Prowler theme)

Meanwhile Uncle Aaron acted the monster, but as Miles puts it he was a genuinely good guy underneath. He had no interest in being the kind of black man that Jeff is - slotting into white society, that is - and inevitably that got him pulled into being the Prowler. Everything's contained in what he said to Miles in his last moments. Every single Uncle Ben says the classic line, "With great power comes great responsibility", etc etc, telling Peter Parker to knock off the ego and be the kind of hero the city needs. But Miles is already that person. Uncle Aaron says "You're the best of us. You're on your way up. Just keep going."

Before he became Spiderman, Miles actively did not want to go to Visions Academy because he WANTS his ghetto friends, he WANTS his low-income Black Spanish life. He was perfectly happy to waste his intelligence and talent because he never figured he'd get anywhere to begin with. But now he's got a greater purpose in helping people, in being the best he can because no one else has the power to be Spiderman. When Uncle Aaron says "You're the best of us", he doesn't just mean their family. Miles managed to escape the pull of gang violence and the twisted honor-and-glory appeal of thug life and the oily black tendrils of poverty entwined around his legs. He shook off everything that we now know was supposed to be his destiny, and he has never looked back.

But in doing so he doomed Miles G to that very fate. The first movie didn't touch much on that aspect of urban blackness, likely because white audiences would not care. But now you love Miles! You ain't got a choice now! They tricked you, man!

42 Miles, or Miles G. Morales as he's credited, has experienced a greater loss with nothing to hold on to besides the structure of gang violence within a falling, burning city. His father is dead, both stripping him of that moral figure and discounting all the ideas that Jeff tried to instill into his son - because those are the beliefs that got him killed. If you don't wanna get killed, you better get some power and some respect, and never let go of either. Uncle Aaron, still the original Prowler, steps in as Miles G's father figure, making sure Rio's financially okay and not too stressed, reassuring her that "We're family". Family is everything, it's the only bond they have, and Miles G would do anything for his mother. Anything at all. The voice actor leans more into the Puerto Rican accent, rolling the R's and accentuating S's, whereas our Miles talks more black even when he's speaking Spanish - his father's absence, and his love for his mother above all else.

He's the man of the house now. He's gotta provide, and he's gotta take care of his mother. 15 years old, Miles G has design schematics for the current Prowler gloves posted on the wall of his room - it's a far more active part of his normal life than with our Miles, who keeps his Spidermanning entirely separate (for now). It's bleeding into his everyday, infecting his soul with every heist, collection, and murder that he carries out. It's not Uncle Aaron's fault. He loves his nephew, and without his father around, he wants the kid to have respect, to not have to work his way up from nothing, so he passes him the mantle. Uncle Aaron was undoubtedly drawn into that life by something similar. That's how the cycle self-perpetuates. The result is a 15-year-old kid with the eyes of a combat veteran.

Here is a kid who does not hesitate, who does not forget or make mistakes, who jumped into this life headfirst because he knows there is no other choice. For him there is no way out, and he is far from the only one.

Ain't no love in the heart of the city. Red light pouring in from the fires outside and the soul-death inside, the bloody inevitability, the need to protect themselves and their own because no one else will. This violence is the only pathway. Violent death will come whether or not you follow it. And staring into his own face and yet much older eyes, our Miles is just beginning to realize exactly what he's escaped and what Liv's collider portal doomed this kid and this world to, all because of a tiny little spider. And he has switched fates, as in the first film his Spidey-Sense started out as green and purple, then turned red and blue as he vibed with Peter. Over the course of a few seconds, we witnessed his destiny change. The colors of this interplay between worlds are green and purple, green and purple, the Prowler's colors.

And red, as Miguel tried to ensure that fate (execution) is carried out. Miguel blames Miles as the "original anomaly", yet he conveniently ignores the spider, or Doc Ock who brought it over and started this whole mess, or Kingpin who funded her. Miguel is willing to physically attack a black child for his own misplaced regret and self-loathing. Beyond that, I genuinely believe that if he had reached Miles in the Go-Home machine, he would have killed him. The madness in those ripping claws is not something stopped by the sudden softness of flesh. It's only Spider-Byte who stops him - she (black female tech-heavy Spiderman, vibed with Miles instantly on those principles and others) could have shut down the machine and trapped Miles. But he looked at her, and she saw that he was a terrified child, and she knew that Miguel is incapable of mercy or critical thought, and maybe she wanted to believe in him. So she hesitated, most important savior Time.

Before we move on too far, back to Miguel and Miles. Miguel's fangs secrete a paralyzing venom - probably he was trying to incapacitate Best Vulture using that, although with the bestial transformation of his silhouette perhaps he didn't care if he ripped Vulture's throat out by accident. Regardless, he only seems to use this as the definitive way to End Fights. Miles has a similar ability in his venom blast or whatever he calls it. I swear the word "static" was in there somewhere. The difference is, Miles uses it as a defensive mechanism, not offensive (Armadillo guy aside). He uses it to get out of bad situations and continue the fight, to break down barriers and temporarily stun his opponents so he can break free and recover. We see him preparing to do this at the end of this movie, too.

Again, Miguel needs to view himself as the superior protector of all universes in order to pretend like his mistake is in any way acceptable. Beyond that, he blames Miles for it, so that he does not have to forgive himself/Miles, he can just eliminate the problem and pretend it's all over. Miguel the controller uses his ability as the be-all end-all, whereas Miles uses it as just one method among many in his arsenal.

Now. The only named black Spider who doesn't vibe with Miles is Jess Drew, but that's explicable by the following reasons. First of all, she's pregnant - Miguel destroyed his stolen kids by breaking canon, and neither Peter B nor Jess want to risk their own new families by going against Miguel's canon laws. Secondly, she's a black woman who is basically Miguel's right hand (within the fact that he cannot and will not ever trust anyone else with this "responsibility" he claims for himself), and there's not much to be gained from abandoning that, especially in context of the first point.

You know who does vibe with Miles?

HOBIE

MOTHERFUCKING

BROWN

Hobie fucking loves Miles right from the start. He's only in the Spider-Society because he knows Miguel's insane and his actions and orders are inhumane and all kinds of fucked up. But Hobie's basically alone in that knowledge, as even Gwen still wants to believe that it could be a good thing, and so he's just infiltrating, learning more and stealing shit to recreate Miguel's technology without Miguel's restrictions. And when Miles comes along and starts speaking out against that shit, he loves it. He encourages it. And he uses Miles' distraction to slip off and put his own plan into action.

From the second he meets Miles he's looking out for the kid. Part of that's because he's true punk (incredible to see, especially with him being black and this movie being so commercialized by its marketing/sales teams) but part of it is that he recognizes Miles. Hobie probably also has a static venom ability, since he's the one who tells Miles that it works better using the whole hand (and reminds him, later, while everyone else is telling him to calm down or hang in there and only Hobie is still on his side telling him silently to fight back). It's possible even that since he used his guitar to break the forcefield barrier, and since it is not plugged in to anything but still makes electric guitar noises, that the guitar acts as a sort of amplifier for that power.

He never tells Miles what to think, he just encourages him TO think. And he's always there with his own laconic opinion to point out how fascist Miguel's little Spider Utopia is to anyone not a Spider - and anyone who disagrees with Miguel the Controller. More personally he indirectly asks if Miles has a safe home to go back to, and he STAYS THERE when Miguel's being a dick to a 15-year-old kid.

There's more to recognition than that, though. See, Hobie Brown also escaped the fate of becoming the Prowler. The original Prowler, since inception and for most of the comics' runs, has been a black man named Hobart Brown. Hobie as Spider-Punk is and always has been a subversion of the black male stereotypes that led to the creation of the Prowler (very normal and not racist name there by the way), and without losing any of his Blackness or masculinity or Black masculinity. Hobie and Miles have more in common than any other Spiders, because they've both beaten that expected fate of black men to fall eagerly into violence and gang warfare and criminal careers. And Miguel wants Miles to feel unworthy of that escape - he wants Miles to believe that he does not belong in a chosen betterment; that all he was ever meant for is poverty and wasted talent and endless violence.

But Miles won't let that happen! "I'ma do my own thing," and he's got that confidence in himself now. And Hobie's got his back cause things are finally moving, he's not alone in trying to dismantle Miguel's fucked up utopia with the gears of that great machine beneath grinding up anomalies and black children to keep it all running so flawlessly on the surface. Miguel lives in "Nueva York", he's never had to subvert much, the darkness within him is not that which he keeps at bay via that injection, it is the monstrosity which he lets fester and flourish under the name of "dedication". Miles comes in and disrupts that perfect lie in about ten minutes, he's already boiling and he won't accept a fate he does not want when he's already escaped it once before.

Hobie's been hanging around for some time, making himself appear lazy and carelessly destructive to hide his far greater intentions. As long as Miguel "just can't" with him, he's being underestimated, and as long as that is the case he is free to undermine and plot and replicate as much as possible. That's black intelligence. "Man like Miles!"

Good movie basically

#atsv #spiderman: across the spiderverse #3pac #hahaha #miles morales #spiderman #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #hobie brown #spider punk #aaron davis #the prowler #42 miles #miles g morales #prowler miles #jess drew #words i speak

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justahumblesideblog · 2 years

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Rewatching Eclipse Lake recently reallt made certain details of the episodes stick out to me, especially post Hollow Mind. Hunter wasn’t upset about Kikimora getting the job instead of him, he was anxious because Belos actively took a job that was supposed to go to Hunter and had Kikimora go on it instead.

“The Operation at the Knee…. Why did you switch me out with Kikimora?”

It’s not at all like how Kikimora attempted to steal the Palismen kidnapping job from Hunter because she just so happened to over hear that Belos needed more Palismen immediately in Hunting Palismen. This isn’t an act of petty vengeance against his co-worker who legitimately tried to kill him. Despite Kikimora’s paranoia about the Golden Guard trying to spoil her mission, it was never about screwing over Kikimora to Hunter. It was everything about the thought of Belos replacing him with someone else.

All while Kikimora was obsessively insisting that the Golden Guard had it out for her, Hunter was spurring facts about the nature and the potential dangers of the mission. In a way, he must have done research in preparation for this Operation before he was replaced. You can actively see it in Hunter’s expression while he watches Kikimora crazily insisting he was around. He didn’t look smug, angry, or even competive. He just looks weirded out with how much she seems to hate him. When Kikimora was closing in on him and Amity, he wasn’t upset about his college upstaging him. Hunter was genuinely afraid of being replaced, not just by Kikimora, but with anybody.

Of course he used Amity’s empathy of his situation against her by making her take the fall to make himself ahead of everyone else, but that just kind of proves that Hunter stopped caring about Kikimora knowing he was there at that point. He just didn’t want to get caught before getting the blood to Belos himself. Amity easily told Kikimora and her guards that the Golden Guard was indeed there at Eclipse Lake and while Kikimora took the time to gloat about being right about him “spoiling her mission” Hunter was just beeling it to the Lake. He just wanted to prove to his uncle that replacing him on this mission was unnecessary. That he was enough to get the Titan’s blood even without guards with him for assistance.

Of course we get to the sad reality of the lake being dried up. Again, it’s not played as a “dang, now I can’t show up Kikimora!” moment. It’s a moment of complete despair to Hunter because he went through all this effort, but even before having his mission given to someone else, he was just destined to fail it. He chance to make up for the disaster in Hunting Palismen, the chance to prove to his uncle that he isn’t replaceable, the chance of this incredibly risky stunt to be worth it, it was all for not and that’s what pushes him over the edge. This isn’t just about Hunter inserting himself in a mission that had nothing to do with him. To him, it had everything to do with him.

#the owl house #the owl house speculation #toh #toh hunter #the golden guard #toh kikimora #kikimora #it really was a pretty one sided rivalry on kikimora’s end #he didn’t even seem all that upset with her attempt at killing him before #he just wanted the mission #long post #humble offerings (junk)

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just-some-guy-at-shiz · 7 months

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So being turned into tin is kind of panic worthy. That’s valid. But eventually Boq stops freaking out and pulls himself together and figures that if this is life now he might as well be practical about it. Plus he got caught in the rain while he was still busy Having A Crisis and he doesn’t know if he should be concerned about the bits of rust that are already starting to appear but at the very least it’s annoying and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it properly. So he finds some metalsmith, probably in Quadling or Gillikin country ‘cause he was looking to cross the border anyway. Oz lore says he’d have the best luck in Winkie country with their tinsmiths, but frankly that’s too far of a walk, especially given that the rust is starting to make joint movement a pain.

Anyway. Point being that he walks into some guy’s metalworking workshop or storefront or whatever, and once again he tries to be straightforward but is interrupted before he can explain himself properly.

“What incredible armor! The craftsmanship is so intricate! And the faceplate moves as you speak??”

“Yeah, there’s actually a reason for that—“

“I must examine it more closely. May I remove your helmet?”

“UM-“

And the guy just goes and pulls Boq’s head off. RUDE.

Boq: You… You just decapitated me! >:O

Guy: [looking between the hollow “armor” and the head that’s still talking] [gasps] A demon! A spirit!

Boq: YOU DECAPITATED ME!

Guy: [thrusts Boq’s head back into his arms] [terrified wail]

Boq: This is TERRIBLE customer service!

Guy: What do you want with me, spirit of metal? Do you seek vengeance with me??

Boq: Oh I’m gonna seek vengeance all right if you don’t RE-CAPITATE me RIGHT NOW.

Guy: [hastily shoves Boq’s head back on him] Are you a benevolent ghost, or a wicked devil?

Boq: I was a paying customer until about 60 seconds ago.

Guy: …?

Boq: [rolls his eyes] I’m a restless soul from beyond the grave, possessing the armor I wore in life, and you are the only one who can satisfy my unfinished business and send my spirit to eternal peace by removing the decades of rust that time has piled upon my neglected armor. And also by giving me instructions on how to get rid of rust in case my soul gets restless again and wants to just take care of the problem myself next time. I will pay you with not haunting you for the rest of your life.

Boq: And can you see if my head is meant to come off like that, because that’s… concerning.

#wicked #wicked musical #boq bfeeson #metal people problems

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ash-and-books · 30 days

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Rating: 5/5

Book blurb: The Shadowhunter Chronicles meets Chinese diaspora folklore in Darker by Four, the first in an epic contemporary fantasy duology from Jade Fire Gold author June Tan.

A vengeful girl. A hollow boy. A missing god.

Rui has one goal in mind—honing her magic to avenge her mother’s death.

Yiran is the black sheep of an illustrious family. The world would be at his feet—had he been born with magic.

Nikai is a Reaper, serving the Fourth King of Hell. When his master disappears, the underworld begins to crumble…and the human world will be next if the King is not found.

When an accident causes Rui’s power to transfer to Yiran, everything turns upside down. Without her magic, Rui has no tool for vengeance. With it, Yiran finally feels like he belongs. That is, until Rui discovers she might hold the key to the missing death god and strikes a dangerous bargain with another King.

As darkness takes over, three paths intersect in the shadows. And three lives bound by fate must rise against destiny before the barrier between worlds falls and all Hell breaks loose—literally.

Perfect for fans of This Savage Song and Only a Monster, Darker by Four will pull readers into a world of love and desperation and revenge—a world where every deal has a catch, no secret stays buried, and no one is exactly who they say they are.

Review:

A girl out for revenge, a missing god, and a hollow boy find their paths converging as they deal with magic, mystery, and friendship. Rui is driven by the need to avenge her mother's death, she has magical abilities and is training to become a strong exorcist to get rid of the revenant... particularly the one who killed her other. Yiran is from a wealthy and powerful illustrious family... however he is the bastard son who was born without any magic, making him the black sheep of the family. Nikai is a reaper, serving the Fourth King of Hell, he is even his friend... but when Four goes missing the entire underworld begins to crumble and he has to find him. Rui spends her days training and the only time she allows herself a moment of distraction is when she spends time with Zizi, the mage who creates illegal talismans that she tests out. Rui has been harboring a crush on Zizi for as long as she can remember, he is the boy who saved her all those years ago and he is the only person she truly feels comfortable with. Yet when she goes to tests out Zizi's newest talison/spell and a revenant attacks her and Yiran also happens to be there she does the spell and ends up transferring her magic into Yiran... and it might be a permanent transfer. Yiran now has the one thing he's always wanted: magic so he could be accepted by his family, yet he know's its not his truly and that if he doesn't learn to control bit it'll end up killing him. Yiran, Rui, and Zizi all find themselves working together to fix what has happened but when a king of the underworld appears and makes a deal with Rui.... things get complicated and secrets threaten to destroy the only love she's ever known and make her question the one boy who she's given her heart to. Can she find a way to get her magic back or will getting it back mean losing everything else? The first book in a duology and it was such a fun read, I loved the magic world that was created and the magic system was a unique one. I adored Rui and Zizi's romance and relationship, they were so cute and I can't wait to see where the second book goes and how everything progresses after the way this one ends. It's a fun read and I would absolutely recommend!!

*Spoilers: Four ran away from Hell to find out his beloved again (Four is Zizi and Rui is the reincarnation of the woman he loved). While Four became human he gave up his memories and hid himself, yet when Rui made the deal with Ten, one of Four's brothers, the truth comes out and Ten forces Four's memories back into him. Rui finds that she has new magical powers and after the deal with Ten is completed her magic is returned and Yiran is back to being magicless. Yiran feels betrayed and used while Four doesn't really remember who he is and what his responsibilities are. Rui and Zizi admitted they loved each other before Four's memories came back into Zizi. The guild covers up the hybrid revenant's attacks and claimed that Rui saved them all, and gave her a promotion to captain to hush her up but what she really wants is Zizi back. A hybrid revenant offers Yiran a new way to get magic and he seems to be interested. The book ends with Four's memories of old Rui coming back."

*Thanks Netgalley and HarperCollins Children's Books, HarperTeen for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #bookish #book #darker by four

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sweetmage · 1 year

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⚠️Trigger Warning: Vaguely Implied/Referenced Past SA (undescribed)

▫️Tags: Trauma, Angst, Strained Friendships, Arguments

▫️Characters: Ser Roderick Gilmore, Edan Cousland, Arl Rendon Howe (referenced)

▫️Word Count: 914

▫️Summary: Sinking deeper into the all-consuming spiral of vengeance, Edan Cousland desired nothing more than to see Howe pay for the pain he and his men inflicted on the people of castle Cousland, including his dearest friend Roderick. However, in his quest to keep the flames of his rage alive, sometimes the very person he hoped to help and avenge becomes collateral.

⭐Read On AO3! (Or under the cut!)

"You know, you make that face a lot," Edan remarked as he approached Roderick near the campfire, his eyes tracing the hard set lines between his furrowed brow, the sharp, downward slope of his thin-pressed lips.

Roderick snapped to attention as though suddenly awoken from a trance. "And what face would that be?"

"Like you've just tasted sour meat or something," Edan responded, plopping down beside him on the strewn-out blanket, stretching his legs and leaning back on his hands. "I take it something's on your mind?"

He shrugged. "You could say that."

"And would you say?" Edan asked, gazing at him while he stared vacantly off into the distance. "Care to discuss?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Hm, well alright then... In that case, I think I have an inkling. Rest assured my friend, your suffering will not go unavenged. When the time is right, we will face that slimy bastard together and—"

Sighing forcefully, Roderick waved off his valiant speech. "Right, right... Howe, I get it. In due time, my Lord, in due time."

Edan fell silent, watching him for a moment in the firelight. He looked positively miserable, dark circles under those hollow, rheumy eyes of his, all pale skin and sunken cheeks.

"Everything alright, my Lord?" Roderick spoke after an uncomfortably long silence. "You look like you want to ask me something."

"Oh, how observant! As a matter of fact, there was something I was wondering about..."

Roderick didn't turn, but his eyes drifted in Edan's direction, urging him to continue.

"I heard you didn't sleep soundly last night. That is, I heard it. You sounded very distressed, I almost thought to tear my way into your tent to check on you but I feared frightening you more.” He scratched at the back of his head, gathering himself for a moment before he dared to continue. “It was hard to make out all of it, but you spoke of a few things… some things you haven’t yet told me." Edan leaned forward slightly, his expression grim. "Would you care to tell me any further details? Might that help ease your troubles?"

Roderick shook himself free of another memory, face contorted into something unreadable. "I've spoken as much of my ordeal as I am able to."

"And yet there's still so much I don't know," Edan continued, voice softening ever-so-slightly. "I cannot imagine what could be worse than what you've already imparted upon me."

"For your own sake, I'd recommend you don't try. There are cruelties in this world no man should know, even in their imagination. You should be thankful for that, my Lord."

He waved away the sentiment with a flick of his hand. "I don't need to be spared. You lived it and you're still standing, I think I could handle a simple recounting of the events."

Roderick's posture stiffened as if pulled taut by a string while his expression fell sullen. He turned away from Edan completely, glaring into the surrounding darkness, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Through gritted teeth, he replied, "I don't see what you could possibly gain from knowing the ins and outs of how they humiliated and defiled me. Must I recount every detail of my torment?"

"Defiled?" He asked, unnerved by his choice of words and what they unfortunately confirmed. "So what I overheard while you were dreaming... Rory, I'm so sorry..."

"Are you really?" he bit back. "This was what you wanted to hear, was it not? Has that information satisfied you?"

"No!" Edan was so tremendously appalled that he could hardly get the word out. "How could I ever be satisfied knowing my dearest friend has faced something so dreadful, so inhumane... I'm sickened if anything." And enraged beyond that. Another tally against Howe, another reason he wished to see him shredded to ribbons, knowing even an ounce of the pain he had inflicted on the poor people of castle Cousland, on his beloved family, on Rory...

"Huh, that’s funny," Roderick retorted, lips curled into a sneer. "For someone so disgusted you sure seek it out like a maid in the market seeks gossip. I think there are more pressing matters ahead of us like, oh I don't know, the darkspawn? Perhaps you should focus on that instead."

Wincing at Roderick's icy tone, Edan took a deep breath before continuing. "Alright then, perhaps I've pushed too far."

"Perhaps you have," he agreed curtly.

"And... I'm sorry," Edan spoke softly, though he quickly added, "But can you really blame me? The thought that you, you of all people , suffered such great horrors at the hands of that... that monster .... it boils my blood. The more I learn about what Howe and his wretched men did to you, the more I wish to see them suffer. To make those sick, sorry bastards pay for what they've done. And they will pay." He was lost in his own head now, bringing his fist down into his open palm as he swore to his ideals. Roderick went quiet again, staring off into the distant forest with a pained expression. "If you'll excuse me," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "I think I need to be alone for a while." Rising swiftly to his feet, he shambled off towards his tent without a single look back.

Edan could only watch as he left, confused and concerned at his abrupt departure, but more certain now than he'd ever been about what he must do.

#tw: sa mention #dragon age #dragon age origins #ser gilmore #cousland #ser gilmore npc #oc: edan #jun fics #idk if it comes up in the mod at all but I realized you can keep pushing Rory to discuss his trauma even when he's not ready #of course I choose them simply to get the lore but I often have Edan swear to get revenge for him afterwards #and he's just like “please never make me talk about this again :')”#so far he's never gotten truly angry or shut him down over it but idk I think he should and has the right so here we are

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anthony-sharma · 11 months

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Six of Crows Reread - Ch. 7

Next, Matthias’ first chapter!

Chapter 7: Matthias

“Matthias was dreaming again. Dreaming of her.”

Ok, first of...the beginning of that episode is just *chef’s kiss*. Also, the fact that his last episode in Crooked Kingdom begins like this one is just poetic.

“In the good dreams, he slammed her to the ground and throttled her, watching the life drain from her eyes, heart full of vengeance – finally, finally. In the bad dreams, he kissed her. In these dreams, she didn’t fight him. She laughed as if the chase was nothing but a game, as if she’d known he would catch her, as if she’d wanted him to and there was no place she’d rather be than beneath him. She was welcoming and perfect in his arms. He kissed her, buried his face in the sweet hollow of her neck. Her curls brushed his cheeks, and he felt that if he could just hold her a little longer, every wound, every hurt, every bad thing would melt away.”

Again, I’m curious as to how they will address this in the show. As I mentioned in the reread for the previous episode, episode 2.08 ends with Matthias calling out Nina’s name at Hellshow, as if startled to see her there, willing to get him out. But here, their relationship starts pretty much with him wanting her dead, so I don’t know if the spin off will follow what was set up in episode 2.08 ir if they will follow more the direction of the book, or maybe a combination of both.

“Nina,” he gritted out. She clawed at his hands. “Witch,” he hissed, leaning over her. He saw her eyes widen, her face getting redder. “Beg me,” he said. “Beg me for your life.”

I CANNOT wait for Calahan to act this scene. He’s great always, but seeing this rage is just gonna make me fan myself because it’s just gonna be too hot.

“Traitor, witch, abomination. All those words came to him, but others crowded in, too: beautiful, charmed one. Röed fetla, he’d called her, little red bird, for the colour of her Grisha Order. The colour she loved. He squeezed harder, silencing that weak-willed strain inside him.

[...]

“I don’t want your money. I’ll give you the plans for nothing.” It shamed Matthias to say the words, but he spoke them anyway. “If you let me kill Nina Zenik.””

Oh my God, Matthias really starts off in a dark place here. On the one hand, he hates her and wants her dead because of what she put him through, but on the other he loves her and is fond of her. That must make a number on anyone’s peace of mind.

On the second quote it can also be appreciated. On the one hand, he really wants to kill her (he choked her the first time he saw her) but he’s also ashamed of it, which means not even all of Brum’s brainwashing could shake away Matthias’ decency.

“Matthias’ head jerked up. He heard the thunder of footsteps from the arena, cresting like a wave as people burst into the passageway outside his cell. He heard the shouts of guards, and then the roaring of a great cat, the trumpet of an elephant.”

Were inmates supposed to fight ELEPHANTS?! Those fights were SO rigged there’s no way a person with a rusted knife could possibly win a fight against an elephant. And to know that Ketterdam’s Council approved of these fights is outrageous!

“They plunged across the sands where Matthias had fought for privileges for the last six months, but as they headed towards the tunnel, the desert lizard came pounding towards them, its mouth dripping foaming white poison, its fat tail lashing the ground. Before Matthias could think to move, the bronze girl had vaulted over its back and dispatched the creature with two bright daggers wedged beneath the armour of its scales. The lizard groaned and collapsed on its side. Matthias felt a pang of sadness. It was a grotesque creature, and he’d never seen a fighter survive its attack, but it was also a living thing. You’ve never seen a fighter survive until now, he corrected himself. The bronze girl’s daggers merit watching.”

First things first: It’s incredible how Matthias, even through everything he’s survived, still has decency and compassion where others wouldn’t. Compassion enough to feel for a monster.

Second of all, I hope they include the scene of Inej dispatching the lizard, that’s gonna be SO badass.

“Believe me when I say this, Helvar: I know getting knocked out and waking up in strange surroundings isn’t the friendliest way to start a partnership, but you didn’t give us many options, so try to open your mind to the possibilities.”

Omg a parallel between Kaz and Matthias! Kaz wakes up in Hoede’s house to be recruited to Van Eck’s mission and Matthias wakes up in the Crow Club to be recruited to Kaz’s mission in the Ice Court. I hope we can see both scenes in the spin off!

“Are you a magician, then? A wej sprite who grants wishes? I’m superstitious, not stupid.”

“You can be both, you know, but that’s hardly the point.” Kaz slipped a hand into his dark coat.”

When I say I cackled at this...Like, for real, their banter is top notch.

“Here,” he said, and gave a piece of paper to the bronze girl. Another demon. This one walked with soft feet like she’d drifted in from the next world and no one had the good sense to send her back. She brought the paper up to his face for him to read. The document was written in Kerch and Fjerdan. He couldn’t read Kerch – he’d only picked up the language in prison – but the Fjerdan was clear enough, and as his eyes moved over the page, Matthias’ heart started to pound.”

To learn a new language in prison must be hard! Matthias is one smart cookie.

On another note, is interesting that he also describes Inej as a demon, but then never addresses her as such again in the books. He maybe realized that her character was much more “docile” so to speak, than Kaz’s. I mean, without considering their own religious parallels and all that.

“But how could the merchant Kaz spoke of truly understand Fjerdan ways? If there hadn’t been a trial yet, there would be, and Matthias could easily predict the outcome. His people would never free a man with such terrible knowledge.

[...]

Brum would have laughed in their faces, torn that pardon to pieces. But Kaz Brekker was smart. He clearly had resources. What if Matthias said no and against all odds Brekker and his crew still found their way into the Ice Court and stole the Shu scientist? Or what if Brekker was right and another country got there first? It sounded like parem was too addictive to be useful to Grisha, but what if the formula fell into Ravkan hands, and they somehow managed to adapt it? To make Ravka’s Grisha, its Second Army, even stronger? If he was part of this mission, Matthias could make sure Bo Yul-Bayur never took another breath outside the Ice Court’s walls, or he could arrange for some kind of accident on the trip back to Kerch.”

Curiously enough, Matthias was right but also wrong on both accounts. First of all, he was right on the part that Fjerda would never have released Yul-Bayur. However, it wouldn’t have been because that knowledge was dangerous, but because they had the chance to use that knowledge to their benefit and they were not going to waste that opportunity. Point in case, what the Crows saw once they went into the Ice Court and how Fjerda ended up using Grisha in the battle against Ravka.

On another note, Fjerda is shown through Matthias’ eyes as the “righteous” country, and he think sthat it will be Ravka the ones who could possible adapt jurda parem and use it as a weapon. As we all know, given what happens in RoW, Fjerda is the one who ends up using jurda parem as a weapon and Ravka manages to develop a cure (with Kuwei’s help), so...who were the real villains here?

“Matthias nodded, and the bronze girl took a knife to the ropes binding him. “I believe you know Nina,” Brekker continued. “The lovely girl freeing you is Inej, our thief of secrets and the best in the trade. Jesper Fahey is our sharpshooter, Zemeni-born but try not to hold it against him, and this is Wylan, best demolitions expert in the Barrel.”

Okay Brekker, so Inej is a “darling”, and the treasure of his heart, and now also “lovely”? I see what you’re doing there, Kaz.

“For the first time, Matthias really looked at the people around him. What kind of team is this for a mission so perilous? Treason wouldn’t be an issue if they were all dead. And only he knew exactly how treacherous this endeavour might prove.”

Exactly my thoughts! A bunch of teenagers want to break into the Ice Court and actually manage to do it?

Anyway, that’s all for chapter 7. Next up, Jesper’s first chapter!

#six of crows reread #six of crows

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