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anhed-nia · 2 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/3/2022: NIGHT OF THE DEMON/CURSE OF THE DEMON/I'M A BIG FAT IDIOT

I am a living cautionary tale. Don't be like me. When you're trying to watch a new-to-you movie, unless you're really sure of your education, look it up first and make sure you know what the running time is supposed to be. I understood that this movie had been released as both CURSE OF THE DEMON and NIGHT OF THE DEMON, but I'm used to seeing multiple titles on older genre films, and I naively assumed that no one would have dared to chop up a Jacques Tourneur movie for any reason. Shows what I know—turns out I was missing around 10 whole minutes of movie because that's what stupid Prime had to offer me, and I didn't think to look over the merchandise first. The present review was written after a review of both versions, but I still feel the need to confess. And anyway, now you know how film illiterate I am just from the fact that this even happened.

The sad thing is that this isn't even the first time something like this happened to me. In a previous Blogtober season I watched a version of NIGHT OF 1,000 CATS that was scarcely an hour long, which I just assumed might be expected because it's a really lowdown exploitation movie; to be fair, there isn't a normally available complete version of that movie, but I might have just left it off my program if I knew what I was getting into. And then I made the mistake of showing someone what turned out to be a censored version of BAD LIEUTENANT, which I'm still ashamed of, but I just assumed that in the modern era we aren't still circulating Walmart versions of movies outside of, you know, Walmart. (We course-corrected when it suddenly became obvious that something was wrong, but I still feel guilty) In any case, it appears that NIGHT OF THE DEMON (the proper title of the full-length feature) suffered quite a lot regarding what was and was not meant to be in the picture, although I didn't guess it from watching CURSE OF THE DEMON, which I enjoyed on its own terms.

The film, based on "The Casting of the Runes" by renowned medievalist and ghost story scribe M.R. James, concerns skeptical psychologist John Holden (Dana Andrews), who takes up the investigation of a satanic cult after the original researcher dies suspiciously. The only witness to the professor's death also happens to be the only cultist willing to be interviewed, who has fallen catatonic with fright. During a rare lucid moment, he draws a picture of what he allegedly saw: A giant monster that resembles historical descriptions of a "fire demon". Holden and Joanna Harrington (Peggy Cummins), the daughter of the deceased, run up against Mephistophelean cult leader Dr. Julian Karswell (Niall MacGinnis), who puts a curse on Andrews for his troubles. As they quest on, the stubborn sleuths soon succumb to the dread and paranoia sown by the threat that the fire demon is now after Holden.

The film is typical of Tourneur in its expressionistic beauty and haunting atmosphere, which keeps one engrossed even if the heroes are a couple of naive ninnies, with the eminently victimizable Andrews really seeming to ask for it. Everybody knows that the villain is always the best role anyway, and the characterization of Dr. Karswell is a lot of fun. The erudite occultist lives on a lavish estate with his elderly mother (Athene Seyler), where he occasionally (and alarmingly) entertains children as a clown. Despite his superior attitude, he confesses to old Mrs. Karswell that not only does he inflict fear on others—emphasizing to Holden that the mounting dread he feels will be almost as bad as his death at the hands of the demon—but he himself is motivated by fear. When you buy into the lifestyle of devil worship, you live in fear of the devil: "It's part of the price." This adds an unusual dimension to a familiar character who, rather than bragging about his genuinely supernatural abilities, focuses on the natural psychological effects of being cursed. As he remarks casually to Holden, "How can we differentiate between the powers of darkness and the powers of the mind?"

Paranoia, brilliantly realized by cinematographer Ted Sciafe.

And actually, therein lies the central controversy of this troubled production. Producer Hal E. Chester apparently set out to make a garden variety B-movie, often trying to cut corners that earned him the ire of writer (and frequent Hitchcock collaborator) Charles Bennett, Jacques Tourneur, and Dana Andrews. At the same time that Chester tried to cheap out on certain visual effects, he also insisted on displaying the demon in all its handmade glory. For Tourneur and Bennett, this was wholly against the point of the story, which is rather explicitly about the demons of paranoia and superstitious delusion. The wording of Tourneur's protest is salient: "The audience should never have been completely certain of having seen the demon." You have to sympathize with the director and writer, whose material was so undermined by the producer's insistence on special effects to pander to the hoi polloi. But I must admit, I really enjoy the demon. It may be enough to know that it was assembled by George Blackwell, who has credits on no lesser gems than THE ABOMINABLE DR. PHIBES and THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH, and Wally Weever, who worked on spectacles ranging from THINGS TO COME to 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY. Accordingly, the creature is wonderfully disgusting and evil, more so the closer up you get. I used to see this thing on beat-up, sunbleached VHS boxes as a kid and wonder what it was really like; the movie seemed so staid and British, could it really have this weird gristly monstrosity in it? The image was often pretty low res, or actually painted, so I thought it was probably created just for merchandising purposes. I was dead wrong. It's really like that, and it's pretty horrifying! I understand the gripe, but I'm glad I wasn't deprived of this special creation.

And, finally, I discovered that the differences between NIGHT and the leaner, meaner CURSE are not as insulting as I feared. The story is essentially the same, but one version is more methodical, while the other is trimmer, and rearranged strategically to give certain plot beats a different punch. It's a neat piece of knifework, not at all a hatchet job, and anybody interested in story editing would have an instructive experience watching them both. Primate that I am, I think I actually prefer CURSE, which snips scenes that I thought dragged, and lends the whole affair a sharper edge. I don't know if I'm supposed to admit that, but I guess I just did!

Another lesson you can learn from this review is that the longer cuts are not always the richest. Another cinema sin I once committed was witlessly showing a friend the extended(est) version of THE PREY, which in its shortest edition is one of my favorite horror movies ever—but with a lengthy softcore sequence directed by a third party stuffed into the middle of it, its hypnotic spell is broken and it turns into a big old slog with points of interest scattered at the beginning and end. At least I can tell you that in my personal estimation, no matter which version of DEMON you watch, you probably won't feel like it was a big mistake.

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deviltries · 1 year

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THE DEVIL WITHIN ! A PRIVATE AND SELECTIVE WRITING BLOG FEATURING PARK YEONJIN FROM THE GLORY. A STUDY INTO THE ADVANTAGES OF MONEY, THE ROT OF SELF, SELFISHNESS AT ITS FINEST, AND THE WORLD THAT COMES CRASHING. LARGELY HEADCANON BASED WITH PERSONAL INTERPRETATIONS. AS VILIFIED BY MACY. EST. MAY 2023.

RULES BELOW CUT.

GENERAL

18+ only. mutually exclusive. softblock when breaking mutuals.

formatting doesn’t matter to me. just cut your posts, and do not use a picture/screenshot as your reply. i’m selective with those who primarily use gifs as it screams being affiliated with a certain icky side of the rpc.

DNI.

do not interact if you use idols for faceclaims ( exceptions are made for some ); are a multi and primarily use east asian fcs ( especially if they are korean ) because that screams fetishization to me; write historical or real muses; use youtubers/influencers as fcs; and/or soley focus on sexual nsfw.

CONTENT & TAGGING

i don’t use tw tagging format, and i only tag overtly graphic and explicit content.

be aware that the glory is centered around abuse, trauma, bullying, torture, and suicide ideation. follow at your own risk.

this blog will have implied sexual nsfw content, but very rarely, as it’s not my thing. smutting will likely not happen unless we’re close and it will never be on dash.

SHIPPING & MAINS

this blog is multiship, though yeonjin is a fairly difficult muse to ship with off the bat. that being said, romance is typically not top priority for me and i tend to prefer other forms of dynamics: antagonistic, platonic, familial, etc.

mains and exclusives happen if we vibe a lot or write a lot, otherwise don’t ask <3

WRITER & CREDITS

i’m macy, 23, she/her. this is not my main blog so activity will limited. discord available upon request.

ABOUT PARK YEONJIN :

park yeonjin in present era works as a weatherwoman. well known, established, renowned. wealthy, classy, and elegant. has a young daughter whom she dotes on and a husband she couldn't be happier to have. her life is sparkling and clean and everything a person could want. but she hides an ugly past and wears a mask that has been super - glued on for the sake of blending into society. park yeonjin as a teenager was the devil incarnate, taking advantage of her mother's wealth, power, and influence to dish out violence to whomever she wanted to. yeonjin cared about nobody and dealt with her boredom in cruel, unorthodox manners. with a small group of friends who followed her every step, she terrorized her targets at school to do her bidding ( and to simply provide herself with entertainment ). if anyone knew, they wouldn't say it. if anyone dared to tell on her, they would regret it. park yeonjin always got her way.

although her cohorts had been with her for most activities, she hides the truth of one of their victims — she was the cause of yoon sohee's death, of which had been ruled a suicide.

as an adult, yeonjin had grown more skillful at hiding her true self and presents herself as the charming, kind wife and philanthropist. even with her position at the weather channel, she exploits younger assistants to write her scripts for her and uses fear to maintain control over younger, ambitious co - workers seeking to replace her.

her body count is one and a half, but that's only if we're counting literal deaths. she's snuffed out far more spirits than that.

HOW TO WRITE WITH YEONJIN:

your muse would never know that she was a bully in high school. your muse would never know that she killed someone in high school or that she nearly killed someone as an adult. yeonjin is an expert at acting and playing a role. she's charming, funny, gentle, down - to - earth. she would be a good friend at first. she's incredibly fake though so it would make sense for your muse to be put off by it or sense that something is off. she could've been an enemy during high school or college or even during her early career days but in a ' shielded ' manner so it's not so scandalous as being labelled a bully. yeonjin also has connections in high places, mostly due to her mom, so that's an option. anything could work tbh !

#hehehehehooohooo

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craycraybluejay · 3 months

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The difference with NPD and ASPD and other disorders is that NPD and ASPD have to do with exploiting others, manipulating and deceiving others including interpersonally, being arrogant, enjoying putting fear into people (a huge ASPD trait), being entitled with others, acting better than other people, harming others for entertainment or pleasure, VIOLATING THE RIGHTS OF OTHER HUMANS. And carelessness about harming others. Blameshifting and avoiding accountability is considered a huge NPD symptom because they tend to run from accountability because they run from their own flaws or making mistakes. This is not apart of any other disorders. there’s no ADHD abuse because adhd has to do with trouble focusing, trouble with memory, even short term esp, trouble with concentration or forgetfulness. There’s no depression abuse because depression isn’t about manipulating others for entertainment or being interpersonally exploitative (which is all abuse btw). To bring up stupid shit like “AnXiEtY CaN mAkE you RuDe” isn’t always true and it’s gaslighting us victims because someone being g rude isn’t comparable to traumatizing people for the rest of their lives with your really abusive and shitty personality traits. That’s pure gaslighting and stretching shit. There is such thing as abusive or potentially abusive disorders bc there’s also Pedophiliac Disorder in the current DSM. And pedophilia can be dangerous given the symptoms are “wanting to rape children”. We have a right to be avoidant or ostracize people with symptoms that can literally cause harm and lifelong trauma to others. I’ve been through exploitative friendships and it heavily affects me even 8 years later. Your terrible traits are more abusive than you think they are. And a common behavior written in the LITERATURE on the disorders is that people with cluster b disorders “have a tendency to minimize the impact their actions have on others”

i literally have no clue why you're yelling this at me.

you can avoid whoever you want, i tend to avoid cluster b people too. what are you even arguing at me for.

you went in my asks to not only imply i have a cluster b disorder (i dont) but also have this weird separatism thint going "us victims" as if you're not only speaking for all abuse victims but also saying people w cluster b disorders cannot be/have been victims.

I have LITERALLY posted about how stupid it is for mental health advocates to just deny straight up the symptoms of certain disorders, which like you said, can include abusive and harmful behaviour paterns. Genuinely you need to calm down and stop attacking people who get you and (mostly) agree with you.

You have a right to avoid whomever the hell you please. You do not have a right to systematically ostracize them. That is abuse, too.

You have no fucking idea what insane cruelty I have lived through and continue to but you act all offended that I used whatever reach I may have to try to explain to deniers of how these diagnoses WORK that just like all mental disorders they show harmful behavioral patterns? The difference between presenting symptoms of NPD and like you mentioned ADHD is one presents as harmful to others and the other harmful to yourself. That was my whole point. That mental disorders are harmful. That's WHY THEY'RE CALLED DISORDERS.

So jfc please go talk to your therapist and don't attack random people on the internet for trying to calmly bridge the gaps between activist's blind spots and issues.

Again. Don't you dare assume I don't know what it's like to be in a dangerous situation with someone like this. And legitimately read what a post is intending to convey before freaking out at the poster. Or better yet just don't do that because even behind the anon you are embarassing yourself and being a total dick for no reason.

#anon i know your hurt #but like #stop screaming at me #i feel for you but this is really not how you approach a conversation about n abuse #and we could have had a nice heart to heart or some shit but instead youre being like this #get offline for a sec. eat something. rest

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sukunarii · 3 years

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Omiki: “I've never known the lovin' of a man But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand.” the band perry - if i die young

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Type: Heian Era

Synopsis: You were part of the Zenin family, valued for being a Ten-Shadow Technique user. However, you’ve decided to run away because your family have been exploiting you for your technique. While running away, you encounter Sukuna who seems to have taken an interest in you.

A/N: Minor Manga Spoiler about Jujutsu Techniques! Also I swear these “drabbles” are getting longer and longer lol. 1.4K words!

You sprinted down the market street, shuffling through the crowds of people. You can faintly hear loud and chaotic shouts "Get her!" "Don't let her get away!". You dared to take a glance behind you to see the guards chasing you. They were still far behind. However, the moment you were about to turn your head to look forward again, you bumped into someone. Despite your speed when you collided into him, he didn't seem to stumble at all, he stood firmly while you were knocked backwards. You stumbled a bit but you managed to stay on your feet too. You rubbed your head and looked up at the man in front of you. He was tall, muscular, distinct pink hair.

You gritted your teeth, “Hey could you move, I need to get through--”

“You put up quite a show back there,” he commented.

You didn't have time to entertain him when there's guards hot on your tail, “Move before I make you regret it," you said and attempted to shove past him.

However, he continues to block you.

“Little one, when I am talking. You do not cut me off."

This sounded like a threat.

He continued, "I saw what you did with the rabbits earlier, are you a ten-shadow technique user?”

Whatever this man wanted, you didn't care. You just want him to let you leave before the guards gets here.

Feigning ignorance, you gave him an innocent smile and quickly answered “I don’t know what you are talking about. Now if you'll excuse me...”

You tried for the last time to move past him but this time, he grabs your wrist tightly.

"Do not lie to me," he ordered.

You were going to protest but he turned it into a direction it should not bend.

You yelped from the burning sensation, “Alright, alright I yield...Yes I am. I really don’t have the time to talk here.”

“Why did you run away then?”

“What do you mean why? They’re going to kill me.”

“You’re stronger than all of them. You can fight back.”

“No I can’t, there's fifty of them and....”

You realized it was too late, the guards caught up and have surrounded you two.

You snapped your head to look at the man again, “You bastard. I don't know what you want from me but you did this on purpose.”

He laughs. Angrily, you shake your arms again and managed to shake off his grip on your wrist and you instinctively pull your wrist close to you and rub the pain that he caused.

One of the guards stepped forward but still keeping his distance from you, “(Name) Zenin, under the jurisdiction of Jujutsu Regulations, you are under arrest for killing a sorcerer. We ask that you cooperate and peacefully give yourself in.”

You gritted your teeth then shouted at the guards, "Like hell I'll just give myself in. Let me go or I'll make you guys regret it."

“Oh, quite a trouble maker aren’t you,” the man beside you remarks.

"Shut up”, you spat back at him, “I’m not gonna protect you.”

He chuckles, “You don't need to worry about me, show me what you’ve got.”

Without a warning, all fifty-something of them ran to attack you. You closed your eyes and positioned your hands so it forms the shape of a snake.

"Orochi!", you summoned.

Immediately, a giant serpent springs upwards from the ground and the guards starts fighting your Shikigami. It was a close battle, it took a while and you even had to fight some of them with your bare hands but eventually, you and your Shikigami managed to effectively taking out most of the guards while the remaining few, have turned to run away in fear. You pant.

"I didn't want to do this," you mumbled and turned around ready to flee again. However you stopped cold when you heard a familiar voice.

“I see you’ve thrown away your humanity.”

You immediately snapped your head back, "Father?” you called out. The crowd of people at the market have formed a circle around you to watch the commotion. You spot your father step out of the crowd.

"That's right (Name), I am very disappointed with you."

"You have no right to say this to me after treating me like an animal, you only cared about my Jujutsu technique. You didn't care about me."

The pink haired man was still beside you watching the whole show. He seemed amused by the drama.

"I do care about you, you are an important asset to the family. Come back home (Name)," your father tells you.

“That’s right! I’m only an asset to the family.”

Your father's face darkened now, he hates it when you talk back to him.

“Last warning (Name). Come home now. This is an order.”

"Leave me alone or I am going to have to hurt you too!," you snapped back.

“You can’t. You’re still too weak.”

The moment he said this, you motioned for your Shikigami, Orochi, to attack your father. But before it even reaches him, he effortlessly mists it and Orochi disappears into thin air. Despair starts settling in, it's true that you don't really have a chance to defeat your father. He was a well reknown Jujutsu Sorcerer of the era. But you weren't ready to give up yet, there was one more technique that you could use but it was a gamble.

You placed your hands into position.

Fear immediately appears in your father's eyes when he realized what you were about to summon. Mahoraga: a Shikigami that no ten-shadow technique user has ever been able to exorcise. Summoning it meant death.

"With this treasure, I summon.."

"No (Name) are you insane? You'll kill both of us,"

A sadistic smile forms on your face. That's alright, if I’m going down, I’ll drag you down with me.

"Eight Handled Sword....", you trailed off when the pink haired stranger interrupted your summoning by gentling putting his hands on top of yours to signal you to stop. You looked at him confused. However, he wasn't looking at you, he sent a glare in the direction of your father.

“Show’s over. Let’s go,” the pink-haired man announces and grabs your hand and leads you to walk away in the other direction.

“Wait who are you and where are you taking her?”, you heard your father shout.

The man beside you casually lifts up one finger in a jerking motion as if he was slicing something and immediately, you hear screams or horror from the curious crowd that were watching you guys earlier.

You were about to turn your head around to look at what happened but he stops you.

“Don’t look back, there’s no going back now.”

"You killed him?" you gasped.

"Of course."

He said so casually as if he didn't just murder a sorcerer of one of the most famed Zenin family.

"Why—no, how," you asked in disbelief.

A sadistic smile appears on his face, “Does it matter? It's just one more of those annoying Jujutsu Sorcerer dead. They're all trash anyways..”

You didn't disagree. Since you were born with a prized cursed technique, Ten-Shadow Shikigami, you have felt that your family only cared for you because you were an asset to them. You've seen the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers with your own eyes. It was a corrupted world where the strong exploited the weak. It was a world you wanted to run away from. However, you didn't expect to run into this pink-haired stranger who suddenly stepped in to help you. There were a lot of questions on your mind but you felt dazed. Finally, you managed to ask him,

"Who are you and what do you want from me?"

He looks at you, his eyes filled with passion.

“Back there, you really proved yourself. You proved that you have talent, you have the passion, you have what it takes! I want you to wreck havoc with me. I am Sukuna and I will be the King of Curses while I want you to be my Queen of Curses. And together let’s turn the jujutsu world upside down!”

His hand was still holding yours to lead you somewhere. You didn't answer him right away but his invitation seemed to have ignited something within you because you could feel a rush of adrenaline. A rush of excitement. Perhaps this wasn't too bad. You've never felt what true love is. Your family never loved you. But this stranger — no, this man who calls himself Sukuna — holding your hands and promising you to destroy those Jujutsu Sorcerers that you've learned to hate. You didn't mind it.

It felt right. And it felt nicer than anything anyone has done for you. Because for once, someone understood you.

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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writeyouin · 3 years

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Swerve X Reader – Changes - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – A Rescue Without a Plan

A/N – Finally back to this baby, and boy am I glad to be back.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Making your way in the world today, takes everything you've got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.” You sang the Cheers song quietly in your cell, concentrating heavily on the cell bars.

Ever since you had forced yourself to calm down, streams of information had come flooding across your optics, revealing structural strengths and weaknesses to everything you looked at. You hoped to find something about the electrified bars that might lead to your escape, but so far, all the weaknesses were ones you couldn’t exploit from within the cell. You had long since given up on desperately trying to contact the Lost Light, figuring that something was blocking your comms.

You sighed, giving up on your song, a childish idea coming to mind. You knew nothing would come of it, but a smile reached your lips as you stared at your hand, “Go-Go-Gadget, Lock Pick.”

Naturally, nothing happened, but at least you were entertained, so you continued the game, taking comfort in the familiar words. “Go-Go-Gadget, Gun. Go-Go-Gadget, Scanner. Go-Go-Gadget, Blow Torch-” You jumped back in shock as one of your fingertips split open at the command, a strong blue flame roaring up from the split. You didn’t know whether you should be praising Brainstorm, for this was most certainly his addition, or cursing him for the cartoonish way you had accessed the tool. You were almost afraid to wonder how many of your body’s other commands were linked to the phrase Go-Go-Gadget.

Without wasting any more time, you put the flame to the bars, beginning the laborious process of escaping your cell.

As you worked, you had one more idea which you hastily tried, “Go-Go-Gadget, Manual.”

Before your optics, a string of writing cropped up, instructions on how your Cybertronian body worked. “Play audio,” You said, having been introduced to the opening menu. Perceptor’s voice filled your audials, starting your tutorial on your new body. You vented air through your systems and got to work, studying during your attempted escape.

Once he had been released from his cell, Swerve spent all of his time at the Lost Light’s shooting range, his aim never improving despite his efforts. He knew he had little hope of becoming a soldier in the time it would take to get to you, but he didn’t care, so long as he had something to keep him occupied. How could other humans be so cruel as to throw you of all people in a battle arena? You were kind and compassionate, and you would never have even considered harming another species, claiming that all were equal.

Swerve had often found you crying over books wherein humans had treated others terribly, mostly among their own species. He remembered asking you why you chose to read such books as The Diary of Anne Frank or Boy Erased, if they only served to make you upset, and you had replied that they were important to read lest history be repeated from ignorance. It was awful to think that you, the most empathetic of souls, were going to be scrapped for the entertainment of others.

Swerve knew they didn’t have long to rescue you. If the Arena’s advertisements were to be believed, you would be entering one of their battles in less than three cycles, when the new contestants would arrive to scrap you.

Swerve couldn’t forget the picture they had uploaded of you on the advertisement. You had been harmed in ways he never wanted to see, deep gashes in your arms and visible dents everywhere, yet in the picture, you were defiantly angry. He alone could recognise the fear beneath, but he couldn’t be prouder to see that you weren’t giving your captor the satisfaction of your apprehension.

He reloaded his gun, aiming it at the target, imagining it was your captors. Despite his anger, he missed, hitting a spot on the wall at least six feet from the target. Coolant sprung to his optics. You were in danger and he was completely useless. He couldn’t pilot the ship, he couldn’t shoot, it wasn’t even him that had discovered your location; that had been Nightbeat while he was too busy feeling sorry for himself. He was useless.

Rodimus’ voice rang clear through Swerve’s comms. It was a channel he had left open until you were found; that way anyone who needed him could contact him.

“Swerve, get to the board room. We have news on (Y/N).”

Swerve brusquely wiped the coolant from his optics, throwing the gun on the table before leaving. As soon as he was in the hallway, he transformed, speeding to the board room, eager for any information he could get, yet also terrified about what it could mean for you.

He didn’t say anything as he entered, his attention, like everyone else’s drawn to the video-feed of the Arena, where a human woman in acid-green armour was speaking.

“Greetings to fans, peasants, and nobles alike. It is I, Lady Ouida, your adored host of the Arena.”

Lady Ouida. Swerve glared at her holographic form, now having a name and a face to put to his enemy.

“As all of us betting royals know, there is to be a new competitor here. The foul-mouthed mini menace has refused to state her name, but we don’t care about that. We only care about one thing and one thing only. Which of our noble competitors will be the one to take her out?”

Banners depicting different armoured competitors unfurled around Lady Ouida; the scumbags that would try to take your life.

“In this message to all of you, my lovely subjects, I would like to make a special announcement. Although we had planned to set the battle for three cycles time, we have hit a little snag.”

Warmth flared in Swerve’s spark, as he hoped that the battle would be delayed even further, giving the Lost Light more time for your rescue.

Lady Ouida snapped her fingers, motioning for someone off-screen to do her bidding. The hope that Swerve had dared to feel was quickly extinguished as several trucks with chain attachments drove forward, dragging you behind them, the chains affixed to your arms.

“Our little menace here was caught roaming the halls of our fair kingdom, trying to escape her fate. She may not look like much, but she has proved to be very resourceful indeed, which I am sure you’ll keep in mind when betting.”

It looked like you desperately wanted to retort, but a modified gag stopped you from doing so. It didn’t stop you from attempting to kick at several of your captors, your pede falling short of its mark.

“NO!” Swerve cried out as you were electrocuted, making you fall to the floor. The others in the room spared him looks of pity before their attention returned to Lady Ouida.

“Spirited, is she not?” The Lady continued, spurred on by your attempted attack. “Alas, that brings me to my next point. We cannot keep her subdued for long and as such, we will have to cut betting short. You will have till the end of the cycle, for at dawn THE BATTLE BEGINS.”

The feed ended with a screen of competitors and their odds against you.

Rodimus wasted no time in addressing the room, all traces of his usual playfulness gone. “ETA to the Arena?” He asked no one in particular.

“Two cycles at most,” One of the Co-pilots answered.

“Not good enough. If you have to burn out the engines, you’ll get us there tonight. Strategy?”

Megatron brought up a hologram for the planet, pointing out the building on the map, a modernised castle with plasma-turrets as its main defences. “If it were me, I’d have the turrets hacked. The fastest route to the Arena itself is by the West wall. The ship is far too big to hide, so our best option is an outright assault. We could blast through the walls with an Alpha team. Meanwhile, a smaller Beta Team could attack the Northern ramparts, where we believe the prison cells to be located, in case (Y/N) is still being held there.”

“Who’s our hacker for this?”

“We have an accomplished team that will be led by Skids.”

“What will we need to get through the castle’s walls?”

“Ultra Magnus assures me that he has a supply of confiscated weapons from Whirl and Brainstorm.”

Rodimus nodded in acknowledgement, “You know Megatron, it’s rare, but on occasions such as this, I’m glad that you’re a crazed war-lord with a lot of strategic experience.”

Megatron looked uncomfortable at the compliment but didn’t comment.

Swerve raised his hand in what he assumed was a military fashion, “I’d like to be in the Alpha team.”

Rodimus took in some air with an awkward hiss, “Yeahhh, about that. Don’t you think you’d be better off, uh waiting to comfort (Y/N) in the med-bay or something? You’re um- You’re not exactly a good shot.”

Swerve bristled at the veiled insult. “THAT IS MY CONJUNX ENDURAE. I’LL BE GOING DOWN THERE EVEN IF I HAVE TO STEAL A POD-SHIP!”

“Okay, yep, cool. You’re there to rescue (Y/N), got it. Just… Maybe stay behind the rest of us, okay? Wait no. You go in front, I don’t want to be shot in the back or anything-” Rodimus stopped talking when he noticed more than one bot glaring at him for his lack of tact. “I mean, uh- You just go where you think is best, buddy. You got this.”

“Let’s just continue going over the plan,” Megatron interrupted, turning his attention back to the planetary holograph.

Thankfully, nobody questioned Swerve further, and he was free to remain undisturbed as the meeting went on.

Once again, you were behind bars but this time you were outside of the prison block. You were now in the centre of the Arena, which greatly resembled the Ancient Colosseums of Earth. You cradled your servo close to your body, the pain immense where your captors had crushed it after they had caught you trying to use the blow torch a second time; if there was any hope of returning to Swerve, it wouldn’t be the same way you escaped before.

With nothing else to do, you resumed listening to the recorded manual. Theoretically, you knew how to scan a vehicle and transform, so long as you found something to scan. Maybe you could convince Ouida to show you a vehicle in order to make the games more interesting. You doubted that plan would work, but if Ouida thought you were going to die in her games anyway, she might grant the request.

“In the event that you are in danger and need to record a message into your processor for an ally to discover-”

You focused on Perceptor’s instructions. Now seemed like the perfect time to record a message for Swerve, should he ever find your body. You tried to focus as your processor informed you that your voice and surroundings were being recorded.

“Swerve, I wish I could see you right now to tell you everything that’s on my mind, but if you’re watching this… Well, we know what’s happened.” You tried to keep your tone happy, but it proved to be impossible when thinking of the last time you had seen Swerve and how badly that had gone. You couldn’t stop from crying as you continued.

“Swerve, you are my whole world. I love you so much and I’m so sorry about how I acted. I was scared and confused, and… That’s no reason for the way I was. I’m terrified of what might happen to you if I die. Please, don’t think sadly on this. You have so much time left in the universe, and it’s a brighter place with you in it. No matter what happens, I need you to remember, I’m sticking with you. Never forget that you have my heart, always. I’m sorry that this is goodbye. I love you.”

Ending the feed, you hugged your knees to your chassis with your good hand, while you sat in silence and wept.

Swerve gripped the base of his chair, in the cruiser that the Alpha team had taken, hard enough to dent it. Upon reaching a close enough proximity to the planet’s surface, he had received a few dozen delayed private comms from you, the last of which was time-stamped only one hour prior. You were being kept in a cage, telling him how sorry you were and how much you loved him. If you were sticking with him, then he was going to stick right back to you.

Turbulence hit the ship, but Swerve’s determination didn’t waver. He knew it was just the first volley of attacks from the turrets, until Skids’ team would be able to disable them. Swerve remembered feeling like this thousands of times in the war. The feeling that you could be shot down at any moment on the way to your goal, but that you couldn’t think about death, lest it leech into your processor, freezing out all other thoughts. Swerve wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. Not while you were in danger. You were his mission and this was just another, smaller, war.

Swerve remembered his very first mission. His entire squadron had died, except for him. Being a mini-bot, he’d managed to hide without being discovered; he’d spent centuries hating himself for living as a coward instead of dying a hero with the rest of his squad. As it turned out, many bots had had similar experiences which haunted them. This time, he would not hide, his team would survive, they would rescue you, and Swerve would tell you every minute of every day that he loved you.

“SKIDS,” Rodimus yelled over the comms, “A LITTLE HELP WITH THE FRAGGING TURRETS.”

“Working on it,” Skids replied frantically. “They have one hell of an IT team there, Rodimus. The turrets are encrypted at least five times over.”

“Great. I’ll pass on the compliment when I meet them. Can you stop the turrets or not?”

There was a sharp silence on Skids end which was answer enough; the team would have to go in under fire.

“Okay,” Rodimus looked to his team. Ultra Magnus, Tailgate, Cyclonus, and Swerve were there, along with a few other volunteers that made their number twenty. “Plan B. We drive fast and furious, ploughing through their defences.”

The team were less enthusiastic at the thought of being shot, but none of them buckled under pressure; everyone was ready to go to your aid.

“Beta team, in position?” Rodimus asked, as they had planned to do before the Alpha Team dropped down onto the planet’s surface.

“Negative,” Megatron replied. His team comprised of Drift, Nautica, Nightbeat, and Brainstorm. It was decided that a smaller team would be better for infiltration. “The blueprints were wrong. We landed right in their armoury and are facing heavy fire.”

“HEY, NO, NOT COOL. WE WERE FACING HEAVY FIRE FIRST.” Rodimus pouted. “THAT’S OUR THING. GET YOUR OWN THING.”

“Don’t be a sparkling,” Megatron hissed. “Rendezvous here. We need backup.”

Swerve crushed another part of his chair. Meeting up with the beta team would lead them further away from you. They should face the turrets, consequences be damned. Swerve imagined reaching over to the control panel and forcing the team to drop. If he wasn’t afraid to have their energon on his servos, he’d do it. However, frustrating as it was, he left the planning up to the Co-Captains, itching for the moment that he would finally be useful. So far, everything in the plan was falling apart.

“Get ready to fight, crew,” Rodimus warned as the cruiser approached the Beta Teams location. Everyone stood up, heading to the back of the ship, “Dropping in three, two, one.”

The doors opened, leaving all the transformed vehicles to drive out on the ramp, jumping the gap onto the planet. There, the battle began. A handful of Cybertronians against a few hundred organics, none of whom seemed to be human; perhaps Lady Ouida was the only human among the organics that inhabited the planet.

Swerve raged with every shot he took. In hallways full to the brim of enemies, even he couldn’t miss. His blaster kept ringing off with compliments. Good job. Nice shootin’ Tex. You’re my hero.

However, as many shots as he got in, the enemies didn’t drop. It seemed that they were immune to most of the weapons, only stumbling slightly before they got back up to fight.

“This isn’t working,” Cyclonus growled through gritted teeth, him and Drift being the only ones to do any real damage with their swords, though they kept getting pushed back by the horde.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Rodimus said sardonically. “Time for plan C.”

“We don’t have a plan C,” Ultra Magnus reported.

“Then improvise.”

From the corner of his optic, Swerve saw a flash of green and he spun around to see Lady Ouida herself. She was climbing over the rubble, apparently trying to reach the fast-firing ballista behind the invaders of her castle. Full of rage at the human who had dared to harm his Conjunx Endurae, Swerve rushed at her, screaming. He tackled her to the ground, grunting as she stabbed a plasma dagger into his side. He would worry about the pain later, when you were safe. For now, he didn’t care, as that was the only weapon she had and she couldn’t retrieve it from his side now that he had her arms firmly in his grasp.

Swerve had always prided himself on being gentle with you, his beloved human. However, with Ouida in his grip, he was all too aware of how easy it would be to crush every bone in her body with only the slightest bit of pressure.

“WHERE IS MY CONJUNX?” He spat at her.

“Dead.” Lady Ouida lied. “As you will be soon enough, robotic scum.”

Swerve didn’t bother to press her on her deception, knowing instinctively that she wouldn’t talk, no matter what he did. Instead, he carried her towards her army, making sure the creatures could see her.

“I HAVE YOUR LEADER,” He roared at them. “LET US PASS, OR I’LL CRUSH HER.”

The organics stopped shooting, eerily expressionless as they lowered their weapons. Ouida shot her captors a disgusted look, hating that they had bested her experimental mutants. They were made to follow orders and protect the castle, but they had also been designed to ensure that she wouldn’t be harmed; with her as a captive, they were useless.

Swerve made his way forward, but Rodimus grabbed his shoulder-plate, pulling him back.

“Hey, loving the energy buddy,” Rodimus complimented Swerve. “Great improv and all, but uh, the Arena is the other way.”

“Oh,” Swerve looked at the mutant army, who were watching Ouida like a dog watching its master. “In that case, don’t follow us, or I’ll crush her.”

“YEAH,” Rodimus fist-pumped the air. “LET’S GO RESCUE (Y/N).”

You didn’t know what to say as you were faced with the many faces of the Lost Light that you thought you’d never see again, but most importantly Swerve. For a moment, you were half-convinced that you were hallucinating again, but then he had pushed Lady Ouida into Drift’s arms and he was holding you.

He kissed your helm, pulling you into his chassis, checking over every inch of you for injuries. “(Y/N),” he murmured. “My (Y/N).”

“Swerve,” You cried his name. “Swerve. I was so scared I’d never see you-”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here now. I love you. Always,” He repeated your message to you, letting you alone know that he had received it.

“Not to interrupt this reunion,” Megatron said sombrely, “But enemy reinforcements could arrive at any moment, and we need to get you two to medical treatment immediately.”

For the first time, you noticed the gash in Swerve’s side, coated with freshly congealed energon; he had taken the dagger out prior to seeing you.

“She hurt you… She-”

It was your turn to scream at Ouida, “YOU HURT MY CONJUNX ENDURAE.”

You reached out to crush her with your good arm, but Drift dragged Ouida into safety, “Sorry (Y/N), but she’s our ticket out of here. If we kill her, we have no leverage.”

You glared at Ouida, “You’re lucky he values all life, you hateful witch.”

Ouida rolled her eyes, unperturbed by the raving antics of a non-organic.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Swerve ushered you ahead of the group. “It’s time for us to go home.”

Home. You thought of your hab-suite aboard the Lost Light where you had built your life with Swerve; you couldn’t wait to get back to it. Letting Swerve cradle you in his arms, you leaned on him and took your first steps back towards home.

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madzfm · 3 years

Photo

˛ ⠀ * ⠀ ★ ⠀ JESSICA ALEXANDER . CIS FEMALE . SHE / HER ⧽ ⠀ have you seen the 786 latest post ? sources say they have some serious dirt on the child of a big time COUNTRY MUSIC STARS . they haven’t revealed who it was yet but my best is on MADISON DARLING ! ever since that last update about how she ALLEGEDLY GOT CAUGHT SPORTING A BABY BUMP LAST YEAR BEFORE GHOSTING EVERYONE i don’t put anything pass them . i mean , these celebrity kids are just out of control . they do whatever they want , whenever they want and are ungrateful in the process !! i mean take MADDIE for example , they’re a TWENTY THREE year old DANCER , and what did they do to get there ? have famous parents ! like hello , just because you HAVE BEEN IN MUSIC VIDEOS WITH A-LIST MUSICIANS doesn’t mean you actually deserved it . i’m glad the 786 is taking them down a notch . it’s about time someone does .

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐂 / 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 / 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

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hey ... hey ... how y’all doin’ ? i’m sooo excited to be here , besties ! sorry i’m late with the intro , it’s been a looooong weekend for me but i’m eager to get the ball rolling . so here’s the rundown , the google doc has a full bio + more stats + headcanons but i don’t expect anyone to actually read all that nonsense so i’ve tried my best to sum it up below ( it’s still kinda long tho i’m sorry y’all i ramble too much ). i’m always down to talk plots & threw a few wanted connection ideas at the bottom , so feel free to hmu on discord any time <3 but yes okay let’s get into it

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━━ ˊ * 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 . .

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. madison dallas darling . 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞(𝐬). maddie , mads . 𝐝𝐨𝐛. april 14 , 1998 . 𝐚𝐠𝐞. twenty - three . 𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜. aries sun , libra moon , leo asc . 𝐠𝐞𝐧��𝐞𝐫. cis female . 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬. she / her . 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. bisexual . 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. nashville , tn . 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 5ft 5in . 𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. high school diploma . 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. dancer / realty tv personality . 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬. robert “robbie” darling - father . dixie darling - mother . delaney darling - sister . 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬. compassionate , imaginative , family-oriented , devoted , generous , sympathetic , idealistic , self critical , naive , competitive , indecisive , impressionable , elusive , sensitive .

━━ ˊ * 𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 . .

tw : things like shitty controlling parents , injury , & pregnancy are mentioned

born & raised in nashville , tennessee , madison is the daughter of two country music icons ( basically blake shelton & miranda lambert ) & has only ever known a life in the spotlight . her parents were a widely adored it couple who shared their lives with millions of viewers across the world with their reality tv show . at 7pm cst you could tune in to watch robbie & dixie raise their two daughters - having some good ol’ wholesome family fun while juggling responsibilities that come with being famous artists . to any outsider looking in , they seemed like the perfect family . a loving father , a supportive mother , two prim & proper daughters that collected accolade after accolade in every pageant & talent competition they ever entered . but you shouldn’t believe everything you see on tv , even if it’s deceptively labeled as “reality” .

when the cameras weren’t rolling , the darling sisters were left under their mother’s restrictive control . dixie darling treated her daughters more like dolls than living beings , madison & delaney were basically pretty little accessories . while robbie never dared to mistreat his daughters , he was around a lot less than the show made it seem - often touring the world rather than spending quality time with his girls . plus , dixie & robbie seemed to endlessly fight with one another - nearly every childhood memory madison has of her parents involves them yelling . if she wanted to see them looking happy & in love , she’d have to tune in to the fabricated reality on their own show to get a taste of what a happy , loving family looks like .

you can’t be a child of dixie darling without being exploited in some way . while delaney was pushed into the music scene , madison was shoved into the world of dance . she took every class that was offered & practiced for hours upon hours to perfect her craft . her sister had taken after their folks with the singing voice of an angel & the looks to rival that of miss universe , meanwhile maddie was good for two things : dance & doing whatever her mother said . so when dixie said to twirl , she twirled , when she said do a grand jeté, maddie asked how high & then over performed like the good little girl she was trained to be .

it wasn’t until her parents got divorced & maddie moved to miami to be with her sister , her father , & her father’s new girlfriend that she sort of came out ( or more accruately described as dragged out ) of her timid , non - confrontational , subservient shell . with a longer leash , she had more freedom to roam far & wide . no one tried to tell her what to do or who to talk to & considering she was just a privileged teenager with endless funds & the status to get away with just about anything , you can imagine how badly that went . every mistake she made was broadcasted onto people’s televisions or headlined in tabloids . it was stressful , growing up & messing up all under the watchful gaze of millions of people who felt entitled to berate her for her poor life decisions . just because they watched her grow up on tv didn’t mean they actually knew anything about her . & yet so many people shared their unsolicited opinions on her & her life . it drove her insame .

maddie wasn’t handling the stress of being well known very well . she wanted a break from it all , to just go somewhere far away where no one knew her name & just live by herself . it was a silly dream . nothing she’d ever actively pursue . but the universe has a funny way of giving us a taste of what we think we want just to teach us a lesson .

so over a year ago , maddie found out that she was pregnant . it was a shock to say the least . she kept it a close guarded secret from everyone but her sister for awhile . not only was it a life changing development , but it was one thing that she was determined not to share with the rest of the world . with the idea of running away in continuous loop in the back of her mind , she came up with a plan to buy herself some time . she faked a really bad injury during a performance & let the media run with saying she might not be able to walk , let alone dance ever again . pushing the cover story even further , she claimed to be in need of intense physical therapy & sought after it in a luxurious private lodge in new zealand . that’s where she stayed during her year away , letting no outsiders come visit while she figured out how she was going to move forward with this baby growing inside of her .

so maddie finally got the break she was looking for even if it wasn’t under the circumstances that she would’ve liked . but she adapted to the situation . in her time away , she went through the entire pregnancy but it was basically decided for her by her parents that it was best to give the baby up for adoption . the little girl would be in good care by a couple that was a family friend of the darlings . better to bless someone who wanted a baby but couldn’t have one than for maddie to keep her daughter when she wasn’t in a place to take care of her . it broke her heart , honestly . she had grown quite attached to the baby & even entertained the idea of being a single mom even though she knew her own mom would never let that happen - it would go against the strict narrative that they try to put out there about the darling family .

after a year away , maddie is back in miami without anyone knowing what really happened . she keeps using the “injury” as the excuse for her absence from the spotlight . anyone really close to her might be able to tell that something’s off , but she’s trying so hard to act like everything is fine & nothing has changed at all . she might even be able to get away with her lies - if it wasn’t for that damn 786 website threatening to spill the tea & make her life hell .

━━ ˊ * 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 & 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 . .

a wannabe good girl gone bad but harbors a deep rooted fear of being a disappointment & a failure due to her mom’s strict parenting style . so like she wants to be rebellious & come across as carefree but internally she’s panic screaming always ( honestly relatable like same , girl )

well - mannered in a sweet southern belle kind of way with her please’s & thank you’s & calling everyone ma’am & sir out of respect & what not

biiiig mom friend energy . she just wants to make sure that everyone is taken care of . she can get very protective & a little helicopter parent-y with her friends . it probably has something to do with control issues that she doesn’t realize she has but we don’t have time to unpack that rn akjsdbk

before her year away i want to say that she was a lot more people please-y / overly eager to please ?? like rarely said no to people that asked for favors , always agreed to any plans people invited her to out of courtesy , & what have you . but now i see her as being a little less patient than before & a little bit more unhinged & quick to shut down or snap

guillable ! naive ! dumb as hell ! believes that everyone was raised with the same values as her & has a big of a heart like she does so she’s easily subjectable to getting her feelings hurt & i say let it happen !!

wants to be mysterious so bad but there is very little known about her & her life that isn’t public knowledge . she could get shit on by a bird & it’ll probably become a twitter highlight idk she just wants to believe she’s imperceptible & acts all evasive in order to keep her private life private but that rarely ever has the desired effect

one of those annoying rich & famous people that’s like “i wasn’t meant to be famous . i was meant to have a normal life & be a normal person” but like !! she is actually so out of touch with reality & probably couldn’t tell you how much milk is at the grocery store because she has people to do mundane day to day things for her . spoiled little privileged rich girl , let’s be real . her dad tried to keep her humble , idk what happened

dance style / career is pretty much inspired by maddie ziegler but also not really bc i am very picky & choosey about which aspects of her career i’m pulling from

boring on social media because she hardly ever posts & is very short with her captions & tweets when she does make an appearance online every blue moon

dodges questions about what she’s been up to while she was gone like she’s in the matrix or something . all that pr training her mom put her through when she was younger is coming in handy because she has not given a single honest , straight answer in the months she’s been back . would rather talk about anything else than herself right now so don’t be surprised if she pulls some random subject changes out of her ass if people get nosy . i’m sure the common conspiracy is that maddie was so embarrassed by the fall on stage that she went into hiding

delaney is the kim kardashian & britney spears of the family while madison is the kourtney & the jamie lynn xoxo

━━ ˊ * 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 . .

ride or die , bad influence , frenemies , family friends , good influence , confidant , rival , girl squad , non judging breakfast club , childhood friend , unlikely friend , exes on good terms , exes on bad terms , neighbors , pr friendship , pr enemy , social media mutuals , party buddies , secret friend , secret hook - up , crush , friends with benefits , adventure buddy , enemy with benefits , dance partners , mentors , mentees , sibling like relationship , will they won’t they , people suspicious of her & her supposed “injury” , father of her baby 👀 jk ..... unless

#786intro #template credit to yeonjvnz on deviantart !#they're linked in the source <3

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gehayi · 3 years

Note

It's possible that Tom Riddle seduced Merope Gaunt & later on she lied to get him to marry her or more likely she had symptoms of a false pregnancy & believed she was pregnant which led her to tell him she's with child. Given the social pressures of the time he left with her & the 2 likely eloped with Merope becoming pregnant later on but when Tom learned of this it lead him to abandon her anyways. What is your view on what really happened between Merope Gaunt & Tom Riddle Senior?

It’s possible, sure, that Merope could have lied about being pregnant or could have read the symptoms of false pregnancy wrong . But...well, I’ve been to school with rich privileged kids, and I find it more believable that Tom Sr. found the silent adoration of the ugly daughter of the local hermit amusing enough to exploit.

I could see him having a bet with his friends about how far he could push this and for how long. I could even see one of his friends dressing up like a minister and Tom going through a mockery of a marriage both to reassure her and to make fun of her. She thinks that it’s strange, of course, but what does she know about how Muggles do things? And meanwhile, Tom Sr. is looking oh-so-serious and he wants this and he wants her and for once in her life, it seems like she has what matters.

Meanwhile, Tom’s friends are stifling their laughter and trying not to meet each other’s eyes for fear that they’ll lose it.

After the fake marriage--who knows how long?--Tom convinces Merope to come with him to London--in April 1926 at the latest. He drives them there, or they take a train. Either way, he arranges the transportation and pays for a hotel room. Maybe he tells her that this is going to be their honeymoon. Maybe he says that they’re going to set up their own house in London. It doesn’t matter to him, as long as the lie works.

Merope isn’t familiar with Muggle cities, Muggle tech of the 1920s, or Muggle money. (She may not even be fully literate; we know that she never went to school and that her father taught her and her brother nothing.) London is an incomprehensible maze to her. And the hotel room is clean and warm and has soft carpets and pictures on the wall. There’s a box that produces music and stories and news. Lights come on with the touch of a button. And she doesn’t have to cook or clean anything. It’s luxury that she’s never dreamt of.

To quote the very wise Ursula Vernon, “Relief feels like happiness, if you don’t know the difference.”

Tom is pleased that she’s so easily satisfied; he doesn’t have to explain to anyone he knows why he’s with this ugly woman. He pays for clothes for her, but he doesn’t take her anywhere. When he’s bored with Merope, he tells her that he has to go out and then parties with his friends. She doesn’t question him. She doesn’t even consider doing so.

In May 1926, there’s a general strike.

Roads all across Britain become impassible. Buses have to barricade their windows. The strikers derail the train the Flying Scotsman in Northumberland. The government declares martial law. It even sends a warship to Newcastle. The world has turned upside down.

Merope hears about all this on the radio; it’s her main form of entertainment. She starts peppering him with questions. Why is the strike happening? Why is everyone so angry?

Tom is shaking and tense and can scarcely think coherently. How can these creatures, these underlings, rebel against the orderly system he’s been part of since birth? And how can this--this daughter of a mere tramp question him?

He yells at her to shut up. He apologizes afterward, and Merope accepts his apology. But the bloom is off the rose now. She knows now that he can be pointlessly cruel, just like her father and brother.

She tries very hard not to know this.

The general strike ends after nine days. Martial law, however, drags on and on. So do transportation problems. And 1.7 million strikers are now out of work. This is not the bright, fun city Tom wanted to visit.

June arrives. By now Merope’s adoration isn’t as intriguing to Tom, and her pregnancy is starting to show as well. Like many men and boys of privileged backgrounds, Tom thinks of pregnancy as something that only happens if the woman wills it. He is sickened and outraged that Merope has gotten pregnant--to trap him, he’s sure--and he chews her out for this.

Merope, though, was painfully isolated while growing up. She knew only her father and brother. Her father warned her repeatedly not to let a Muggle touch her...but he didn’t provide any clarifying details. She had no mother, no sisters, no female friends. She had no education to speak of. Porn was not conveniently available. And she could not read.

So, faced with Tom’s rage, Merope is at sea, for nothing he says is making sense. She doesn’t know how menstruation, conception and pregnancy work. The world hasn’t bothered to tell her.

Also...partying would have eaten into Tom’s money anyway, but the general strike and its disruption of transportation has made goods like food much more expensive. Though Tom doesn’t want to admit it, his funds are running frighteningly low. He needs the good will of his parents to acquire more cash, and quickly He also needs to square matters with the rich, upper-class, utterly suitable young woman he’s actually going to marry while assuring her that the Merope situation is no fault of his.

Arguments begin breaking out daily, then hourly. Tom starts them, taunting Merope’s wall-eyes and ignorance. She despairs when she hears this--after all, mockery and derision are all she’d ever heard from her father and brother. She loves Tom desperately, but he doesn’t love her.

She doesn’t yell, because she’s been trained since childhood not to. Instead, she begs him frantically, frenziedly not to leave her, because he's the one who knows how to handle this incomprehensible city. But her panic repels Tom, who sees it as clingy manipulation. It’s only London, after all. There’s nothing to fear.

So one day he returns home--without telling Merope. She's escorted out of the hotel room shortly after that. He didn’t stiff her with the bill, but not out of kindness. He simply doesn’t want anything, even a bill, tying him to her.

Merope is now alone and adrift in London. No money. No marketable skills. No transportation beyond her own feet--she has no way of paying for buses or cabs, and she may not even know the Underground exists. And no home. It’s August, maybe September of 1926. A rainy August, a mild September. She’s five or six months along. And winter is coming.

It comes in October, with freezing cold for most of the month and a snowstorm on the 28th.

She’s been living rough for a month or two. The clothes she’d worn earlier that year aren’t warm enough for October, and the cold has begun to gnaw at her bones. She's starving, too, and by now she knows that countless Muggles, all more qualified for any job than she is, are also out of work, thanks to May’s general strike.

She doesn’t ask anyone else for help. She should, but Tom was the only Muggle she ever really knew--and he betrayed her. She can’t bring herself to trust another.

And oh, she doesn’t dare go home. Even if she knew where it was and how to get there, her father would beat her to death for polluting the pure line of Gaunt with a Muggle’s get. And her brother Morfin would join in. Happily.

She begs--for food, mostly, though sometimes people give her money. Sometimes, too, they give her advice--to go to a church or a shelter or some government office. Merope nods and smiles and ignores the advice. She’s not going to trust the Muggle government after this past May, and she won’t shelter with dozens of Muggles. That would be suicide.

November 1926 is one of the wettest on record in the UK. Merope falls ill halfway through the month. She’s starting to have trouble breathing, and she’s tired and achy all the time.

December is filled with bitter, Arctic chill.

Merope has little strength left. She’s not getting enough air, somehow, and she’s constantly shaking with heat or cold, she doesn’t know which. Her vision is blurry, and even when she can obtain food, it’s hard to keep it down.

You’re dying, a voice says deep inside, and she knows the voice is right.

One day, she spots a building with lots of people caring for babies and children. She asks meekly, and someone--whoever tossed her a sixpence? another beggar?--tells her it’s an orphanage. Merope doesn’t know what that is, but she knows her baby would be better off inside the building than outside it.

December 31, 1926 is a mild, sunny day. Merope thinks of it as a good omen...until the pains start.

Merope doesn’t know anything about childbirth; she simply feels as if she’s being ripped apart from the inside out. She screams, not even caring if the Muggles hear.

Somehow, somehow, she manages to limp and crawl to the orphanage. She knocks on the door, which is the bravest thing she’s ever done. But her baby can’t survive a winter on the street. Maybe the Muggles will take care of him if they don’t know his mother was a witch.

She doesn’t even notice that she’s thinking of herself in the past tense.

A woman named Mrs. Cole answers the door and bustles her into a spare bedroom. It’s still unbearably cold, so cold that Merope thinks that her bones will shatter from shaking so hard, but there’s light and color and oh, it reminds her of the hotel room before everything went wrong. And Mrs. Cole is speaking to her in a kind, soothing tone and letting Merope grip her arms when the pains are bad. For the first time since Tom, Merope feels valued. Safe.

Her son is born at a minute to midnight, a scrawny scrap of humanity. Small wonder. Merope’s had little enough to eat for months. He has good strong lungs, though, which pleases her in a dim way. The world seems to be fading away, but that’s all right. She just wants to sleep.

She hears Mrs. Cole asking her something. Not her name--she told Mrs. Cole that before. Oh! The baby’s name.

There’s only one name she could give him--the one Muggle name that means anything to her.

“Tom,” she murmurs. “Tom...Riddle...Jun--”

And a soothing darkness claims her.

#mrardin85 #ficlet #merope gaunt #merope/tom sr #harry potter #complete disaster

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kelyon · 3 years

Text

Golden Rings 16: A Confession

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

In which Rumple leaves the jail, but is not free

Read on AO3

He waits in the darkness. In this prison, his magic is useless and there is nothing to do but wait. Has he been here for weeks or for months? When his wife fretted over his future, did she worry about him being so bored?

His cell is at the end of a long tunnel. The only torches are at the mouth of the corridor, where the guards are stationed. His captors are quiet tonight, but sometimes he hears them talking to each other. They tell tales of him, warning each other against his power, his evil, his devious tricks. They speak as though they are in danger just by being in his presence.

They are not wrong.

If he wanted to, he could kill them with his bare hands. He wouldn’t need magic or a weapon. His own strength and viciousness would be enough to rip through their armor and tear out their throats with his teeth.

It is fortunate for the guards that he has no intention of harming them, or of escaping. He is exactly where he wants to be. This cell is insulated from magic, it is both a prison and a fortress. If there is any place in this world where the effects of the Queen’s curse might be mitigated, even a little, it is here. In this black hell, that faint spark of hope shines like the sun.

Movement.

At the end of the tunnel, lights grow brighter. Another torch has been added to their number. Footsteps echo in the stone cave. Alerted, he sits up. He pounces away from the wall. He crouches on the dank ground like an animal, claws raised, teeth bared.

“Come closer, dearie.” His words are sweet as treacle, but he laces them with poison. “How kind of you to visit me in my loneliness!”

There is a gasp at the end of the hallway, half-stifled. The visitor is afraid, but is trying not to show it. The footsteps hurry forward, soft and quick. The torchlight grows brighter as it comes closer.

It is a hooded figure, he cannot see its face. The body is small, and the cloak is patterned with green and yellow leaves.

He knows that cloak. He made it himself.

He cannot get his hopes up. He is imprisoned in the stronghold of his enemies. No illusion is beyond the grasp of the Evil Queen or the Blue Fairy. Either one of them could be trying to deceive him. Trying to exploit his weakness for their own gain.

Or madness could be taking over his mind. His own hope could be twisting around on itself, creating a vision of what he wants. The one thing he wants to see more than anything else in the world.

“Come closer, I said!” His voice is rough with disuse, with emotion. In this pit of despair, he does not dare hope. He doesn’t want to believe that it could be…

“You cannot order me about, Rumpelstiltskin. Not anymore.” The voice is clear and beautiful, like clean water in the middle of a drought. The light stops moving when it fills his vision. The figure sets a torch in a sconce. Finally, he can see her. Her face. Her furrowed brow, her shaky smile. “You must at least say please.”

“Please,” he breathes.

It is a short fall, to go from crouching to kneeling, but being near Belle again requires nothing less. He must get on his knees to her--his wife, his love, his dearest wish.

Trembling, he reaches through the pointed bars of his cell. Without hesitation, her hand clutches around his. She is on her knees as well. Her flesh is warm and soft.

“You’re real.” This is no trick. He knows it as surely as he knows anything. “You’re alive.”

She bites her lip as she looks at him. He must be filthy, haggard, even more hideous than usual. But she is not repulsed. Only full of pity.

“What have they done to you?” she whispers.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve.” He cannot think of his own troubles, not while she is in front of him. “How did you come to be here, my darling?”

“The guard tonight is a dwarf called Sleepy.” She puts on a brave face, tries to make a joke. “He lives up to his name.”

He cannot tear his eyes from her. “And you have made yourself at home in this castle?”

She nods. “Our plan worked. The Prince ‘rescued’ me. And the side of goodness proclaimed me as one of their own.”

“You are,” he sighs. He has never seen a sight more beautiful than the woman who loves him. “You are goodness, my love. The royals should count themselves lucky that they get to be on your side, let alone that you want to be on theirs.”

Her hand clenches around his. “I’m on your side,” she promises. “We are working together, even when we are apart.”

“Yes.” He holds her hand in both of his and brings it to his lips. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“And I miss you.”

She reaches into his cage. She grasps at his clothes, pulling him closer. Their mouths meet between the iron bars. Her kiss is honey and sunshine and the breath of life. It is meat and blood and peace. He cannot get enough of her. He will never have enough of her. Not until they are truly together, when all the curses are broken and they can live the rest of their lives without fear.

They break apart at the same time, both of them gasping for breath.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers. “If they find you with me, they will lock you up as well. They will think you are evil. They will try to purify you with scourges and flaying.”

“I know,” she agrees. “But I couldn’t stay away. If only I could be with you always. I would stay with you, even in this terrible place.”

“I know.” He rests his forehead against hers. They breathe together, an act of unity just as important as a kiss.

After a moment, he steps back. There is space between their bodies now, though their hands still touch against the bars. He rubs his thumb over the smooth gold of her wedding ring.

“How are they, up in the outside world?”

“Everyone is panicking over Regina’s curse. They’re trying to stop it, but they don’t know how.”

“If only they had the most powerful user of dark magic in the world trapped somewhere nearby with nothing to do but offer advice to anyone who asks.”

Belle’s pink lips quirk into a half-grin. “Perhaps they need a reminder of that fact.”

“And how is Snow White bearing her firstborn?”

“I haven’t spoken to her much. But I’ve heard that she is often brought low with melancholy. The Prince insists that there is a way to fight the curse, but she is losing hope.”

“Is she desperate?”

“She will be.”

“Good.”

The Dark One trades in desperation. Much of his power comes from fear--not only the fear that people have of him, but of the things they fear so much that they are willing to pay him whatever he asks for.

“The child,” he whispers. “Have they given it a name yet?”

Belle shakes her head. “In this land a prince or princess is not named until after it is born. There is a grand ceremony when the name is spoken for the first time and proclaimed to the whole kingdom.”

“We won’t have time for that,” he snarls. “The curse is coming! The name of the Savior has power. I must know what it is!”

“You will.” She soothes him. She presses her palm against his own. Their scars match up, at the place where they mingled their blood on their wedding day. “I believe in you. We will find a way.”

His breathing slows as her nearness cools his rage. “Together,” he agrees.

His wife looks over her shoulder. “They will change the guard soon.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.”

“You shouldn’t come back.” He forces the words out. “You shouldn’t be here now.”

“Well you can take me over your knee when we see each other again.”

He snorts his surprise and amusement. She is too good, too perfect.

She looks over her shoulder again. “Before I go,” she says, “I have something to ask of you.”

“Anything, my love. Though I have little to give as I am now.”

“It is something from your mind. Something to occupy your thoughts until we meet again.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to think of a name for our baby.”

His eyes widen. He blinks, several times.

“Something you want to tell me, sweetheart?”

She smiles. “No, my love. Only that there is a future for us. Snow White is not the only person who can have an important child. We will be together again. And when we are, we will be a family. All of us.”

He nods. Already his mind is racing with every name he can think of. Names have power. The name of Belle’s child must be perfect. Meaningful. The enormity of the task is enough to fell him. What a brilliant woman his wife is! What a wonderful gift she has given him!

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for reminding me that all of this is temporary.”

Her face breaks, but she keeps herself from weeping. “I love you so much, Rumple.”

She presses in to kiss him again. It lasts for an eternity. It is over too soon.

Before she leaves, she offers him one last assurance: “I will see you again.”

****

Rumpelstiltskin spent the better part of a day in the jail cell of the Storybrooke sheriff station. Apparently Sheriff Swan was the only officer with the authority to release detainees, and her presence was required outside the station until later in the afternoon.

She sent her heartfelt regrets.

He didn’t mind much. The Dark One had learned long ago that there was power in appearing to be at the mercy of his enemies. Captivity in particular had its advantages. No distractions, for one thing. There was nothing he could do now except think, and plan.

Another advantage was that people would have to come to him. Someone had taken the cup that had belonged to Belle. Someone knew what that cup was, and what it meant to him. Someone had tried to draw him out. And someone would be thinking that their scheme had worked.

So someone would be stopping by to gloat.

There was no doubt that the culprit knew what had happened by now. Even if Mrs. Gold’s drunken outburst hadn’t drawn a crowd, news spread fast in a small town. Enough people had heard her shout at him in Granny’s. And enough people had seen Emma helping Mrs. Gold walk to the station. And by mid-morning enough people had noticed him in the holding cell.

For a few hours, Rumpelstiltskin entertained himself by imagining how wild and salacious the rumors could get. Any fool would know that Gold and his wife had participated in a public shouting match, but what else could they think of? That he had used violence? That Mrs. Gold had fought back using her high heeled shoes as a weapon? That her father had rushed in to defend her and Gold had beaten him bloody with his cane? Gold’s reputation was as the most feared man in Storybrooke. Nothing was too outrageous to believe.

That reputation had saved Rumpelstiltskin a lot of trouble in his dealings with the people of Storybrooke. Even now, at the piddling mercy of uniformed police officers, a glare and a sneer were enough to keep them away from him. Every one of them paid rent to him, or owed him something, and they were all keenly aware of it. He was in a cage, but they were the ones who were terrified.

So they made themselves scarce. The station was practically empty by the time Emma waltzed in with a bag from Granny’s. Walking along the central office area, she pulled wrapped sandwiches out of the paper bag and set them on all the desks. Presumably, she knew her workers well enough to know what each would want for lunch. And she cared enough to get it for them, an act that would certainly endear herself to her subordinates.

Emma pulled out the last sandwich from the bag and held it out as she walked over to the cell. “I figured you for a pastrami guy.”

Rumpelstiltskin let himself reach out and take the food. He held the oil-soaked paper bundle in both hands and didn’t open it. “Corned beef, actually.”

“I’ll remember that for next time you’re in here.” It was a joke, but it was also a threat. Emma leaned against one of the desks in front of the cell, facing him with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I believe you mean the first time I actually commit a crime,” he countered. Getting her to put him in jail had been nothing but a bit of theater, a convenient way to keep Mrs. Gold from the same fate. They both knew he wasn’t being charged.

“The next time I catch you trying to get a drunk woman to go home with you against her will.”

“Ah, well.” He shrugged, playing his part. “Given Mrs. Gold’s impulse control, I can’t make many promises on that topic.”

“If you’re trying to convince me that any part of this is her fault, that is not going to happen.”

He let her have that one without further argument. Emma Swan was smarter than most people in this town. She had the rare gift of First Sight--the ability to see things as they really were, and not how everyone knew they were supposed to be. Outside Storybrooke, it had probably been an advantageous skill. But here, in a place where reality itself was subject to the most powerful curse ever made, she was wrong even when she was right.

Nothing Mrs. Gold’s life was her fault, that was true. But it wasn’t Rumpelstiltskin’s fault either. Gold had preyed upon a young woman. Regina had cursed them all. Emma was the only one who could fix everything, but not in the way she thought. Not in any way even someone as smart as her could imagine.

He held up the sandwich. “Thanks for picking up lunch,” he said. “Do my tax dollars include dessert?”

Emma stood up straight, arms swinging with deliberate casualness. “You sit tight, Gold. I’ve gotta go find some paperwork before I can release you.”

She went out into the hallway, and Rumpelstiltskin knew he was in for at least another two hours of incarceration.

It didn’t matter. Emma thought she was punishing Gold, but really she was keeping Rumpelstiltskin free for a little while longer.

He didn’t want to face Mrs. Gold. Interacting with her was torturous under regular circumstances. After last night--and the night before that, and the day in between--living with her would be nearly impossible.

It had finally broken apart. The facade of a marriage that he had spent five months hiding behind had cracked and shattered. She had heard him call out to Belle. She accused him of infidelity. Even Mrs. Gold’s unwavering obedience to her husband had finally bent under the strain of Rumpelstiltskin’s neglect.

Part of him was relieved. It was one thing to wear a mask in front of his enemies, but it was something altogether different to constantly deflect the attentions of a woman who only ever wanted to please him. She lived in his house, she was with him all the time. Until last night, they had slept in the same bed. It had worn on him, to have Belle’s body so near, so willing--and have to reject her again and again. Perhaps now Mrs. Gold would get it into her head to reject him.

Would she leave him?

Long ago in their cursed life, Mrs. Gold had burned bridges with everyone she had known before her marriage. She had no support structure, no money of her own. Her job skills would be enough to get her part-time work at minimum wage--if anyone wanted to hire her. The woman’s reputation around town would scare away most respectable employers. Without Gold, she would have to go begging back to her already impoverished family. Or she could try to ingratiate herself with some other wealthy man in Storybrooke. Gold had often insulted his wife by calling her a whore, but what other option had he given her?

If nothing else, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t allow that to happen. He wouldn’t let Mrs. Gold make any more reckless decisions with Belle’s body. Though the illusion of the marriage had dissolved, he would have to maintain control over Mrs. Gold somehow.

Probably through money, or comfort. At her core, Mrs. Gold was a practical woman. She knew that her relationship with Gold was a simple deal. If Rumpelstiltskin altered the deal, perhaps she wouldn’t make a fuss.

An image from the night before floated through Rumpelstiltskin’s memory: Mrs. Gold, drunk and heartbroken, fighting against Emma in her need to lash out at him. “You’re supposed to love me, you bastard!”

Where had she gotten that idea? Gold had never allowed his wife to entertain notions of love between them. How could the way Rumpelstiltskin had been treating her possibly lead her to that conclusion? Mrs. Gold had said she loved him, when he had been dreaming of Belle. Had she been dreaming as well?

Had Mrs. Gold been dreaming of her husband? Or had Belle been dreaming of Rumpelstiltskin? What was happening to the curse?

Emma came back with a manila file folder in her hand. She strode purposefully through the station, perfectly comfortable wielding her authority. She was truly the combination of her parents--a born princess and a seasoned war leader. She was the Savior, the curse-breaker. All he had to do was hold on until she started saving everyone.

There was a clear line of sight between the Sheriff’s office and the holding cell. Rumpelstiltskin watched as Emma put the folder she had just brought in at the bottom of a stack of similar files. He took that to be all the paperwork she would have to get through before she would deign to release him.

****

After twenty minutes of industrious silence, the sound of running feet broke through the hallway outside. To Rumpelstiltskin’s ear, the running sounded happy, excited, young. A child with boundless energy, finally free to burst toward something they want.

Following the running was the methodical click of high heeled shoes. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin thought that Mrs. Gold had come to the station. But no, these footsteps were more authoritative, businesslike.

He wasn’t surprised at all to see Henry Mills come bounding in to the station and make a beeline for Emma’s office. And of course Regina would be slinking right behind him.

“Sheriff Swan, I’m going to permit you half an hour with my son.” Regina announced this piddling allowance of time like it was a gift. “Take him out for ice cream.”

Rumpelstiltskin watched Emma’s eyes flit from Regina, to Henry, to the empty station, to himself, and then back to Regina. “You’re expecting me to leave you alone with a prisoner?”

Regina lifted her chin and looked straight ahead at the cell. “Twenty-nine minutes.”

This time, Emma’s look went only from Henry to Rumpelstiltskin. “Are you okay with this?”

He shrugged. “Bring me back a cone?”

Emma nodded to him, then spoke to Regina. “We will be right back.”

“Yes, you’ll have to be,” the Queen said smoothly. She stood still as Emma and Henry bustled around her, jabbering excitedly as they left. It really was remarkable how much both mother and son lit up when they were together.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t move. He stayed seated on the cell bench and let Regina come to him. She perched on the arm of the sofa in front of the holding cell. She had a large, black leather purse slung over one shoulder.

“Madame Mayor,” he said in tones low with menace. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Mr. Gold, I think we might be able to help each other.”

The audacity of this woman. Under any other circumstance, she would have nothing to offer him. And yet…

“When two people each have something the other wants, a deal can always be struck.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I hoped you’d see it that way.”

“But do you have something I want?”

Instead of answering, Regina crossed her legs and pushed back the blazer of her smart business suit. “You know, all day I’ve been hearing the most terrible rumors about you and Mrs. Gold. I do hope everything is alright between you two.”

“My wife,” he said slowly, “has not been herself lately.”

“Or is it you who haven’t been yourself, Mr. Gold?”

He looked at her, impassive. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do.” The Queen took her purse off her shoulder and set it on her knees.

Rumpelstiltskin tried not to stare at the bag. He looked instead at Regina’s face. “Why are you here?”

“Like I said, to help you. And to receive some help in return.”

“What do you have to offer me, dearie?”

“Not much,” she smirked. Without looking down, Regina reached into her purse and pulled it out. The chipped cup. “Just a… sentimental little keepsake.”

It took all of Rumpelstiltskin’s resolve not to leap to his feet and demand the cup. He wanted to break these steel bars and rip the cup from Regina’s hands--and rip her hands from her arms if she wouldn’t surrender it. That was Belle’s cup. This witch had no right to touch it!

Instead, he stayed still. All his energy, all his rage, focused on the cup. He focused on Regina, who dangled it by the handle.

“How?” he rasped. How had she known about the cup? How had he let his cover slip? How had she broken into Gold’s house?

“Flimsy locks,” she quipped. Then the Queen turned more serious. “I have power in this world, more power than you know.”

“But not enough,” he hissed. “You will never have enough power to beat me.”

She shook her head. A faint chuckle entered her voice. “I already have. I know what your weakness is.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed and made himself shrug. “It’s just a cup.”

“But you want it,” Regina purred. “And you’ll give me what I want in order to get it back.”

“What is it that you want, dearie?”

“I want you to answer one question. And answer it simply.” She squared her shoulders before she asked: “What is your name?”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t hesitate. “It’s Mr. Gold.”

The Queen glowered at him. “Your real name.”

“Every moment I’ve spent in this world, that has been my name.”

Regina leaned forward, closer to the bars. “What about moments spent elsewhere?”

He locked his eyes on hers. “What are you asking me?”

“I think you know.” Clearly her patience was running thin. “Tell me your name.”

And with a sly grin, he confessed: “Rumpelstiltskin.”

The deal done, he took the cup from Regina’s unresisting hands and cradled it in his own. He looked it over, making sure there was only one chip. Belle’s cup. Their cup. It was safe.

When he looked at Regina, she was fairly glowing with triumph.

“What gave me away?”

“Belle did,” Regina said smugly. “I’ve been watching Mr. and Mrs. Gold for, well, a very long time now. I could see that something was wrong with her. But you seemed perfectly normal. Suspiciously normal.”

His own caution--his own commitment to playing the role of Gold--that was what had exposed him. Still holding the cup in both hands, Rumpelstiltskin sat back against the wall. “So,” he said, “as long as we’re being honest with each other, let’s remember how things used to be.”

“We used to work together,” Regina said, incorrectly. “You used to help me without so much… hostility.”

“That was before you ever came after what was mine, Your Majesty.” He shook his head and tutted. “You really should be more careful about who you make your enemy.”

“You mean my victim,” she sneered.

“And how much longer do you think that will last? Haven’t you noticed the curse getting weaker?”

“But I am just as strong as ever!” The Queen rose to her feet. She looked down on him with regal disdain. “You’re the one who’s letting your biggest weakness galavant all over town!”

Clutching the bars of the cell, Rumpelstiltskin pulled himself up to stand “For your sake, I hope that isn’t a threat.”

“Of course not.” Regina closed her purse and began to leave. “I’ve barely spoken to Mrs. Gold. I’m certainly not the one who brought her so much pain she got drunk in public and started crying in the street.”

With a satisfied smirk, Regina turned on her heel and left.

****

Darkness had fallen by the time Emma officially let him out. Winter nights came early in Maine. If the sheriff noticed the teacup in his hands, she didn’t mention it.

His first thought was to walk back to Granny’s where he had parked Gold’s car the night before. But then he remembered that he had given the keys to Mrs. Gold so she could take herself home. So he would have to walk to the house.

He only hoped that she would still be there when he arrived.

The house was dark and the door was unlocked. Gold’s heavy ring of keys hung in plain sight on the first hook by the door. Rumpelstiltskin took the keys and put them in his pocket. Flimsy locks, Regina had said. She had broken into his house and stolen one of the things he valued most in the world--and he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. The cup could have been missing for days before he went into Gold’s study and saw that it wasn’t where he’d left it.

Would she attack his home again? Should he arrange to put double bolts on all the doors? Or was she just trying to toy with him? This was a world the Queen had made. It shouldn’t surprise him that she had her own ways to take anything she wanted from anyone.

Noise came from one of the inner rooms. It took Rumpelstiltskin a moment to recognize the sound of the television in the living room. Gold had never cared much for the “idiot box,” so it had been an easy device for Rumpelstiltskin to ignore.

He went toward the noise, turning on lights as he went through the house. In the living room off the kitchen, the only light came from the flashing bluish glare of the television. Mrs. Gold was sitting on the couch, curled in on herself under a blanket. She was staring vacantly at the screen, letting the sounds and images wash over her.

Was it just the blue light, or was she paler than normal? The shadows of this dark room brought out the hollows in her cheeks and under her eyes. He could see the sheen of tear tracks on her skin. Unwashed hair hung limply around her face. Her lower lip was dark and swollen from where she had been biting it.

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t move or speak. Mrs. Gold hadn’t noticed his arrival. Briefly, he wondered if she was drunk again. If she was trying to deaden the pain of her existence by deadening every other sense. But no, there were no bottles anywhere nearby. Mrs. Gold’s pain by itself was enough to deaden her senses.

He turned on a lamp and let a soft golden glow invade the harsh blue. Mrs. Gold jumped out of her daze. Unlike other times when Rumpelstiltskin had surprised Mrs. Gold, she didn’t hop to attention like a trained animal. She didn’t stand up and present her body for his approval, she didn’t kneel before him like a slave. Instead, Mrs. Gold sank back into the corner of the couch. She wrapped the blanket tightly around herself. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him in silence.

She was afraid.

When she had looked at him like this before, Mrs. Gold had been afraid of what she knew was coming. She knew how cruel her husband was, what the consequences were of displeasing him. But now it seemed she was afraid of the unknown. She had said it herself: All that matters is that I don’t know who you are. Whether she knew it or not, Mrs. Gold was afraid of Rumpelstiltskin.

“Hi,” he said softly. He tried not to alarm her any further.

“Hi,” she answered, still staring at him. She didn’t let her guard down. She muted the television and turned to face him.

“I… I didn’t know if you would still be here.”

Mrs. Gold shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” She broke their eye contact and looked down. “I didn’t know if yo u would let me come back if I left.”

Rumpelstiltskin clenched his fist around his cane. Was her uncertainty a reflection of Gold, or of himself? Gold had done so much to hurt his wife, but Rumpelstiltskin was the one who had hurt her most recently. He was the one who had made her like this.

“Mrs. Gold,” he said. “Please, I know things are… confusing right now. But please know that this is always your home, and I will always provide for you.”

“Why?” The word was a whisper in a silent house, but it carried all the weight of the world. “You’re not fucking me. You don’t even like me. Why do you bother with me?”

The chipped cup was still in his hand. He set it down on an end table and moved to sit in one of the high-backed chairs across from the couch. Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, his arms on his knees as he spoke to Mrs. Gold.

“Because I have a duty to you,” he answered. “I have a responsibility to care for you.”

She snorted and shook her head.

“To take care of you,” Rumpelstiltskin amended. “I owe you that much, Mrs. Gold. It is the absolute least I can do.”

“How nice of you.” Her voice shook with bitterness. “How super fucking charitable! How long will that last, do you think? How long until you get tired of doing the least you can do?”

Mrs. Gold’s hands twisted in the blanket. Her face screwed up into the picture of unspoken agony. She let her hair hang over her face and took a few ragged, sobbing breaths.

He wanted to go to her. He wanted to comfort her. Belle or not, she was a woman in pain and he knew that he could soothe her. That was the least he could do.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He stayed in the chair, shoulders slumped, and waited for her to calm herself.

“Mrs. Gold,” he tried, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you married.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Is that it?” On the couch, Mrs. Gold was shaking. “Are we… Is it over? Us? Our marriage?”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin spoke before he could think. “No, I want you with me, dear. I don’t… I don’t want us to be separated.”

“But you don’t want us to be together.” She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. “Not like we were before.”

“I know it’s complicated,” he said. “I wish I could tell you more. Truly I do. But right now let’s just say that I have enemies and you are better off under my protection. All I’m asking is for you to trust me.”

She let out a shaking breath that could have been a laugh or a sob. “Does Belle trust you?”

It was a strange thing to hear Mrs. Gold say. Belle’s voice, saying her own name with so much suspicion and loathing.

“Yes,” he answered. “Belle trusts me with her life, though I’m not always worthy of it.”

For a long time, Mrs. Gold didn’t say anything. She shook her head, rocking slightly on the couch as tears streamed silently down her face.

And Rumpelstiltskin sat there. Doing nothing.

When Mrs. Gold was able to speak, she asked him: “Why aren’t you with her now?”

“With Belle?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I mean, you’re still a man who can get whatever he wants. If she’s so important to you, why aren’t the two of you together?”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, trying to think of something plausible to say. “We want to be,” he started. “But, well, Belle is very far away from me right now.”

“What, does she live in fucking Australia or something? Or is she married too?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in a tone he knew would make Mrs. Gold drop the topic. “What matters is that I have a responsibility to you, and I’m not going to shirk that just because I’m in love with someone else.”

Mrs. Gold winced, but then it turned into a grim smile. “Never thought I’d hear you say that you loved anyone, Mr. Gold. That’s why I never took it personally that you didn’t love me.” Abruptly, she stood up. “I’ll move my clothes over to the guest bedroom.”

“You can have the master--”

“No,” she cut him off. She seemed to have run out of emotions, and was now running on brutal practicality. “You need the bathroom in the master suite because of your leg. I won’t have as hard a time with the tub in the hall bathroom.”

“That’s… very thoughtful of you.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think.” She sighed and turned off the muted television. Now her half of the room was in darkness. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the worst deal you could have offered me.”

“What deal?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. He had been trying to be honest with her. He wasn’t aware that they had been negotiating.

“A loveless marriage for a life of comfort.” She kept herself busy by folding her blanket and putting it away in a cedar chest. She didn’t look at him. “It is mostly the same as what we had before.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her as she walked out of the living room.

“Good night, Mr. Gold,” she said formally. “I’m glad you found your teacup.”

By the time he gathered himself enough to speak, she was already upstairs. A door slammed, and Rumpelstiltskin hung his head.

So this was the future he was going to have with his wife.

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle angst

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years

Note

Claude, felix, ashe, and hubert for an s/o who's sick and collapses after a war meeting? Thanks!

[You’re speaking my language lol. It’s classic scenarios like these that I love even though they’re cliche. Hope you like what I came up with!]

Claude:

Being the top kahoona of an army is rough. You constantly have paperwork to do, people breathing down your neck, there’s never a day without some kind of issue, and anything involving your personal affairs is affected by your position

Claude knows this well. He knows that to achieve his dream there are personal sacrifices to be made: one of which is your relationship to him

It’s too risky. Generals cannot have their weak-points exploited, so -while selfish- he asked that your courtship only be knowledge of the inner circle. To everyone else you are simply close comrades

He was an idiot. There is always a snitch among ranks as large as his own. Always. He got too comfortable when the battle seemed almost concluded

Now you paid the price for his miscalculation, lying poisoned in Manuela’s clinic. He feared this from day one; that once his affections for you got out then you would become a target

All chefs in the monastery were taken in for interrogation hours within your collapse. He is the king of poison and they screwed with the w r o n g person

He had only looked away for one second to find you slouched against the war-room door. Thank god Marianne was still near, otherwise you may not have survived

Despite his worries he cannot wait at your bedside and it kills him

He orders your room to be guarded while he is gone. He doesn’t have to ask because there are ready volunteers among his friends willing to stay behind. You are well loved, and to see how far your presence has stretched makes his heart swell

He will defeat those who slither in the dark, he will snuff out who did this, and after it all he will make sure that you will not be in danger ever again

Being Queen of Almyra might put you at even more risk, but this time he will have liable reason to keep you at his side

Felix:

He has stated it before and will state it again: Felix is not your’s or anyone else’s babysitter. He has a habit of blocking out signs of trouble aside from when on the battlefield.He doesn’t care how strong you are, it is impossible to watch your own back

That doesn’t mean he won’t care if you reach out about your issues. Just don’t expect him to pick up on subtle cues because the guy is socially blind

Not anyone else though.Just you. If anyone different comes complaining then he will shove him off like the dandruff on his sleeve

So why didn’t you say anything? How the hell were you even fighting the other day with a fever that high?

“For just one day could try to not give me a heart attack”- He’d say once you awake. The guy is seriously off-put buy the lack of communication. Though he knows that he’s not any better

It isn’t fun to walk out from a meeting to see your s/o on the ground. You weren’t harmed thank the goddess but he would prefer not carrying unconscious bodies to a healer on his off day

Especially not yours. He tries his best to keep you safe on the field, does he have to worry about off it too now?

You don’t find out at first until Annette blabs out on accident, but he was beside himself until you awoke. They’ve seen him mourn death before, but it was to an entirely new level. A distressed Felix is a Felix to be feared

The whole angst package: a broken training dummy, harassing Manuela about your progress, unshaven/stubbly facial hair, extra snappy at everyone, and guarding the infirmary at night. One day Manuela told him to rest on the spare bed, but he claimed to be more at peace out in the hall

“It’s better than looking at (her/him/them)...they’re too still. It’s unsettling”-he’d admit, most likely more open to conversation from the lack of sleep

Ashe:

Being observant is part of his profession. He prides himself in noticing the small things; from the vibrations in the floor as people walk, to the shadows on the walls. There is a reason he fits the assassin class well even though the stigmas crash with his personality

Which is why he grows concerned when you don’t return to the meeting on time. The walk from the war-room to the bathroom was only a few minutes on average, and you were not the type of person to linger for long during work hours.

At first he may have been overthinking. It was a last-minute pre-fight rundown. He shouldn’t be watching the door when the professor is explaining battle tactics

But so long had passed that even the others began to notice your absence. Eventually his highness questioned where you had gone, and he decided to excuse himself to go check on you

He went to lightly push the door but it refused to budge. With another rougher shove it opened and he looked to see what it had caught on

“(Y/N)?! A-a healer! Quick!”- his shout alarmed those inside. As fast as possible you were hauled off to the infirmary

“How long has (he/she/they) been out here?” -someone asked, but it’s muffled by his own thoughts. Oh goddess, how long were you out there for? He should have said something sooner

After further inspection Manuela would find signs of a tranquilization spell. Nothing of major harm, but there was a traitor among the army troops. They must have planned to capture his s/o for interrogation, but miscalculated where they’d be when the spell would take effect

You’d be in worse shape had they not decided to gather one more time. He hates to think of it. He can’t or else he tears up

He asks to sit out the fight to stay by your side and is instantly pardoned. The entire time you’re knocked out he is there. He doesn’t sleep well without you next to him, so Manuela allows him to remain in the infirmary. Luckily the spell did not last long, otherwise some dark thoughts of “what if” would haunt him

Cries when you wake up.

“Please don’t scare me like that again; I don’t think I could handle it”

Hubert:

You were too quiet, almost annoyingly so. Normally you’d insistently chat his ear off about your day or he would find you mingling among the other members of the army. Being Lady Edelgard’s right hand did not allow him much time to spend at your side, but he observed often from wherever he may be

Come to think of it, he did not see you at all prior to the meeting.

How odd. You normally seek him out at least once a day

A familiar sense of weariness washed over him at the realization. What mess have you created for him to clean up this time?

The first time he hears you speak is near the end of the conference and it’s to ask for early dismissal

Once again, how odd. Her Highness grants your leave, but from the corner of his eye he notices her gesture to him as well.

Without further words he excuses himself to follow you. Your pace is slow and he trails behind at a safe distance

Until one of your knees buckle, then the other, and right before you hit the ground he moves to catch you. It’s no good, your eyes may be half-open but you’re completely delusional.

“Tsk...you’ve always been a troublesome one”

instead of taking you to a healer he goes to his private chambers. No one dare questions him

After thorough examination he decides you are in no immense danger. It seems you had a stress induced blackout. He would have to speak with her highness about lightening your workload

He’ll prepare a pitcher of water with some bread and place it at your bedside before leaving to discuss the issue. What you need now is rest and him waiting around for you is not an optimal use of time

He brings the rest of the day’s work from his study so that he can continue it while waiting for you to wake up

Prepare for a stern lecture on knowing your limits

“While watching you in a sleep-induced coma is so very entertaining, I would prefer a more productive pastime”

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athenril-of-kirkwall · 3 years

Note

"OC telling LI about their past" with a pairing of your choice for DWC? :D

Here you go, enjoy! Hopefully!

Solavellan, “Reminisces and Fables” (AO3)

Rivka stood over the map in the meeting room, with all its little counters and symbols, in particular the two which were lain over Redcliffe Castle, and the other on Therinfal Redoubt. As she looked from one to the other, deciding which course of action to take as concerned closing the Breach, she felt her fingertips stroke the long scar running down her temple, ending shortly above her right eyebrow.

So deeply engrossed in thought was she that she hadn’t heard Solas walk in, only noticing his presence when he spoke.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, “But you appear as though you might need some advice, or simply to talk about your impending decision.”

“Solas,” she said warmly, looking up to greet him, “I suppose I do. Incidentally, just how long have you been standing there, watching me stare at tokens?”

“Not very,” he answered, “Merely long enough to note your tic.”

“My tic?”, Rivka asked.

“Merely that whenever you are deep in thought, you touch your right temple, and when the problem is of a specific nature, you run your finger along it,” he explained.

Rivka crossed her arms, asking, “Interesting. How often do you look at my right temple and my fingertips, Solas?”

Some colour rising in his cheeks, he defended himself, saying, “Only…often enough to notice that it is a habit of yours. May I venture a guess, seeing as that is hardly a fresh one ascribable to your encounter with the Breach, or our exploits since then?”

“You hardly need to, Solas,” Rivka said. “I must’ve forgotten who I told it to before, but I simply fell on a riverbank whilst gathering herbs one day—”

Solas shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “A just-so story, and one that pins no responsibility onto anybody except your own childish clumsiness. If you’d allow me to give my opinion…”

Her eyes flashing with anger, Rivka turned to fully face Solas and closed the distance with him, spitting, “I beg your pardon?”

“Its origin is one of your most formative memories, Rivka,” he explained, “Which guides your thoughts so strongly that I could not help but catch glimpses in your restless sleep those few days after your recovery from the initial attempt to close the Breach.”

“You dare—”

“I did not wish to pry, but I could not simply stand here and accept the sanitised version of your story,” Solas said, standing firm. “I can guess from how you touch your temple whenever Ser Rutherford enters your vision or when you consider even the possibility of going to Therinfal Redoubt, or you might wish to save some time by clarifying its meaning.”

Her heart still thundering with rage, Rivka collected herself with several deep breaths, before saying, “Fine. It seems to me that keeping secrets from you is a pointless exercise. Just know that this anecdote has never travelled beyond my clan before.”

“I understand, and I apologise for asking you this so forcefully. I merely thought that vocalising your thoughts might help you resolve your current dilemma.”

Sighing, Rivka sat back on the table. “I don’t know, maybe you’re right. Where to begin…? Well, I think I’ve mentioned before how as a First-in-training I was basically tending to the children, right?”

“Yes, hence your skill at telling the old fables.”

“Yeah, that,” Rivka said. “Once, about five years ago, I was trying to keep them occupied whilst the clan was out hunting when Templars from a nearby city came on a raid, hunting apostates or maleficars or whatever the shems call mages they don’t like. I told the children to run for the hills whilst I occupied one of them. He didn’t like that at all, and tried to kill me, spitting every curse he knew as he tried to carve me in two.”

Solas cast his eyes to the ground, saying, “Forgive me. I sensed the fear and pain in your memories of that scar, but hardly knew…”

Rivka shook her head. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago, and I suppose I’m glad I can finally tell someone here about it before getting corrected on how they must have been exceptions, or particularly ignorant, or whatever. I was still very raw as a mage back then, and could only put up a barrier a couple of times before he got in range, and we tumbled over the edge of a riverbank—that much is true about the version I tell people—and that’s when I struck my head against a rock.”

“I’m so sorry,” Solas muttered.

“It’s not as though you were him, Solas,” she said, continuing, “When I came to, I was being forced underwater, with my face up, thankfully. He was trying to drown me, probably while he was searching for his sword to finish the deed, but that didn’t last long at all—thank the Creators. The hunters from my clan had returned, and one of them got an arrow through his neck, and another one killed him. As that Templar fell down and I got my breath back, his helmet came off and I saw his face.”

“Oh?”, he asked, wondering what that detail’s significance was.

Rivka choked, holding back tears, before finishing, “He couldn’t have been a few years older than I was. He was barely a man, and whatever Circle he reported to had turned him into a zealous mage-killer—I don’t think they taught him the epithets, but at least most of the people spewing them aren’t killers. I want to tell that story to everyone I meet who thinks that the Templars can go back to doing good. It’s not even as though I harbour any resentment for Cullen in particular, I just hear it the most from him.”

Sighing empathetically, Solas stepped closer to her, saying, “You can imagine with the life I’ve eked out for myself that close encounters with Templars are no stranger to me either, although my experiences are perhaps not as vivid or perilous as yours.”

Looking up at him as she wiped her eyes dry, Rivka said, “Thank you. You were right, Solas. It did feel good to get that off my chest.”

“And you are truly remarkable,” he said in return.

“What do you mean?”

Stroking the underside of his lip, he said, “The man was trying to murder you, and to this day you still feel sorry for his life…and his death. That takes a compassion scarce few people in this world have.”

“I think you give me too much credit,” she said. “It just seemed like such a waste. In another world he could have been here, at Haven…or maybe one of the hundreds we’ve killed in the Hinterlands…or in Therinfal right now. I don’t want to imagine, sometimes.”

“At any rate, this goes a long way in explaining your reluctance,” Solas said.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Rivka said, “Am I allowing my own personal experience to colour my judgement like this? Maybe Cullen’s got a point, but maybe he doesn’t.”

Thinking hard, Solas said, “Perhaps I might be able to help you there a little, with a story of my own.”

Perking up, Rivka asked, “Oh? What would that be?”

“Well, a parable told of Fen’Harel at any rate,” he said, smirking, “Who seems to be fast becoming your favourite stock villain.”

“I didn’t know you paid those fables much heed,” Rivka said, her curiosity piqued.

“They serve their purpose,” Solas said, “As do all stories, in their own way. Forgive me if my retelling isn’t quite as entertaining as yours are.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said with a smile.

“Very well,” he began,

“The Dread Wolf had been feasting well upon a flock of august rams, but to his regret, he swallowed one’s remains rather too quickly and a small bone became caught in his throat. He was in pain and discomfort, being unable to eat or drink, and went from animal to animal to help his suffering, but they simply laughed and left him to his plight.

“Finally there was a heron by a riverbank, who asked him to promise her a reward should she help him, and he readily agreed, his pain being so onerous that he would do anything to alleviate it. She used her long beak and reached down his throat to fish the offending bone out, and having completed her task, turned to Fen’Harel and asked for her reward.

“Fen’Harel said to her, grinning with his teeth bared from ear to ear, ‘Your reward? Is it not enough reward that you have had your head between the jaws of the Dread Wolf and lived to tell the tale?’”

Rivka’s brows pinched towards each other, as she said, “I think I’ve heard that one before. Is it not the moral of the story that the heron’s being greedy for what should ultimately be an act of charity?”

Solas clasped his hands, leaning by his side on the table. “That certainly is a valid interpretation. But consider this other one: The powerful have no reason to reward the weak for their help with such inconveniences, terrible as they may be, once it is lifted and their power is restored.”

Casting her gaze at the marker which lay atop the Templar stronghold on the map, she asked, “Are you likening the Templars to the Dread Wolf then?”

“Hardly,” Solas said casually. “Merely that there is no guarantee that there will not be another Templar like your assailant, nor an elf like you at his mercy, ten or even twenty years down the road, regardless of what course of action you choose.”

“Is your opinion of them that low?”, she asked.

“Low?”, he retorted. “I think that’s positively optimistic. It appears, however, that by dint of your mark that the decision falls to you and who can help seal the Breach more effectively…well, I must have taken up far too much of your time by now.”

“Not at all,” she said, returning to his gaze. “Thank you, Solas. For hearing me out, and for your advice. I think I know what to do.”

“I’m very happy to hear that,” he said, departing the chantry.

Rivka turned back to the table, sweeping some of the tokens off it and peering at the one marking Redcliffe Castle with a new determination, making her decision.

@dadrunkwriting

#rivka lavellan #solas #f!lavellan/Solas #solavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #aether effect #ao3 #prompt fic #fanfic #athenril-of-kirkwall #tevivinter #dadrunkwriting #da drunk writing circle

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masked-buffoon · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3: The Sweet Appeals (Part 3)

Warnings: violence (a bit), PTSD

Author notes: this is the last part of chapter 3! Before jumping to chapter 4, there will be a chapter 3.5, which is a kind of short side story. It is important nonetheless. See you in the next chapter!

The way toward the headquarters was silent. Dazai-san did not even try to annoy his partner, which was very unusual, and I tried to sit as far as possible from him, hugging his coat tightly around my trembling body. It felt so warm, for some reason, and almost acted as a blanket, since it was too big for me. My superior did not seem like the type to wear cologne, yet there was a faint scent of perfume on his clothes. Or rather, it smelled like clean laundry... So he did take care of his appearance, after all...? Or was it only his duties obligating him to look proper...? Coming from Nakahara-san, it would only seem normal, but from Dazai-san... I closed my eyes a moment, leaning my head onto the cool window. When I would be back, I would rush toward the pharmacy to get a new box of pills. This pain was getting unbearable...

"Are you sleeping?" He asked, out of the blue.

"How could I...? Everyone is too busy dealing with the rain and other personal problems to let me sleep..." I chuckled tiredly "I can even hear that Nakahara-san is more focused on you than on the road..."

"Wh-What?? That's untrue!!" He defended.

"Hoh~ You care about me, Chūya~? So, what is he thinking?"

Making me work in such a state...? It was for the sake of his teasing, but even so... He was so careless toward others... All I wished for was a warm shower, pain relievers, a night of rest and, mostly, being left alone. And I had nothing of those.

"He... Deeply thinks you are a pain..." I winced slightly "And that he's going to punch you if you..."

I stopped, and stared at Nakahara-san, whose eyes met mine.

"If I~?"

"If you don't stop bothering her." He finished for me, glaring at his partner "Can't you see Ogawa-kun is exhausted already?"

"It's fine, Nakahara-san...!" I sat up rather quickly, making the world spin around me "If it is Dazai-san's orders, I cannot... I cannot refuse..."

"Lay." My superior pushed me back toward the window and crossed his arms "You'll admit it is to my advantage to know your thoughts~"

"You don't need Ogawa-kun for that..." He shook his head "I warn you, if you can't train her, I'll —"

"You will not take her." He narrowed his eyes "Remember? You aren't an executive yet, anyway."

Why did it sound like they were arguing over a toy...? Despite being aware of Nakahara-san's intentions, I could not help feeling reduced to an object...

"Should have thought about this..." He gritted his teeth.

"Are you implying that I can't even take care of a protege?" He suddenly sounded darker.

My heart pounded in my chest, in fear. I was afraid Dazai-san would think I had complained to Nakahara-san about how he beat me up daily... It was untrue, I did not wish for the red-haired man to defend me... But it did feel good to have someone the slightest concerned about my being... I was unused to consideration.

"Obviously he can't..." I heard his thoughts.

"I did not say that." He parked the car in front of the headquarters "I'll head right back, so I'll just drop you there. I hope I won't have to see you any time soon...!"

"So do I...!" He slammed the door once we were out "Let's go in, Ogawa-kun."

"Yes, Dazai-san..." I glanced a last time at his partner and followed him, picking his suitcase up.

We unexpectedly headed toward his second in command's office. Inside, a frightened Yamada-san greeted his superior, who simply sat down in front of his desk while I stayed behind, holding his suitcase.

"So..." Dazai-san crossed his hands under his chin "What happened, exactly?"

"I... I handed over your paperwork to her... She found the order inside..." He stuttered.

"Orders don't mix inside paperwork." He reminded "Which means you put it there on purpose."

"N-No...! I mean... I did..." He corrected upon seeing the executive's glare.

"Why did you do that?"

"I don't —"

"Why did you do that?!" Dazai-san hit the desk so loudly I jumped in surprise.

It was quite unlike him to burst out so violently. Even during training, he would very calmly send me to the ground, without any outburst. His threats were so composed they sent shivers down one's spine, and his coldness as he fulfilled his executive role was enough for his men to remain quiet throughout the entire mission. Yet, in front of Yamada-san, he had slammed his hand against the desk with such force that both the second in command and I stayed stunned, astonished. Silently, I prayed that the older man would answer quickly, so no problem would ensue. I had never seen our superior in that state, I would not know how to deal with him.

"I... I did that..."

"I know you did, you scum!" He grabbed his collar "But I am asking why. Why in the world did you show Ogawa-kun that order?!"

"To exploit my weakness...!" I replied hastily in the man's stead.

I would not mind the least, were he to be strangled, but I was afraid Dazai-san could get out of control. It was not the moment to feel depressed about the uncomfortable emptiness in my chest, I had to regain composure, to become unfazed once again.

"A weakness?" He let go of Yamada-san "And how would he exploit it?"

I put the suitcase down and stood straight, trying not to be impressed. I was a subordinate reporting to her executive.

"He thought seeing it would make me fall into despair." I explained "He thought he could use that despair to take advantage of me... In some physical ways. Only, he had not predicted that I hated these people and would want to go instead."

"Physical ways..." He narrowed his eyes.

When he did that, the person in front of him usually was in danger.

"Did he molest you?"

"He intended to." I answered simply.

Everything then happened rather quickly. Dazai-san's fist flew toward Yamada-san's jaw, so hard that the man hit the wall behind him before falling lax onto the carpet. My superior rubbed his bandaged knuckles, staring down in contempt at him.

"Never again try to touch my protege. I should demote you or fire you for that, but I don't have such a stupid and moveable pawn at hand for the moment. How lucky you are..." He hissed "Let's go, Ogawa-kun. I think you have some things to report."

"Yes, Dazai-san." I followed him out without even a glance toward the man.

We were alone in his own office, and I did not dare getting too close to him. In a corner, I put the suitcase down, before hanging his coat and standing near the couch, waiting for his orders. On the desk, the paperwork had not budged since I had left earlier. Distractedly, he took a quick look at it, before casually tossing everything on the floor. Piles of documents fell down like a rain of white sheets. It was a waste... Was he going to demand me to sort everything out as a way to punish me? My legs started trembling in exhaustion, and my painful headache did not arrange anything. I wanted to run away.

"Where is that paper demanding to kill your family?"

"I think I left it in Yamada-san's office, earlier." I recalled "Should I fetch it?"

"Forget it." He sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Shall I clean the mess?" I inquired.

"Let that be. Go dry yourself, you're as soaked as a mop. And bring me back a cup of coffee while you're at it." He ordered.

"Yes, Dazai-san." I nodded, not quite appreciating the comparison.

The bathroom was close to the office, fortunately, and I quickly locked myself inside before leaning my back on the door. Finally, I was away from my superior... How nervous he made me by being so unpredictable. Slowly, I stared at the mirror next to me. I looked tired, disheveled, and was, indeed, as soaked as a mop. My coat literally leaked water, not to mention my pants and blazer. I discarded the pieces of clothes on the floor and hopped into the shower to warm myself up. As the water poured onto my skin, I caught myself wondering about Dazai-san. He was usually so ruthless, so indifferent toward me, yet, this day, he had almost seemed concerned about the fact I had killed my parents, or about the fact I had been threatened by Yamada-san. He had even punched him for my sake... It was strange. It was unlike him to care about someone, even more if that someone was me. What would have driven him to act this way...? Or was it that, under the mask of a merciless superior, a more sensible man was hidden...? I did not dare dreaming. It was impossible, after all..

I attempted to dry my wet clothes once I was out of the shower, hoping my only outfit would not be ruined by a single downpour. For the evening, it would have to do... I could not walk around the headquarters naked, after all. Quickly, I brought my freshly washed hair into a messy ponytail and buttoned my blazer. I had to get Dazai-san some coffee, but, beforehand, I would have to stop by the pharmacy to get painkillers for myself. As I was about to open the door, however, a voice interrupted me.

"Where do you think you are going?"

It was my voice... Yet I had not uttered a word. Nervously, I glanced at the mirror. My reflection was talking to me.

"I have work to do. I can't afford to lose time there." I retorted.

"Coward. Do you think you can escape me? You despicable parricide. What did you do?"

"I completed a mission..."

"You fulfilled your wish of revenge. So? How was it? Was it satisfying, hearing them beg for mercy~?"

"Oh, it was very entertaining." I kept my composure "Their screams were music to my ears. But you were here, you know that."

"That's precisely why I ask you. You're empty, aren't you? Frustrated. You haven't achieved the bliss you had hoped for, even if those people you loathe are finally gone from the world. Why is that, I wonder. Perhaps killing them isn't the thing you should have done, after all." She said, more seriously.

"I've always wanted to end that scum's life...!" I snarled "Ever since I found that gun in his drawer, I've wanted the bullet to pierce his skull...!"

"But the woman... You've never truly desired her death. We've never really had any intent to kill her, in the first place. She was a mistake. And any human being who makes a mistake regrets it... Yōko, don't we regret it?"

"Ah... I understand, now..." I huffed, crossing my arms "You are my clear conscience, aren't you? The Yōko who still believes in life, the one who wanted to forgive that woman, and also the one who doesn't completely detest Dazai-san. So what? Mistakes were made, but it's too late now. Go back to sleep, you are a burden for my work."

"I exist! And you see me... Doesn't it mean that, somehow, you still have a heart?"

"I have no such thing!" I barked at the mirror "A heart is a hindrance to the Port Mafia... Had I not suppressed you, I couldn't have done half of my current job!"

"Indeed... I would never have sacrificed innocent slaves to complete a mission. No matter what you say, I am here, and I will keep conflicting your feelings." She warned.

"You are but a whisper among the screams of my mind. I don't have to listen."

"What about this? Even though you killed them, you couldn't erase your parents' existence. After all, they still live inside you, through your flesh, through your blood. You are them as a whole..."

"Stop! I'm not them... I don't take after them! Never, never, never, never!"

"You are still their daughter."

"I am not! I denied them!"

"No matter what, you are still Ogawa Yōko."

I screamed, holding my head. These people were still my parents... Even though I had killed them, they were still my parents, who had given life to me...! It was impossible. It could not be true...!

"Never! Never, never!" I repeated, pulling out my gun "Shut up!"

"Even if you shoot me —"

I pulled the trigger, once, twice... Until the magazine was completely empty. I let myself fall onto the ground, sobbing heavily, empty-minded. What good had it done, to murder those parents of mine? Had they been executed by someone else, perhaps would I have been more detached, more satisfied... At the very least, Ruriko-chan had survived, but she would eternally hate me for stealing her happiness. And I had nothing left...

When I finally looked up, the ground was covered in shattered glass and the mirror had completely been broken by the bullets. The illusion had disappeared, but her voice remained in my mind, like a constant echo. It was my own voice, telling me I was a murderer. Cursing against myself, I rubbed my tired eyes and went out of the bathroom, in the corridor. Soon enough, someone would notice the mess and clean it up, and, hopefully, I would not be asked about the matter. Even so, I could just say I had had a moment of madness... Just a moment of madness...

Before getting Dazai-san's coffee, I stopped by the pharmacy to refill my box of pills. I desperately needed them to calm my pain down. With the previous incident, the headache had only gotten worse. If only I could go back to rest... Yet, I had to reach the cafeteria, where I asked for a cup of dark coffee. It was warm against my hand, and the beverage had a nice comforting smell. I resisted my desire to drink it, and soon arrived in front of my superior's office. Feebly, I knocked. The door opened onto a man I had never seen before.

"Good evening..." I muttered, intimidated "I am one of Dazai-san's subordinates..."

"She was out getting me a coffee." The executive explained "Don't stand in the middle of the way, Ogawa-kun."

I nodded and, quietly, put the cup onto the desk. The man Dazai-san was joyfully chatting with was tall. His hair was a light brown, and his eyes were as blue as a clear sky in summer. He had a gentle look, almost as though he was not a mafioso. I did not know the demon prodigy had friends... It seemed different from the way he interacted with Nakahara-san. He was being less childish, perhaps...

Without a word, I decided to pick up the paperwork he had carelessly thrown on the floor to sort it out again. I simply could not let the office look like a mess and it would not bother them, anyway.

"Even so, why did you never tell me you had a girl in your team?" The friend asked.

"It wasn't important." He shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.

I did not matter... Despite knowing about such a fact, I could not help feeling my chest clenching painfully. Somehow, I had hoped that, in the Port Mafia, I could exist, more than in the Ogawa mansion... It was a mistake...

"She's your subordinate, don't say things like this."

I glanced at the man. He looked so kind... He radiated with gentleness... It would feel warm, perhaps, to be comforted by him. Somehow, I wanted to be held... I wanted to feel some human warmth... I wanted to cry on a shoulder...

"Dazai-san..." I spoke as they both stopped talking "I am going to take my leave... I will report to you tomorrow."

"Wait...!" The man with clear blue eyes stopped me "What is your name? I would like to know. I am Oda Sakunosuke."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Oda-san." I bowed in front of him "Although I am of little importance, my name is Ogawa Yōko. I am an ability user serving under Dazai-san's orders."

"Nice to meet you too." He smiled "If you ever need anything, you can come to me —"

Upon hearing such reassuring words, I burst into tears, shamefully trying to hide my face the best I could, not to let them see such a pitiful sight. However, Oda-san pulled me against him to hug me, and I cried into his chest, clinging onto his shirt.

"You are but a child..." He sighed, patting my head "Shouldering the responsibility of killing your parents... It truly is too much after all..."

At the moment, I did not care how even he knew I had gone out to murder the Ogawa. I only wanted to sob, to feel his comforting touch. I craved care, and it had been too long I had not experienced it.

"By the way..." Dazai-san said as I calmed down "You made a mess in the bathroom. What did the poor mirror do to you?"

"I-I'm sorry..." I became aware of my position and pulled away "I didn't mean to... I... I had a moment of madness..."

"Even I could understand that. For now, I'll —"

"Dazai." His friend cut him "Let her rest for the moment. She is exhausted."

"Sure, rest..." He looked away, crossing his arms.

"Good." Oda-san smiled "I'll take my leave now, goodnight, Dazai, Ogawa."

The door shut behind him, leaving me only with Dazai-san in the office, which could be considered as being alone, regarding how talkative my superior was. I was quick to bow in front of him, apologetically.

"Forgive me for showing you such an unsightly side of me. It shall not happen again." I murmured, feebly.

"Whatever..." He sighed, sitting down at his desk "Thank you for cleaning the documents..."

"You're welcome...?"

I was surprised. It was the first time he acknowledged one of my doings, and even thanked me. I wondered what he had in mind. Was that a new method of torture?

"How..." He started, hesitatingly "How do you feel, Ogawa-kun...?"

I looked at him in disbelief. Was he really asking me? It would be a first... Dazai-san inquiring about a subordinate, about me... From Nakahara-san and Oda-san, I had not flinched, but from him... Did he have a hidden motive I could not understand?

"As you can see..." I slumped down on the couch "I am perfectly fine."

"Are you honestly answering that...?"

"And are you honestly asking that...?" I frowned "Dazai-san... With all due respect, you've never cared before..."

"Does it bother you?"

"N-No... It doesn't bother me..." I felt my hands moisten "I am just slightly taken aback..."

"So, tell me. How did it feel to finally have revenge on the people who treated you worse than an animal?"

"A-Actually... I..."

I took a deep breath. It had been so blissful, at first, entering the mansion, preparing my deception, threatening them... But when the play I had written had finally reached climax, I had felt... Utterly disgusted.

"The outcome was not... The one I had expected..." I blurted out "I... Do not feel the least happy. Instead, I am haunted by the face of those people, and it is as if emptiness tries to eat me whole, munching at my soul... I... Am very upset..."

"That much, I could tell..."

"You cannot achieve happiness by killing people, after all..." I realised "It was my mistake... I'm sorry for insisting, for being stubborn, earlier..."

I looked down, a way to avoid seeing disappointment in his eyes.

"I am also at fault." He conceded, unexpectedly "I should have forbidden you to go, at any cost... I should have threatened you, punished you, anything that would have prevented you from doing such a thing. My mistake was believing you were aware of your doing, but even I should know revenge is never taken out of sane spirit. Since I also made a mistake, I will not blame you for the mess in the bathroom."

"I am grateful, Dazai-san..." I could not believe how lucky I was not to be beaten "I am grateful..."

"Also, I've heard about your good work while I was away. You did well, and although there were losses, the first mission I entrusted to you was a success. It's good." He kind of mumbled at the end, as though praising me was the hardest thing to do.

"Thank you, Dazai-san..." I cracked a small smile, proud "By the way, although it did not go as expected, I did learn something from that killing."

"Which is...?" He sounded surprised.

"The name of my ability, Dazai-san. Finally... I know that this curse is named The Sweet Appeals." I told him.

"It was about time. I've never heard of anyone forgetting how they named their ability. It's a bit like forgetting your own name. Why did you name your 'curse' as such?" He asked.

"I can't quite remember..." I admitted, strangely feeling down "I think it was when I was small... I heard someone's thoughts... For the first time, in that despicable mansion, they were nice, warm, caring... And they were directed to me..."

Suddenly, tears fell onto my knees, heavily. I sniffed, trying to wipe them away, without much success.

"I-I'm sorry... Again..." I apologised "I don't know why... I feel so sad..."

"Ogawa-kun, it's fine..."

"That person... They truly cared about me... In fact, I think I had heard their thoughts before even being born... Isn't that strange...?" I sobbed, uncontrollably "I can't... I shouldn't have remembered..."

I felt a hand onto my head, almost gentle, and the thoughts I could hear calmed down. The world seemed appeased, and my inner turmoils were also quietened. In fact, my eyelids were heavy and threatened to fall at any time.

"Dazai-san..." I murmured "Why...?"

"Because you did a good job, and because you are exhausted by today." He stated simply "You need not think about what happened anymore... You belong only to the Port Mafia, now."

"Y-Yes, Dazai-san..."

"That's good."

I smiled, letting my mind wander to another place.

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thekidultlife · 4 years

Text

The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate!AU (3)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 5.3k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to write opinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

ON THE NECESSITY OF GRAND ROYAL BALLS by Alex Fireflower

The Porta Persa Edition, September 6

In one's life, what would be considered basic necessities? Food, shelter, clothing, mayhaps a life partner? Indeed, such factors are important. Yet allow me to tell you, dear readers, that there is something far greater and more magnificent than mere daily needs which regularly perish in less than a common laborer's working hours! An element which elevates the typical human experience to the realms of the ancient gods; giving us a glimpse of the most beautiful, the most majestic blinding auras in this Universe! A necessity which is by far the most crucial of all inventions created by man, known to man!

That, my friends, is the Grand Royal Ball.

To be held a week from now at the Crystal Palace, the Grand Royal Ball only admits through invites, usually reserved for the rich and the powerful. Yet what is most anticipated is the glamorous First Waltz where they can showcase their magnificent beauty and impressive wardrobe for the public to see!

Yet this is simply a mere gathering for the upper class, you say? What, in heaven's name, is the reason why this event is of great importance, you ask?

Look closely, my dear readers! Look at the Grand Royal Ball! Look at it with eyes of impunity! Gaze at its splendor and radiance, and see what these people have robbed from you, from the common people! They who have been brought into this world with silver spoons in their mouths, feed us with scraps from their abundant golden banquets! Banquets such as the Grand Royal Ball, where crimes of extravagance and greed go unpunished in the eyes of god.

Do not forget who mines the diamonds in their earrings, who weaves the silk on their lapels, who farms the fruit in their white marble tables! They who afforded nay a drop of sweat in order to survive, yet admonishes the poor for 'indolence' and 'degradation of moral values'--remember them and do not dare forget in the face of their magnificence!

If these sheer words do not convey a clearer message to you, then allow me to reiterate. The Grand Royal Ball is an important reminder to you common folk who gaze at them in your grease-stained hands, growling stomachs and exhausted eyes. This is a wake up call to you who still believe that you can be like them, wearing your own beautiful gowns and respectable suits to your own grand royal balls. This is a reminder to look past illusions established by this society dictated by such people.

You are being exploited. You are being paid by less than what you are worth. If that does not constitute slavery, then there is no worth in reading this article. If you are yet to be angered by such realities through this piece, then I, as an editor have failed my mission. Realize that your fellow laborer is not your adversary. The true cold-blooded monsters are up there in their hectares-wide plantations, sitting on leather chairs and pretending to be your friend, as they casually strategize how to pay you less and less of your appropriate wage, as they search for loopholes in our civil code to perpetuate their evils in the world.

They may look like gods next week, dancing to a waltz in the Crystal Palace with the innocence of a daisy, yet do not be in awe. Do not be complacent.

Do not forget the true enemy.

◇

"You're going to the ball."

Both Wonwoo and Soonyoung declared, under the purple shade of the wisteria tree in the courtyard, their seriousness catching you off-guard.

"What?!" You shouted, almost choking on a shrimp. "What do you mean I'm going to the ball?! I just slandered it in our newspaper yesterday, if you hadn't forgotten!"

The two boys gazed at you, eyes pitiful.

"Don't look at me like that!"

Wonwoo, the bespectacled one, sighed and sat up straight.

"Look, this isn't a prank. We had to bargain you for um…"

In the middle of his words he gradually lost steam, and began to feel your furious, scrutinizing gaze. For better or worse, he suddenly found the garlic shrimp on his plate quite interesting.

"Alright, let me handle this!" Soonyoung proudly declared, yet nonetheless deflated after you gave him a similar glare. "Wonwoo...you should handle this after all…"

With a face that may seem calm, Wonwoo conveniently concealed his discomfort.

"So, um...alright, allow me to explain. I got a bit of a lead on the investigation we're doing and thus, following that trail led me to the ball," he continued, "Apparently, there will be a gathering of the people involved during the evening, and I needed to get in with Soonyoung. So I asked some help, and in exchange, they wanted you."

After listening to his story, you closed your eyes and sighed heavily. There was no way you could stop him even if you wanted to. The deal was done and he had the invitation.

"So, who's they?"

You asked, a bit annoyed but you understood the need.

"That would be me."

A familiar voice startled you from behind, as you finally caught a glimpse of the devil Wonwoo had to make a pact with.

"Jihoon, didn't know you were there," Wonwoo remarked, as the new arrival bent down and passed a heavy binder to him.

"I just arrived really. Thank you for the reading notes though," he replied, paying you and Soonyoung no heed. "Anyway, Y/N, please return to our room as soon as you finish class. We have to talk about what you're going to wear for the ball."

Jihoon ordered, then stalked away without waiting for a reply, leaving you taken aback.

After a few moments, you turned to Wonwoo wearing a rather frightening expression on your face.

"Jeon Wonwoo! How dare you bargain me to Lee Jihoon!!"

◇

'Do you despise Lee Jihoon that much?'

The voice inside your head asked, completely eclipsing the words of your professor.

'Do you really have to talk to me during class? ' You snarled, spinning your pen around as you watched one of your classmates getting scolded for sleeping.

'You don't even like this class. So I'm actually doing you a favor by entertaining you.’

'Touché.'

A few moments of silence passed before your soulmate replied. You thought he bailed out, yet that was definitely not the case.

'Lee Jihoon is the reason why you seem troubled today, isn't it?'

You sighed. 'How obstinate...'

'As obstinate as you, in fact. Have you forgotten that we're soulmates?'

Clicking your tongue, you knew he was going to bother you if you didn't answer, and well, the words from a month ago rang deep inside your heart: Accept them and learn.

'Fine, he does upset me. I mean, I was not supposed to go to that pretentious ball, now I have to wear those heavy dresses and fake laugh with people I despise a lot! I could be doing something else, you know! Something I enjoy more!'

It took him some time to reply. It's not your fault you had no one to talk about it. Wonwoo and Soonyoung literally sacrificed you.

'Is it not because you dislike him?'

'I am irritated now because of what he did, yet I surely do not harbor stronger hatred towards him. I live with him after all.'

'I see. So you simply have a dislike towards parties in general?'

'Not entirely. I don't mind going to parties, yet this one particular ball does not sit well with me.'

'Why so?'

You propped your chin on your hand as you leafed through the pages of your textbook.

'It goes against everything I believe in. Why do people have to organize such expensive balls? Wearing expensive clothes? Eating expensive food? They could just donate that money. Don't you think so?'

He hummed, thinking of a reply. 'You do have a point. Furthermore, it is not only this country's problem yet of entire humanity. Isn't it human nature to be greedy? Isn't it the nature of material objects to be scarce?'

'Thus, it is an unavoidable, inevitable problem, you mean to say? Well, that would definitely be the case if no effort is afforded to find a solution to this problem. No matter how minute my actions are, I'm sure they would still have a rippling effect.'

The person on the other side scoffed. 'If only that is how simple things are.'

'What do you mean by that? Are you calling me naive?'

He laughed. 'Whatever you think it is shall be its meaning.'

You were about to interject with your own retort yet was unable to catch up.

'Well, looks like I still have things to do. It was a pleasure talking to you today. Until then, my soulmate.'

And with that, the connection halted.

You sighed and slumped on your seat with lips pursed. It was difficult talking to him while keeping your own pride in check. He was definitely talented in wounding it.

They would magnify your insecurities, your fears, your greatest flaws as a person, and force you to face them.

Sighing, you glanced at the bell that had begun to signal the end of class.

◇

Bathed in golden sunlight, you entered your dorm room as instructed by Lee Jihoon.

It has been a month since you began living here yet the days seemed to have gone in a flash. To be honest, other than that time you saw him practicing with his cello, there was little to no interaction between you and Lee Jihoon. He really made sure to avoid me…

Yet right now, so suddenly…what has changed?

Opening the french doors like you did when you first met him, you were greeted by several female attendants and rows of clothes racks, each having a massive collection of gowns.

"Took you long enough to return."

Someone suddenly spoke behind you, making you jump in surprise. Taking a step back, you only bumped into Lee Jihoon's chest.

"I had to go to the library on the way here," you replied, making some distance between the two of you as the black-haired male marched his way to a vacant armchair.

"I see. Well then, shall we begin our business here?" He asked as soon as he was settled on his seat, glancing at the gowns at the side.

"Exactly what I had in mind. Do you wish to explain what these are for?"

With an expression that reeked irritation, Jihoon gave no response to a question he assumed you knew the answer to.

You sighed. "What I mean is, I thought you had already chosen something for me, so I was quite surprised to see all of these."

The both of you simply gazed at one another without uttering a single word. Only the sound of the clock ticking and the afternoon bells outside could be heard as you allowed yourselves to be absorbed in your own little trance. Until Jihoon finally relented and stood up.

"I just thought you would rather choose something akin to your own preference," he told you, scratching his nape, "additionally, these ones here are all about to be thrown out, so maybe you--"

"These ones are about to be thrown out?! But they still look so pretty!" You interrupted, wholly surprised as you inspected the exquisite bead work of the nearest dress to you.

"It's common for people in the upper class to throw away gowns after wearing it once. So I thought you'd appreciate wearing something like this rather than having something new ordered. We could give away the other ones here as well," Jihoon explained, now a bit conscious of your reaction.

Chuckling at how he was slowly becoming bashful, you threw a wide grin at him which Jihoon was sure had definitely caught his breath.

"That was so thoughtful of you! Thank you!" You exclaimed, now more than interested to browse at the racks.

Unable to respond, Jihoon silently allowed you to check out the dresses while he tried to conceal the fact that his ears had turned red.

"What about you though? Have you already chosen something for yourself?" You asked in the midst of trying out one blue sequined gown.

"Since I’m a member of the Parliament, we have to wear a standard ceremonial uniform," he replied, now seated back on the armchair.

"Is that so?" You hummed then continued, "I think I've decided on one so allow me to finish."

After some time, you returned to the common room, showing Jihoon the gown you had picked for the occasion.

In a beige off-shoulder gown filled with lace trims and appliques, peacock feather patterns of sequins and gemstones, and dangling diamonds, you twirled around the room as the late afternoon sunlight created surreal reflections of light as it reflected on your dress.

In Jihoon's eyes, you were dazzling, sparkling. He could feel his heart almost explode by how hard it was beating against his chest. What's missing though was a bouquet of roses and a lace veil. This is vexing...

"So what do you think?" You asked, now incredibly self-conscious because of how he was staring at you.

Again, Jihoon was quiet as he glanced at you, yet allowed a sigh to escape before he stood up from where he was sitting. Approaching the coffee table, he picked up a lacquered box and went back to where you were standing.

As he opened the box, you caught a glimpse of a necklace adorned with diamonds, garnets and rubies, sparkling earnestly. Handing the box to one of the attendants, Jihoon held out the necklace to you and wrapped it around your neck.

The close proximity made your heart race for a bit as you unintentionally took a whiff of his cologne. Aware of your reaction, you averted your gaze elsewhere in embarrassment. You were brought back to the present when Jihoon finally took a step back and you felt the weight of the necklace on your skin.

"Oh...wow, this…" you began yet cannot finish.

"It's a family heirloom so take care of it." Then in a rather unexpected turn, Jihoon smiled at you warmly, making your heart race even further. "It suits you quite well."

Unable to contain it any longer, your lips broke out a wide grin. "I suppose this is a loan then."

In a rather good mood, Jihoon took your hand in his. "How about we practice our dance? Surely, we wouldn't want to embarrass ourselves during the First Waltz."

You scoffed. "Despite how I may appear, I am capable of a simple waltz."

"That's reassuring then," he remarked, twirling you around so suddenly that had you gasping.

Back in his arms, the both of you moved back and forth as your feet danced to an imaginary melody.

You never shied away from his intense gaze, rather, you accepted the challenge and smirked at him.

"So, my dear sir, please answer this burning question I have in my heart," you mocked him playfully.

"Why are you talking to me like that?" He furrowed his brows which you found adorable.

"I thought since we are to attend such a high profile event, utter politeness is necessary, even in speech."

Jihoon frowned, unimpressed. "Please stop teasing me. What was your question, by the way?"

Chuckling, you replied, "What are you planning, Lee Jihoon?"

Even though you were still smiling, the atmosphere suddenly turned tense. Lee Jihoon can flatter you with pretty dresses and beautiful diamond necklaces yet you never cared much for them in the first place. To you, his actions were suspicious and it didn't help that he was a rather mysterious person.

"Planning? Pardon me yet I do not know what you are pertaining to," he replied, as calm as you were.

"What are you planning by choosing me as your partner? You could have made Wonwoo bargain a million other things, yet you chose me."

This time, it was Jihoon's turn to smirk.

"I was simply confirming a few hunches, though that does not mean I will divulge them to you."

This bastard…

You felt a sweatdrop trickle down your cheek as you grit your teeth. "I am not your toy."

"I wouldn't dream of treating you as such," he grinned at you, "More than anything, you are quite important to me."

"I'd rather wish not to be involved in your political ploys," you seethed.

He arched a brow at you. "Why would I? You are a mere alchemist's daughter whose political power is the same as the next person."

You knew where this was going. You spoke no word as you tried to control your expression; not allowing him to see it in your face.

Jihoon smirked, his words hanging on the air.

"Unless, you have more than you let on?"

One week later

The Grand Royal Ball, The Crystal Palace

You kept a tight smile.

The tip of your nose was itching, your skin unused to the makeup covering your face. Superficiality lingered and clung to every corner of the palace from its golden ornaments and marble balustrades to the couples ahead of you, marching their way towards the ballroom for the much awaited First Waltz.Yet you have to smile on.

Welcome to the Grand Royal Ball!

Beside you was Lee Jihoon, dressed in an attire reserved for high-ranking officials and a sash which proudly broadcasts that he was someone you wouldn't want to mess with. You, on the other hand, wore the gown and the necklace you had tried on a week before, with hair coiffed to perfection and silk gloves which hid the markings on your wrist.

Only the most prominent, the highest of the high were invited to dance during the First Waltz. From billionaire philanthropists and award-winning researchers to powerful politicians like Lee Jihoon, they all provide a sense of prestige to the whole event. This is when the ball catches so much attention after all.

Lining up uniformly, everyone participating curtsied before the reigning monarch as was the custom, and the music began playing. Facing Jihoon, you gave him a rather mocking smile as you placed your hand on his shoulder and the other on his hand.

Without a word, everyone began dancing.

As you stepped across the ballroom, you allowed your mind to slip away from reality; the face of Lee Jihoon reminding you why you were putting up with this sort of pompous absurdity in the first place.

A few days ago…

You groaned in frustration.

"I swear, Lee Jihoon is the most irritating man I've ever met in my entire life!"

"Let's wait for him to fall asleep and beat him up, Y/N!" Soonyoung, who was happily lazing on the grass exclaimed.

"Come on, then! He's already asleep at this hour!" You responded, quite eagerly.

Simply sighing at your shenanigans, Wonwoo closed the book he was reading.

"Don't listen to him, Y/N. He's drunk," he remarked.

"But I haven't been drinking!!"

The other man simply looked at him with a jaded look on his face.

"You're always drunk even without drinking anything," Wonwoo quietly retorted. "Anyway, Y/N…"

Sitting back down on the grass, you turned to him. It was already past midnight yet the three of you decided to hold a meeting at a long forgotten grove behind the dormitories, usually used by overly-zealous couples for their own pleasure.

"It's true that Jihoon can be cunning if he wants to, yet it's not like we can't do the same as well," he continued, "There's a reason why I had no reservations in bargaining you."

"That doesn't sound too comforting, you know?"

"As I was saying, Lee Jihoon can be cunning. He can't be trusted to stay at the venue while we are in that meeting. That is precisely why we have to get him out of the venue as soon as possible."

You nodded. It was the same reason why it wasn't you who was leading this investigation.

"So my job is to have him stay away from the palace while you and Soonyoung are in the meeting. Alright, I understand."

Wonwoo sighed. "Y/N, I'm not doing this because I think your skills are inadequate, but because we need to play by the rules. If things fail and our cover is blown, Soonyoung and I already have tainted names that another case wouldn't matter much. I can't have you dirty your own name."

Looking down, you understood where he was coming from. It really wasn't an issue of who's weaker or who's stronger. It was an issue of who's richer and more influential. Wonwoo and Soonyoung, because of their wealth and power, were able to establish their own newspaper company with relative ease. And with that same wealth and power, if anything does happen, the repercussions they have to face and its lasting effects wouldn't be as heavy as an ordinary person would experience. Such is the gift of privilege.

"I know. I understand."

◇

You knew, as soon as the dance ended, people would flock around Lee Jihoon, all wanting a piece of that power and influence.

That is why, when you had the chance, you slipped away from his side and went straight to the buffet tables. If you were going to attend a grand ball, might as well stuff yourself with food.

That veal over there looks scrumptious!!

Filling your plate to the brim, you scoured all over the buffet, finding food you have never dreamed of tasting.

"Y/N! We finally found you, for god's sake! We thought something happened to you!" A familiar voice exclaimed, making you look up from the plate you were feasting on, as you sat on a bench at the side.

"Ah, Soonyoung, Wonwoo! I didn't see you guys at the dance!" You replied, piercing a turkey leg with your fork.

"Well, that's because we weren't invited to the dance. Our parents are though, since they are the VIPs," Wonwoo explained.

You hummed. "I see. Well, so far this ball has delicious food. Other than that, it's quite boring. I don't know half these people, and they've been looking at me since a while ago."

Like he always is, Soonyoung embraced you from behind, wrapping his arms around your neck with a cheeky green.

"Your date is quite popular, you know? It's only natural for people to be curious as to the identity of his chosen date," he remarked, taking a bite of meat from your fork.

"You're making it sound so romantic," you spat with disdain.

Soonyoung grinned. "Come on, don't you feel anything for our resident politician? You two were dancing so nicely earlier, you know."

You clicked your tongue. "He's suspicious of me. I think he has a hunch that I'm Alex Fireflower."

"This is why the Soulmate Bond hasn't visited you yet! You're always so serious! You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life! You can't be young forever!"

"I think Soonyoung has a point here though," Wonwoo suddenly interjected, now with a mischievous smile. "Dating Lee Jihoon could open various opportunities of information gathering. Moreover, you can monitor him more closely than ever before."

"Oh god, not you too. Isn't it enough that we're roommates?" You complained, sighing.

"No, no! That's not going to cut it, Y/N!" Soonyoung exclaimed, "You have to get inside his room!"

Glaring at him, you hissed harshly. "I will not enter his room! And I will never date him!"

"Has no one ever told you to avoid using 'never', especially when there is a chance that you will be eating your own words in the near future?"

A new voice suddenly interrupted your banter as the three of you glanced at the newcomer with a variety of expressions.

In his calm yet intimidating aura, Lee Jihoon stood before you three, waiting for a response. Of course, with a glass of wine in his hands.

"Has no one ever told you that it's not good manners to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" You retorted back.

With arched brows, Jihoon approached you and glanced at Soonyoung who eventually retreated away from you and back to Wonwoo's side with a nervous look on his face.

"It's hardly eavesdropping when I can hear you three screaming from the other side of the room."

At this comment, the three of you looked away in shame, unable to say anything to refute Jihoon.

"If there is nothing else, may I borrow my date for a while?" He then spoke, reaching for your hand while looking at Wonwoo and Soonyoung.

Grinning, the two easily offered you.

"Please do, Jihoon (before we turn into mincemeat)."

"Oh of course, please enjoy the rest of the night!"

You grit your teeth and glared at them, annoyed that you weren't able to finish your meal, much less bring anything with you back home.

Traitors! I'll come back for you two after this!

As Jihoon swept you away from the buffet tables and towards the deserted balcony, you suddenly began to worry about what he was up to.

While dark and cool, the balcony was a pleasant place to escape to especially from a crowd of prying eyes. The crawling rose vines and the tall hedges concealed the area enough so that it was difficult to discern who was who in the balcony.

"What is it that you want from me?" You finally asked, standing face to face.

For a moment, Jihoon simply gazed at you before shrugging. "I just thought that since we are already here, we might as well enjoy a dance together. I am not one unkind enough to refuse dancing with my own date."

Arching a brow, you blinked several times, totally suspicious of his intentions. You sighed.

"And here I thought the thirty minute waltz from earlier would suffice," tartly, that was how you replied.

Jihoon snorted, the first one you have seen.

"That was simply a mere performance, one that is born out of tradition and formality. This time, I wish to dance with you at our own pace."

Still suspicious, yet nonetheless resigned, you hummed in agreement and took a step forward, towards him.

Without warning, you snatched the wine glass from his grasps and drank everything in one gulp before discarding it on the balustrade's edge, earning a confused look on Jihoon's face.

"Now then, shall we begin?" you replied, reaching for his shoulder and his own hand on yours.

It seemed like for a moment, Jihoon was stunned by how fast your actions were. However, it didn't take him long to come back to his senses and place a hand on your waist.

Gradually, the both of you swung back and forth a millisecond late from the music's beat, simply too absorbed in each other to correct it.

As you gazed into Jihoon's eyes, you knew you needed that swig of alcohol to survive the whole night. He was as intense as ever; his sharp eyes unreadable, his lips curving into a ghost of a smirk. The grip he had on your waist was firm, sending shivers to your spine.

You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life!

Dating Lee Jihoon could open various opportunities...

You mentally shook those thoughts away. This wasn't the right time to think about those things.

"I've changed my mind, you know?" Jihoon finally spoke, his voice pulling you away from your reverie.

"About what?" You asked, your hand warm on his.

"I want to know you better. I know when we first met, I didn't want anything to do with you, but for some reason, my sentiments have changed over time."

Flustered at the sudden confession, you were only able to say one thing, "Why?"

"Why…? Why indeed," he made a soft smile at this, as if he knew something that was totally lost to you. "Maybe if I get to know you more, I might arrive at an answer."

You looked away, unable to face his earnest eyes. There was a feeling in you that knows he was being honest, yet you still couldn't help but feel suspicious. Why is he suddenly springing this up on me? Why does he want to know me? What is he planning? Who exactly is Lee Jihoon?

You also didn't know the answer to those questions. But maybe, just maybe, you would understand if you just let him in.

You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life!

God damn it, Soonyoung!

"If that is the case, then feel free to explore, yet that does not mean, the seas are not treacherous," you finally said, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

"I wouldn't want anything else."

Grinning back at you, Jihoon leaned forward and placed a small chaste kiss on your forehead, making you look at him with the most stunned expression on your face.

"I-I...I think I might want to have another drink! J-just stay there! I'll be back!"

As you shouted, you stormed away from the balcony and went straight back to the buffet tables, seeking anything that is liquid, alcoholic or cold to ease the burning on your cheeks.

"Yes, it seems like I made the right decision with choosing her as my date," he remarked as he watched your retreating figure, smirking to himself.

By the time you went back, you had already downed a few glasses, and another one on your hand to drink for later. You were tipsy then, as obvious as your flushed cheeks were, and Jihoon had to catch you before you stumbled onto the ground.

"You seemed to have drunk a lot," he remarked as he steadied you on your step.

"...Need it," you muttered, unable to look at him.

"What?"

"Jihoon…" purring, you clung to his lapel with a giggle, your face simply inches away from his. "You...you look quite handsome…have I told you that?"

With a smirk, you inched closer to him; lips almost brushing against each other. That is, until he turned his head and pushed you away.

"It's late...we should head home."

His ears were red though.

◇

The school was silent during the dead hours of the night. Students were either prohibited by their curfews or too busy studying to bother with fooling around. Only the soft rustling of wisteria and cherry blossom flowers and the loud ramblings of a drunkard could be heard across the courtyard.

"Jihoonie~ come on now…don't touch me there," you teased between giggles as he carried you behind his back.

"Please don't be too loud…"

"I'm not loud! In fact, I'm quite soft spoken~"

"What did I get myself into…?"

You were definitely heavy; and with the weight of the whole dress, Jihoon was already wheezing when he opened the door to your shared dormitory and carried you to your own bed.

Gently laying you down, Jihoon spent a few moments gazing at you who was smiling at him carelessly.

"Oh my…" a giggle, "are you going to confess your undying love to me now…?" You asked, making him grin at you.

"Would you believe me if I did?" Jihoon responded, slowly reaching for your wrist wrapped in a silk and lace glove.

"Of course not," you smirked. "You're Lee Jihoon."

Upon your words, he made a small smile, yet it had hinted some sort of deeper sadness. Lifting your hand up, Jihoon kissed the inside of your wrist.

"Of course."

A/N: Hii!! This is Hyeri again!! No new chapters for next week (instead some Jihoon smut, if you like those sksksk) Hopefully, after that week, regular updates on this fic will continue! (maybe punctuated by some Wonwoo smut;;; Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter!!! Thank you so much!!

-Hyeri

#seventeen #svtcreations #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen woozi #lee jihoon #woozi fluff #the most convenient escape #chapter 3

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terrorhqs · 4 years

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THE AFTERMATH OF MANMADE TRAGEDIES.

Good Sunday beautiful members !! Here are the results for the tasks each of you completed. Please let us know if you want additional details about what is happening to your characters, in case you need more information. For the sake of easy readability and creative liberty, we did not include many details in these consequences, but you can ask the admins to tell you more in private.

THE JUDAS

>>> For staunchly defending your innocence instead of turning the other cheek, you earn the sympathy and admiration of THE CAPTAIN, THE PURSER, THE DOE-HEARTED, and THE CHAPLAIN and your fellow survivors. however, you have alienated yourself from the common seamen and have attracted the attention of THE CHRONICLER in your outburst.

>>> You can now ask for favors from THE CAPTAIN, THE PURSER, THE DOE-HEARTED, and THE CHAPLAIN. you are more susceptible to THE CHRONICLER’s machinations.

THE SUNFLOWER

>>> For righting THE DOCTOR’s knowledge of the mysterious flowers, you gain his respect, though fear only continues to heighten onboard the Promethean at the only other alternative you have left them - the unknown, the nightmare come true waiting for them.

>>> Tensions rise to a boil as you null the last hope of a scientific explanation. However, you gain the pride of THE JUDAS for speaking the truth, despite how THE STOWAWAY throws glares your way.

THE SHADOW

>>> The ring hums in your possession, vibrating as if it senses a new owner. You pocket it and it does not leave your side. that evening, your sleep is fitful—you dream of ghosts who haunt the seascape—some of them are familiar. some of them are not.

>>> On your way to an errand on the upper deck, you see THE RAVEN staring wide-eyed at your pocket. Confused, you look down - to realize the ring glows with steady light, visible, but only just. You realize this means that, for the first time, you cannot hide what you stole.

THE PURSER

>>> For choosing to confide in THE CHAPLAIN, your feelings of dread ease during daytime. For a while, you almost dare entertain the hope that this is working. But then an insidious thought burrows into your mind: what if the Chaplain will use your confessions against you?

>>> You feel your stable nature disintegrate. Even as your rational side understands that insomnia can cause paranoia, that you’ve seen it before in starving men, a more powerful feeling urges you on.

THE EMPRESARIO

>>> For trying to quell the protest in the officer’s mess, you gather the attention of both the skeptical faction, who would benefit from a mutiny of sorts, and the faction that accepts the survivor’s account. This makes it exponentially harder to carry on with your plans.

>>> You are tasked directly by the superiors of the crew with overseeing any words of rebellion, despite being a guest. You do not mistake it for an honor; this is a direct leash to keep your plans in check, and thus either dim or stunt your influence as neutral party.

THE COMMANDER

>>> For choosing to tell your Captain the survivors were exaggerating at best, you become the leading figurehead for the skeptical faction onboard. Fellow skeptics understand that you are championing their cause. This garners you the respect of people like THE STOWAWAY, THE MARAUDER, THE EMPRESARIO, THE INTREPID.

>>> You now have more influence on the ship than before—though from an opposite direction. You lose the ear of the ship’s trifecta: CAPTAIN, VETERAN, PURSER. You lose the faith of the Agathe survivors, including some of them you’ve known before.

THE CHAPLAIN

>>> For nipping the sailors’ suspicions in the bud, you draw the hostility of THE INTREPID, who saw your apparent gullible nature as fertile ground for an alliance. You cannot understand how rampant fear would serve their cause, but you are inclined to think the worst.

>>> You hear that they are trying to find out more about your past. Above all, they have been seen tailing THE EMPRESARIO with an underlining of promises and veiled threats in their wake. You are left counting your last options.

THE INTREPID

>>> For encouraging the prospect, you have successfully sown the seeds of discord among some of the senior officers. Your machinations do not go unnoticed by those who oppose them.

>>> You have earned the express approval of those who debate THE CAPTAIN’s command, and those who stand to benefit from doubting him: THE COMMANDER, THE LOVER, THE EMPRESARIO, and THE CHRONICLER, etc. You also earned the ire of those who are loyal to him: THE VETERAN, THE PURSER, etc.

THE DOE-HEARTED

>>> For agreeing to give them an in to your uncle, you have now earned the goodwill of THE INTREPID. You can now go to them for advice or information. This will increase proportionally to your ability to deliver a one on one meeting between them and the CAPTAIN.

>>> You can now ask favors from them, as well as from their immediate allies: THE LOVER, THE COMMANDER. However, if you do not deliver, you are at risk of finding yourself in an enmity instead.

THE VOLCANIC

>>> For choosing to remain silent about your ailments, you maintain what fragile standing you have with the crew of the Promethean, gritting your teeth to the chills that grip your neck and working through it.

>>> Time escapes you more and more, especially in the late hours of the evening - you are unable to sleep, and restlessness plagues you more than ever before. You may have survived Le Silencieux, but one could hardly call this living.

THE DEVOTED

>>> For taking the note to the Captain, you are delegated to keep an eye on everyone as they enter the common mess on even days, and as they enter the officer’s mess on the odd days.

>>> Your schedule is altered, but what’s far worse, the entirety of your behavior is forced to change. You are meant to be unobtrusive but determined, to keep an eye out for people’s palms - but how can this happen without unnerving them? It feels against everything you are.

THE APOSTATE

>>> For confessing your fear to the COMMANDER, you can rest assured knowing they are well informed of what lurks in promise. But if they choose to ignore your words, you can no longer save them.

>>> You see that the Commander still insists to paint the Agathe as scared, scarred prey. Weavers of tales. He pities your lot, but he does not respect it. You lose faith. You lose calm. You lose patience.

THE VETERAN

>>> For choosing to go look for the boatswain, you are the first to find their body. You are there just in time to see life flowing out of their face. It’s a physical sight: like smoke pipe, it pours out of their eyes and mouth. You’ve seen men die, but never like this.

>>> You incur severe emotional damage, and your composure cracks with each passing day. You can share what you witnessed, or you can keep it hidden. You do not know what would make it worse.

THE ROMANTIC

>>> For gifting the compass to THE JUDAS, you strike an affinity with them. You begin to spend more and more time with the Agathe crew, writing their account of what happened, hearing their stories out.

>>> Your fellow crew members cold-shoulder you. You no longer have a place at the common mess table, and on several nights you find your hammock cut with a knife, your belongings smeared with trash. You can only wonder how long it will be before someone tears you apart.

THE IDOL

>>> For ignoring whatever mirage you might have seen, you spare any further sparking of fear among your crew, though unease is not quick to let go of you. Your excuses are feeble, even to yourself - but they are enough to stave off any unwanted questions.

>>> You grow more and more wary of THE VOLCANIC, perhaps for how they sense the turmoil brewing within you. Your fellow crew can provide no comfort, and you develop a habit of looking over your shoulder one too many times that THE SCION and THE WILDCARD do not miss.

THE MARKED

>>> Your shot rings true and pierces James in the heart - his likeness dissipates without so much as a whisper - elsewhere you hear a faint roar, otherworldly. Not a thing wounded, but enraged.

>>> You have angered The Silent One, and you feel an impending sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. Somehow you know you’ve provoked something terrible. Unless you confide in another who is willing to believe you, you suffer this knowledge alone.

THE DOCTOR

>>> For speaking the truth of the unknown cause of death, a fear settles upon the ship, soft as snow, heavy as guilt. You know you will have to send the boatswain’s body home to their family without an explanation for their death, and that perhaps haunts you more than the mystery of their body.

>>> You are forced to perform your own examination when the next morning, several long claw marks adorn the side of your body, bleeding profusely and sending sharp pangs of pain with the slightest movement. Once again you are left without an explanation, your new wounds mocking you.

THE HARUSPEX

>>> For remaining silent, the voices increase. Their strength doubles like a river poorly dammed: they’re in your room, now, they’re on deck when you keep watch. They come from outside, not within: from the sea, the storm. They say warnings. Sometimes, they say worse things.

>>> You incur severe damage, and sleep and food begin to elude you. Your duties begin to be seen to less and less, but with everything going on, how can you draw even more attention to yourself?

THE CLAIRVOYANT

>>> For allowing yourself to be noticed, you invite the attention of believers and skeptics alike. Even if it is by your will, it cuts like a double-edged blade.

>>> The former mark you as an omen, bad luck, a message from The Silent One itself. Possessed by it. The skeptics believe you are fabricating your marks for attention, as a means to your own gain. Exploitative of tragedy.

THE WILDCARD

>>> For laying the explosives in hopes of wounding the beast, you are throw against the ice and incur significant physical damage. Though still able to walk, a wiser man would remain confined to bed, but you seem to take it as a price worth paying for knowing what’s out there.

>>> You have several bruised ribs, a gash on your face, and a dislocated shoulder. The shoulder is easily fixed by THE DOCTOR; the other wounds, however, do not seem to heal. Is it in your mind?

THE SCION

>>> For running back to the rest, you’ve successfully resisted The Silent One’s beckoning, a triumph, perhaps. But you feel it is not done with you yet.

>>> You are back beneath the ice, in your dreams. It calls again, draws you from slumber to climb to the upper deck. A deckhand finds you about to climb over the edge, unaware of your surrounding, a faint smile playing on your lips. When word gets out, you are relieved from your duties for three days until your superior deems you well enough to return.

THE AMULET

>>> For alerting the others that something in the Boatswain is still alive, you make sure you will be the first one asked to recount what happened, barring only perhaps THE VETERAN.

>>> The poor boy’s friends as well as curious strangers ask you if he truly was possessed in your grip. The tale spins out of control, and soon you hear a variance where it was your touch that put the devil in him - or drew it out. You don’t know what is worse.

THE LOVER

>>> For choosing to seek what lies restless in the dark, you become subject to a loss of time - THE COMMANDER finds you in the corner of your room hours later, cold to the touch and unblinking. You remember nothing but a flicker of a shadow that looks too much like the deceased boatswain. You remember it being only seconds.

>>> You are shaken from the ordeal, and opening your eyes leaves you vulnerable to more tricks of the night while closing them invites a darkness reminiscent of the shadows that now haunt you. Sleep evades you, and even the touch of your loved ones feels too much like ice.

THE CHRONICLER

>>> For sharing your ominous feeling about this place, you become a cornerstone for Promethean believers and the skeptics alike. A small, timely crowd abounds before your cabin door each day. From questioner, you become the questioned.

>>> The following people come to you with doubts of their own: THE STOWAWAY, THE CHAPLAIN, THE PURSER, THE THESPIAN. You can avoid some of their pressing for details, but you know you won’t be able to stave them off for long.

THE STOWAWAY

>>> For exposing the runes on THE CLAIRVOYANT’s skin, your credibility as a translator has increased. Additionally, in doing so, the Promethean’s fears over the unknown has simmered considerably, many onboard sighing in relief over a liar’s truth now told.

>>> THE CAPTAIN thanks you for your honesty, and THE VETERAN has warmed to you considerably. However, THE CLAIRVOYANT no longer meets your eyes and THE MARKED still looks at you with a retained level of doubt.

THE THESPIAN

>>>> For daring to sully THE COMMANDER’s name to THE CAPTAIN, you plant the first seeds of mistrust between the two, delicately imbalancing what camaraderie existed. Neither will soon forget this moment.

>>>> You have added a new divide onto the ship, ice cracking a clean line between the members of the Promethean. You now face a different terror: THE LOVER’s wrath. There is an unease when members of the Promethean look at you now, unsure of what else you know.

THE SOCIALITE

>>> In keeping silent, the survivor’s testimony hangs in the air as it has, untarnished. You are aware one word from you about the opium and it will ruin the credibility of the entire party. Yet if something is to taint their trustworthiness, it will not be your word.

>>> You now have a tentative allyship in THE THESPIAN—though you also now possess leverage over them too. You can ask them for a favor, or to supply you with any intel you might desire about both Promethean passengers or Agathe survivors.

THE SCARLET

>>> For choosing to risk THE VOLCANIC’s ire, you are now their ally in their upcoming plans. When the gun’s hideout is seen by the Promethean’s rigger, THE RAVEN, you are both called into the CAPTAIN’s quarters.

>>> You are now directly associated with THE VOLCANIC by the rest of the crew - you share the standing they will gain, should matters take a turn for the worst, as well their potential failing.

THE MARAUDER

>>> For locking up the first troublemaker, you earn a no-nonsense reputation among both the common seamen and the senior officers, as well as The Captain’s favor.

>>> Fewer common seamen join you in your evening nightcaps, and some outright ignore you if they’re not grabbing their rations. You’ve found a new ally in THE AMULET, as well as the favor of the rest of the survivors once they hear word of your actions.

THE RAVEN

>>> For taking the fang to the DOCTOR, you begin to assist them in their research. Soon, you have scores of books that beg deciphering: botany, anatomy, zoology, pages you glimpsed before in Parisian libraries, but never parsed before.

>>> You earn an allyship with the Promethean faction that tolerates the Agathe crew and seeks humane answers for what happened: THE DOCTOR, THE CHAPLAIN, THE VETERAN, THE PURSER. Yet the next day, you begin to see strange bite marks on your body.

THE CAPTAIN

>>> For deciding to turn the Promethean around, you have incited the anger of THE COMMANDER and THE INTREPID, who do not try to hide what thoughts blacken in their eyes: they think you a coward, and they are not alone in sharing this sentiment.

>>> Whispers of your decision turn into outcry from members of your own crew, though THE APOSTATE, THE JUDAS, and THE VOLCANIC are now ready to defend your name against those who used to respect you.

#thqtask #horror rp #skeleton rp #oc rp #literate rp

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bethygauw · 4 years

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Mahoyaku Interview: Tsushimi Bunta (Main Screenwriter) and Kazuma Kowo (Worldbuilding Supervision) + Coly Scenario Director

Released: 28 February 2020

(!) Warning (!): Some spoilers for Main Story chapter 17 towards the end of this post.

TL note: I feel like going by surname-given name in this article;;; pardon the inconsistency Also support the fab fan translation site if you haven’t already: https://mahoyaku-eng.com/

Blurb: This is a world where mages and humans coexist, and this is a story that depicts the journey to save it—brought to you by screenwriter Tsushimi Bunta, known for their subtle writing style that retains a realistic touch, and Kazuma Kowo, who oversees not only character background but also the worldbuilding of each country, among other things. In this issue, we’ve asked what sort of things they were being mindful of during the game’s creation and if there are any behind-the-scenes that they could share. In addition, we’ve also included a few comments from the scenario director, who’s in charge of bringing together all story elements in this game from the Main Story to Training Location stories. We hope you enjoy everything that Promise of Wizard has to offer as you play through it.

Tsushimi Bunta: Freelance screenwriter. Main scriptwriter of Idolish7 as well as the author of the novel adaptations. In this game, they’re in charge of writing the Main Story, Training Location stories, and Event Stories among others.

Kazuma Kowo: Manga-ka and illustrator. Representative works include Junsui Adolescence (Ichijinsha Inc.), Dear Tear (Hakushensha Inc.), and Hinemosu Futari (Takeshobo Co., Ltd.). In this game, they’re in charge of worldbuilding supervision.

----- * * * -----

Part 1: Interview with Tsushimi Bunta (Main Screenwriter) and Kazuma Kowo (Worldbuilding Supervision)

Q: How did you get involved in the development of Promise of Wizard?

I got my first offer around five years ago, but I had to decline because I was already working on something else. They’ve continued to contact me a number of times since then, and then finally the right chance came along. There was the worldbuilding, and then the management and creation of character setting sheets that would shape their sets of values et cetera, which seemed to be a lot for me to handle. That’s why I asked Kazuma-san to help us out. We made games together in the past.

Q: Kazuma Kowo-san is in charge of worldbuilding supervision. Together, the two of you came up with the mages’ world as well as the story. What sort of discussions did you guys have when you were creating the character setting for the wizards as well as the world construct?

We decided on the fantasy genre, but it can range from fairytales to light novel stuff to something as massive as high fantasy. We started from discussing what extent would attract the audience’s attention the most. We talked over and over about it, and in the end, we moved forward with the idea of the countries having their own fantasy taste. We had Kazuma-san sort which wizard into which country first, and then we made adjustments over time. Oz was in the North at first, for example, and then there was Figaro in the Central country. Shino was more reserved, Heath was the flirt, whereas Leno was someone ruthless. Then we figured we should be finalising the characters that would be “the face” of each country first, so that people can remember the characteristics of each country more easily. These are Arthur, Murr, Shino, Rutile, and Mithra. Things that have wizards and witches vibe such as precious stones, stars, plants, fortunetelling, incense, books—a lot of these things are what girls usually like, so we tried to be brave and implement as much as we could.

Q: How did you develop the personality and other characteristics of each wizard from each country? Was there anything you paid attention to in particular when creating these wizards?

The central country has wizards with heroic qualities, so they lean more towards heroes, leaders, and priests. The Western country’s qualities stress on the eccentricity, the bizarre, and entertainment, so they have themes like the Cheshire Cat and Halloween. The Japanese equivalent would be the kitsune foxes and the shapeshifting tanuki racoons. The East has wizards that are gothic, dark and gloomy with melancholic feel to them. The Southern wizards are like the Fairy Godmother from Cinderella. They're good at helping others, honest, and pastoral. The Northern wizards’ image is like a demon lord or great witches who rule over humans—the power type that screams horror.

Q: In this game, wizards have powers that humans don’t have. Because of it, humans rely on them and they adore them. But, there are also occasions where the wizards are feared and detested. You’re depicting not only the “cool wizards”, but also the gap between the wizards and humans. There are also characters who have power but suffer and feel lonely because of it. I think things like that are what makes this game charming, but was there anything you were being mindful of in the process of writing that sort of aspect?

I don’t want to make the loneliness that the wizards feel to be theirs alone. Instead, I want the players to feel something similar, seeing as we all live in a society. I think anyone who lives in a society feels that they “want to be understood” or “want to understand [others]”. But at the same time, they also feel some sort of indignation where they “don’t want to be understood” or want to say “don’t you dare think you’ve understood”. I want the players to take any of these emotions and observe from the wizards’ point of view. I want them to let their imagination expand and enjoy themselves that way.

Q: Many of the wizards’ incantations are phrases that we’re unfamiliar with. I believe a lot of fans have put a lot of thinking into figuring out the meanings and the origin. How did you come up with these incantations?

In regards to incantations, I had Kazuma-san take the wheel. We had it in katakana so that it reads more smoothly in text, but we also adjusted it as we prioritise things like how easy it is to pronounce and for people to catch it. The impression you get from these incantations (sounds powerful, weak, ominous, or it’s still too early for you, et cetera), and how powerful they actually are—we have it all ranked and organised, so it would be nice if it shows one at a time.

Q: Was there anything about the “fantasy parallel universe” genre and the “relationship between wizards and the sage” you find to be the reason why you can deliver particular ideas? Was there anything you found interesting during the writing process?

I actually had to restrain my thinking process because I had to remind myself that I’m writing fantasy, so it’s like I can’t include things that are normal and already exist in the real world. Even if I come up with a good idea, I’ll end up thinking that it’s a little too normal and then it gets scrapped.

Q: The existence of the previous sage who doesn’t put on airs and has an approachable personality becomes one of the attention-grabbing elements in the storyline. In your mind, what sort of character is the previous sage?

A white-collar worker who works at an exploitative company. They can say pretty irresponsible things to the mages and amuse themselves with it. But they also get scared simply from scary things, and they have the boldness to say something selfish.

Q: Please tell us, if there are any, things that seem trivial but it’s something that you were being particular about during the process of writing the Main Story. These can include scenes, specific lines, or portrayal of something.

The same goes for the Main Story and the Sub Stories, but I want people to feel excited and let them imagine all sorts of things. I always have that in mind and that’s why I’ve added lots of details into the setting. “If I were a mage”, “If I were a citizen of this country”, “Which country would my friends come from”, “What does this taste like”, “What are their previous love stories like, and what’s their life been like until now”... I think being able to have so much freedom in imagination is what the real pleasure of the fantasy genre is. I hope it’s become a world that allows the players to indulge themselves in daydreaming.

Q: Lastly, please leave a message to all fans who are out there supporting Promise of Wizard.

Thank you for playing the game! It’s pretty much my first time writing fantasy, so right until it was released, my heart kept pounding thinking if it would really count as fantasy… But I’m so happy that a lot of people are having fun with the story! Please continue your support for Promise of Wizard from now on too!

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Part 2: Interview with Mahoyaku’s Scenario Director

Q: How did you make this job offer to Tsushimi Bunta-san? What is it about Tsushimi-san’s works and writing style that makes it charming to you?

Right around the early stages of the establishment of our company, Coly, one of their past works touched my heart. Their script writing ability was so mind-blowing that I thought I just had to make this offer. In the end, that also instigated Kazuma-sensei’s involvement, and that’s how we got them to help us out as well. I think one of the things that make Tsushimi-sensei’s work charming is the universally relatable characters, the writing that makes the reader want to cheer the characters on, as well as a whole new world that they bring to the readers. Tsushimi-sensei has the ability to transform unsaid feelings and unwritten motions into breathtaking scenes. Sometimes, trivial dialogues can depict genuine feelings within human hearts, like that of a child’s. You can feel through the writing affection and gentle point of views towards those in a weaker position.

Q: The setting of this game involves the main character who suddenly wandered into another world where mages live. Then, they became the “sage” who gather up the wizards and guide them. How did you decide on what the story was about and which direction it was going?

We had the people in our company come up with several ideas and we went through them to see which ones had and hadn’t already been used in regards to the fantasy parallel universe genre, which was the direction we were going with. From there, we ended up with a story where the sage, someone who wandered into another world, and wizards fight together. We don’t want you to forget reality. Instead, we want you to enjoy it even more. We want to bring a world that gives you courage and positive energy, and we want to deliver the wizards’ world that’s blinding, mysterious, and exciting.

Q: Could you tell us a scene or a line from the main story that’s particularly memorable for you? And why as well, if possible.

Every scene in the main story is memorable for me, so to be honest with you, it’s really hard to pick one. But I was particularly driven in the execution of Chapter 17’s “Rustica’s Request”, so I cherish it a lot. It’s something that Rustica said to Chloe, who was tearing up silently as his feelings were hurt, “That’s because there’s only one of it in this world. This is something that only you can make.” It’s a sweet line, one that will always stay close to you and give you warmth. It may sound cheesy, but no matter how many times you read it, it echoes through in every corner of your heart.

#spoon2di #mahoyaku #staff

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cantfeelmyfaceanymore · 3 years

Text

Manipulations of an opportunist

This type of person will be charming and charismatic. They will be good with their words. They are typically a pathological liar and what this person is doing is looking for someone to exploit for their benefits. What they will do is look for a person with a special social status that they can use to their advantage. They look for a person with a good heart and that is a forgiving person. You are talking about someone that would admit their mistakes, that is someone that is taking responsibility for themselves and does not lack empathy. So what we are talking about here is a person that is wanting someone that is easily made feel guilty as a means to manipulate you into doing what they want. This type of person will be passive aggressive and will gaslight you. What they are looking for is someone that is able to see the good in people while this abuser is draining all of your energy from your mind and body. They are looking for someone with low self esteem in many cases or they will seek someone with higher levels of confidence as that is easier to mirror and take advantage of in ways that are indeed parasitic.

This type of person will use you for sex and not call you the next day. They believe in taking short cuts when they are available to do so. When you are talking about someone that would not respect you then this is it. They are wanting you to do everything while they do nothing for you. You will find yourself feeling pressured to agree to things that you might not have and if you are having anxiety or are fearful to tell this person no then you are dealing with gaslight. What this person is wanting to do is make you think that you owe them something for them only being around you. Have you ever had someone borrow money from you or constantly call you for rides but that is all they want? This person would use you as a second choice dirty secret. What they are doing is fucking someone else and then coming to you when it is easier for them to do so. This is someone that would not want you to know their friends and family.

They will hide you from other people and give you vague excuses about what their reasons are for this. In many cases what can happen is that you do not meet up with their social status for what they truly want and they are embarrassed by you and will see in their minds how other people would interpret you and when this becomes obvious to you if it ever does as they are good with lying about their reasons why they would isolate you like this. That is why. This type of person would fuck someone and then deny it to other people when they ask them about it. You will either not be enough in some fashion why they would want to treat you like a piece of ass and that is because you are one. A person that respects you would not treat another person this way. What they are wanting is the easiest way around having to do any real leg work or getting with someone that they actually want is not the option so they are making a use out of you as they see fit. What will happen is this person is more concerned about what other people will say about them if they knew about you so they are not trying to protect you but save their own social graces.

That is fucking ironic that someone would be concerned what other people would say about them but they are using a person like an object and make no mistake that you are not a person to someone that would do these things to you. A person with any dignity or self respect would not treat a person like this. So what you do is watch for how often you are hearing from this person and do they only take you to their house or places where they will not see someone else they know? Are you going to bars that would entertain a crowd that this person does not match with? Watch for them to make comments about what you are wearing or how you look or talk. This person will be watching everything you are doing like it is an interview. At first they will want to pay you a lot of attention and will flatter you to death with compliments and what they are doing to painting another picture from the demonic one that is actually who they are. You will see someone that was calling and texting a lot to suddenly you are hardly hearing from this person. They are seeing someone else already when this is going on and you are not entering the devaluation period where you are now not as important and this person has someone else that they do not want to know they were fucking with you.

This is part of the reasons why you are suddenly getting excuses and silent treatments from them. They will only speak to you as much as they have to and they will tell you anything so you are thinking that there is more going on between you in the future. You will hear about them having to work more hours or that they are going through some made up bullshit tragedy about their lives and what they are wanting to do is make you think that the reasons for this were not your fault but they take the blame for it and a person that would take the blame is only agreeing with you in this gaslight so you shut up and they do not have to hear you say it again. That is the only reason someone like that will stay calm when you are complaining about them so they know you think you were heard and what they are thinking the whole time is wow look at this person and watch this, you were absolutely right about that and I understand. A person that would do this intentionally is never sorry. They will be glib which is a smooth talker and they will know what to tell you as this is something that they have done before and they can use shallow emotions to make you think you are seeing remorse when they have none at all. It is all about them and nothing about you unless you are blamed for it.

A people pleaser like that will have no problem taking the blame and there are people that do this to avoid a fight. When it comes to a sociopath or a psychopath, they will let you blame them. And this is all so they are able to judge where you are at with them to know when to move forward or when to step back. If you notice they wont follow you into another room arguing with you and will stay in one spot while you throw a fit about something that they have done and they have no reaction to it at all? This is because this person does not give a shit what you are saying at all. They do not trip out about the things that people with strong emotions typically do and it is not the first time this has happened so you are talking about basically a pro when it comes to making you think something else is going on with them or you.

This person will only want to talk about themselves and watch for someone that is constantly bragging about something. It is one thing to be proud of something but when the conversation is constantly monopolized by someone and it is only about them. This person does not care to know how you are at all. They will act jealous about other people that are nothing more than your friend and make you feel guilty about having friends. They will want to insult you for the things that you like to do that they do not agree with as it is not something that they would want to do so why would you want to and this is a controlling person. Watch for someone to make comments about your weight or body and if you were to dare to say something about them then how would they react? That person would get mad as hell. They will likely have tantrums when you are not wanting to do what they are wanting you to do. Watch for their eyes to flash and roll when you are not doing what they want you to.

If you have someone that is wanting to make you feel bad about yourself or your accomplishments that had nothing to do with them and many will take the credit for any success that you do have as they will want to make sure you think that they did something for you that they did not. This person is toxic and will make you think that you owe them something when you do not. This is what emotional manipulations do to someone. Any time you are not feeling good about who you are and you are looking down on yourself or constantly apologizing for things that make no sense but you say it so they wont attack you with something else. That is abuse and it is toxic. Why would you apologize for something that this person is imagining that you did? Always consider what someone has to gain from you. Watch for this person to call you and tell you all about what a horrible day they had and only wants to vent to you. You are not their friend. They are using you for whatever they can and this is what that person will always do.

You cannot care about someone and treat them this way but someone like that will make you think that they do. A person with a sense of entitlement cannot share the feelings about you that you do them. They are not wanting that from you. They are only wanting to get what they need and that is it. You will see yourself giving everything that you have and more and this person will never be satisfied with anything that you do. When you do things for them, they will complain about it and its never enough. If you notice that you are the only person that tells them the truth or treats them with respect yet this smug fuck could care less what you have done for them. That is not the way that they wanted you to do it. Watch for someone that withholds information or is constantly talking up a bunch of shit about other people and it will always be things that are not warranted yet they are able to go back around that person that they were talking about like it was nothing and this is because it was not anything. Not to a person with a sense of entitlement.

They were right to do what they wanted to do to you. When you are thinking about something that a person is doing and you are seeing yourself saying that it feels like or they act like, there is no maybe, that is what is going on and you need to get away from a person like that. They will only stay around until the next new craze comes through and then poof you are out their life until they need you again. This person will tell other people that you are obsessed with them and how they cannot stand you and you will not take the hint or they don’t want to hurt your feelings. That is bullshit. You are being used

#opportunistic #toxic relationships #psychopath #sociopath #abusive relationship #bpd things

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