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astermacguffin · 3 years

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What if the Mark of Cain manifests differently when it's imprisoning God and not the Darkness? If the Darkness makes the Mark bearer go insane with unbridled want for destruction, then what does sealing God make you do?

An obsessive desire for creation? Creation to the point of corruption? (Think of the Shimmer from the film Annihilation. Continuous reproduction to the point of begetting alien, cancer-like entities. A refracted, distorted notion of creation.)

Okay, so canon divergence from The Trap. They successfully seal away Chuck, then Castiel bears the Mark. (Jack won't be back until later episodes, so he's not here yet.)

At first, they think he's fine. Cas says he's not feeling any bloodlust just yet. (He does feel a certain itch under his skin. Not a desire to murder, but a desire to do...something. He doesn't tell this to anyone.)

His grace is getting stronger, almost archangel-like (if not more). It's incredibly helpful for hunts, and Cas is happy to feel his wings healthy again after a long time. Sam is happy for him, but Dean is suspicious of things (especially since he's a previous Mark bearer).

After a while, Cas starts feeling...burdened, almost bloated by grace. (After all, he does have access to an infinite supply of it.) He needs to have an outlet for it.

Cas tells them so and Sam suggests healing people. Dean gives the green light on the condition that he remains invisible and he doesn't go Godstiel on them again.

It's a great outlet, and for the first few weeks they start feeling normal again. But unfortunately, healing stops being enough to relieve Cas of his excess grace anymore. The mass healings start to pile up all across the globe and it catches everyone's attention. Some think it's a blessed miracle, some think it's a sign of the end times. They make him slow down on the healings after that.

Without an outlet, however, Cas starts feeling antsy and pained. They brainstorm on possible alternatives. Cas suggests going to Heaven and saving it from collapse by healing his brethren's wings and creating more angels out of consenting souls in Heaven.

He explains Heaven's endangered and dwindling numbers. Sam agrees that it would hit two birds in one stone: relieve Cas from excess grace and prevent the extinction of angels. Dean doesn't like the idea of more winged dicks so he shoots down the idea. Eileen says that since Cas is the one in pain, he should be the one to decide.

Ultimately, Cas defers to Dean's judgment (as always). Sam protests, arguing that he can't just shoulder that pain. Cas replies: "I've suffered worse, Sam."

Cas doesn't complain about the pain for about a week, so for a while, everyone believes him when he said he can shoulder the pain. One day, Dean finds him outside the bunker, groaning in pain as he bleeds himself out, his grace pouring into the ground and sprouting plants. Dean sees this and is finally convinced to allow Cas to make more angels.

What follows then is a series of escalating events:

While Sam and Eileen are practicing their witchcraft for spell they need in a hunt, Cas suggests to enhance Sam's physical and magical abilities using his grace. "It will make the process faster and safer," he reasons. He agrees, but Dean eyes this suspiciously.

During one of their hunts, they encounter a young and freshly-turned vampire. The boy begs them not to kill him, and Cas gives him a proposal. "Promise not to feed on humans ever again and I shall cure you of your hungers and your pains. Pledge your allegiance to me and you shall never be afraid of yourself ever again." The boy agrees, and before Dean could even protest, Cas slices his palm and feeds the vampire his grace.

They argue about the grace-feeding in the Impala. Dean notices Sam's pointed lack of complaints and figures it out. "You're in on this, aren't you? How long has Cas been doing this? He's going Michael behind our backs and you're letting him?"

Sam argues that it's different because Cas isn't making super monsters; he's making them less "monstrous" (whatever that means). Sam's obsession with his own "purity" is key to understanding him here.

One time, Dean catches Cas in his "garden" ("forest" seems more apt with how lush the greens already are) creating butterflies and bees out of thin air using his grace alone.

Reports of the miraculously healed people suddenly gaining new abilities like increased strength, heightened senses, and prophecy start popping up. Some are experiencing phantom limbs, talking about their sprouting "wings."

Sam is becoming addicted to Cas' grace to the point that he willingly lets himself be hurt in hunts just so Cas can cure him. Dean confronts him about this, but Sam just argues that he's "never felt this pure before." Eileenn shares the same concern as Dean.

Hunts are becoming less frequent the more monsters are being "cleansed" by Cas. The world is becoming disconcertingly quiet.

Cas' "garden" is starting to emit this strange aura. The plants and creatures growing inside it are starting to look more...alien.

One of the original angels goes to Dean and tells him of Heaven's affairs. The Host is stable again, but the angels he created are...not exactly angels. They're graced up and they sustain Heaven, but their true forms are "horrifying and incomprehensible, even to an angel." The angel adds that more than 60% of Earth's creatures have already been touched by Cas' grace.

The final nail in the coffin is when Dean catches Cas in the garden fiddling with his angel blade. It's emitting a strange glow, vibrating a subtle hum and looking as if it's liquid, flowing and distorting here and there.

Dean asks him what he's holding. "Oh, this?" Cas responds. "This is the Last Blade. Last, not in terms of time but in concept, for no other blade shall ever compare to it. The spark of creation. Fiat lux."

Dean's heart sinks. Of course. The First and the Last, Alpha and Omega. "Cas...the Mark, I think i-it's scrambling your brain, man."

"I know," he replies, eyes wet and apologetic. It's a small moment of lucidity amidst weeks and months of...whatever that was.

"Okay, okay, so you're still you, that's... that's good. Okay." Dean doesn't know how to approach this. Give him a fight and he'll know what to do, but this? Watching his best friend, the love of his life, be distorted into something incomprehensible? Yeah, this is totally beyond him.

"You know, I used to hate Chuck," Cas says. "How could the Father of All Creation be this angry, petulant child? But," he continues, "knowing what I know now, it's either regressing into a petty child or being reduced to insanity."

"Cas...what are you talking about, man?"

"No mind should bear this burden, Dean. No matter how infinite they are," he says, voice trembling in exhaustion.

(more below the cut)

He continues. "The awareness of everything is the awareness of nothing at all. Imagine perceiving every possible piece of information about the world all at once. Seeing light in all its forms all at once: ultraviolet, infrared, etc. Sensing all the neutrinos zip by, sensing gravitational waves, sensing the slighest bit of seismic activity."

Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he lets him go on.

"Knowledge can only ever be a slice of the Totality of Truth. Truth is absolute chaos, and Knowledge is the partial ordering of this chaos. One can sanely approach Truth only through organized paritions of Totality. Why do you think Chuck is so obsessed with stories? Stories are linear and finite; they're sensible snippets of the endless sea of possible worlds."

"So, what? Are you trying to—"

"I'm not trying to justify Chuck's actions, Dean," he interrupts. "I just want to contextualize them. Chuck's simplistic and repetitive narratives are what they are: manifestations of a chaotic Totality, gone insane trying to understand itself. Looking for simple things to hold on to."

Cas takes a deep breath. He speaks with a shaky voice. "I'm barely holding myself together, Dean. I can feel the universe beneath my skin."

He doesn't know what possesses him to ask, but he does it anyway. "What are you holding on to?"

Cas smiles at that. "You."

They stare at each other for a while, frozen where they stand. Cas, with unrestrained affection in his face. Dean, struck by shock and indecision. It's Cas who first breaks the silence.

"I think we both know what needs to be done, while I'm still lucid enough." Cas slices his palm and lets his blood drip down the soil. He then thrusts the Last Blade into the ground, lifting it when the soil glows.

Dean stared in awe as the ground erupts and a familiar shape rises from the hollow. "Is that.."

"The Ma'Lak box, yes. I also enhanced it with the Blade to be able to house things as powerful as me."

"Cas, wait, maybe we can think of another way to—"

"Dean," he says, calmly. "You know there's no other way. I wouldn't ask this of you if there was."

In any other scenario, Dean would've kept arguing, but even he knows that they're running out of time. Sam's grace addiction is getting worse and all the creatures touched by Cas' grace are slowly mutating into eldritch horrors. Dean offers a shaky nod. "Okay."

Tension visibly releases from Cas' body. "Thank you, Dean." He opens the box and enters it with ease. "When you lock this, bury me with the garden's graced soil. Once I'm under, my influence over the world should dampen."

Dean gives a wordless nod. For a while, they just stared at each other, Cas lying down and Dean trying to memorize every inch of his face while he can.

Cas presses his hand into Dean's left shoulder where his mark used to dwell. "My untainted grace," he whisper gently. "Some of it is still inside you. That's probably why you're not as affected by me."

Dean wants to say, I'll always be affected by you, but he holds himself back.

He takes his hand back, a bloody handprint now on Dean's jacket. "I love you, Dean," he says, breathless.

"Cas..."

"I probably would've built up to that if we had more time but," he makes a surprised laugh, "I am, as you would say, already 'losing my marbles', so."

The air quotes would've been funny and endearing in any other scenario, but it just makes Dean's vision blur up with tears.

"Thank you for everything, Dean. I know we've done nothing but repeatedly hurt each other these past few years, but I don't want to spend a deathless eternity with that as my memory of you. I forgive you, even for the things you haven't forgiven yourself for yet. And I'm sorry for everything, especially for ending things like this."

He should probably wipe away his tears to clear his vision, but Dean can do nothing but stare at Cas in awe, in fear, in grief, in reverence. They're both fully crying now.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Wait, Cas."

Cas looks at him, waiting.

"Can you...can you say it again?"

He doesn't need to clarify what 'it' means. They both know.

With one last mournful smile, Cas says: "I love you, Dean."

And with that, Dean finally gathers all the strength he needs to shut the lid and lock the box. He stares at it for a while, unblinking. He forgot to ask, Can you hear my prayers down there? But it's too late now to ask.

The box automatically lowers itself into the hole it arose from. Now all that's left to do is to cover it again with soil.

Dean doesn't bother with a shovel. He gently buries the box with his hands deep in the soil, some of it getting trapped under his nails. He continues the mindless task, whispering a tireless series of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I hope you're okay I'm sorry, over and over between his quiet sobs. Cas is quiet inside the box. No screaming or crying. Dean doesn't know if that's better or worse.

When the final clump of soil is pressed into the mound, he suddenly feels it: a visceral shift that echoes throughout the world. The alien glimmer of the garden dims, and the world corrects its axis. Dean screams his agony into the air.

That's how Sam finds him: sprawled over a mound of soil, crying his heart out. Dean doesn't need to say anything: he knows what happened. He pulls his brother off the ground and brings him inside the bunker.

For the first two weeks, Dean cycles through drinking and passing out in various places in the bunker. If he's not wearing the jacket, he's holding it with close to him. Sam gives him a considerable space to grieve while he monitors the world grace problem with Eileen. The grace mutations have significantly dropped since then and everyone's going back to normal.

Unfortunately, that means monsters are getting hungry again. Sam doesn't want to leave his brother alone after going nonverbal with grief and dysfunctional due to alcohol. Eileen assures him that she can handle hunts on their own and that the hunter network that they're building will lessen the workload.

Sam's attempts to sober Dean up finally work, mostly due to the latter having very little strength to protest. Dean remains sober an entire day for the first time in weeks, and all he can think about is: I haven't prayed to Cas in a while. The longing might have reached him, but never a coherent prayer.

The first time he goes out of the bunker in a while, he heads straight to Cas' garden. Sam's glad that he's finally going out because "the sun is good for you" or something, but he's really only here for Cas. He kneels in front of the burial mound (where a patch of an unknown species of flowers is already growing).

The first prayer he says to him in a while is: I love you, Cas. I should've said it while you were still here. Not saying it out loud and just strongly thinking about the words somehow bolsters him to get the words through.

He's crying again, and he knows he's losing coherency. In his mind, he's explaining about his hangups and his regrets and his continuous denial of his own joy, but one constant remains: he's beaming all his love and affection into this prayer.

He's halfway through explaining all the traits that he finds endearing in Cas when suddenly, he feels it like a snap. If the glimmer dimmed when he buried Cas, now it's as if it was never there in the first place. With an unsettling amount of certainty, Dean just knows that Cas is gone. For real, this time.

"C-cas...?" It's the first thing he's said in a while and it sounds rough in his long unused voice.

"CAS! CAS!!! " He's now screaming, ripping away the flowerbed with his bare hands and scratching the soil away. Tears are obstructing his vision, but he has no time to wipe them away. He needs to make sure that is really gone. His hands are bleeding and he doesn't give a damn.

Eventually, Sam comes running towards him. "Dean! Dean, stop!"

He tries to hold his brother back, but Dean just keeps on clawing away soil. "Sammy, Sammy he's gone, he's not there anymore, Sammy I have to see, please, let me see Cas again, I need—" he breaks into sobs again, and like a puppet with its strings cut off, he slumps into Sam.

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay..." he says softly to his shaking brother.

Eventually, when Dean calms down, he looks at the carnage he's done and starts sobbing again. The flowers, his last evidence of Cas being here, are all destroyed. Now Cas truly is gone.

. . .

When Cas first heard Dean's confession prayer, he was overcome with joy. When he realized what that means, however, his stomach suddenly sinks.

He hears before he sees the Empty arrive, slithering like black goo.

"Wow, were you excited enough for eternal slumber that you wanted a preview?" The Shadow teases in Meg's voice.

At first, he was dreading the Empty, but now that he thinks of it, it's actually the perfect prison for him: a vast, endless nothingness for him to fill with his creations.

And if Jack wasn't in Heaven, that only means that he's in the Empty, and he can't wait to see his son again. Even when blinded by the madness of the universe, he can never forget the joy of being a father.

"Yes," he replies, "I'm actually glad you're here now."

. . .

Somewhere around the globe, Billie drops Jack back.

"Don't worry, kid. You'l reunite with your father very soon."

(to be continued)

#spn #destiel #supernatural #aster writes #destiel fic #long post #im totally obsessed with moc!cas #moc!cas

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babyybitchhh · 3 years

Text

Arlong x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4,609

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, monster fucking (?), size difference, over sized genitalia and the buckets of cum to go with it, oral sex, fellatio, eventual consent

A/N: After consulting with my editor in chief, we agreed that the fishmen probably feel a bit like dolphins - firm to the touch but stupidly smooth, a bit clammy - so that's where my descriptive inspiration for this one came from. Y'know. Just in case anyone ends up wondering what the fuck I was smoking while I wrote this. lol And as always, please enjoy! : )

♥♥♥♥

Arlong was not what you would consider a nice man.

There was something mean about him, and undeniably so, but the way he crowds you against the wall late one evening still manages to catch you off guard. You’d thought you had already seen everything his cruelty had to offer. Foolishly, you’d believed that there was a certain line even someone like him would not cross.

Regrettably, you’d been wrong about that.

“W - what are you doing?”

“Don’t be coy.” He mutters while he idly, possessively toys with a strand of your hair between his webbed fingers. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this.”

The cloying stink of booze on his breath hits you all at once and you wrinkle your nose in distaste. You don’t mean to do it. You regret it almost instantly but Arlong doesn’t care for the why or the how, or the rushed apology already forming on the tip of your tongue. All he sees is the discomfort etched across your expression and his demeanor responds in kind, becoming surly and aggressive in the same moment.

With a rumbling grunt, he steps into you and bodily shoves you against the wall. The amount of force in just that simple gesture has you quailing under the imposing weight of him even as you start to shirk away. You think to bolt for safety a little too late and his clammy hand takes advantage of that split second indecision to grab your chin, forcing your head up to look at him.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Hm?” He curls himself over you, bracing his other arm high above your head on the wall so he can lean close and get in your face. You’ve never felt quite so minuscule as you do standing there, frozen to the spot and horribly dwarfed by the towering fishman who’s hacksaw nose was mere inches from yours now.

With each passing second, it was becoming exceedingly hard not to panic.

“Am I not to your liking? Is that it? You’ve really never thought about this before?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You aren’t sure what to say. You don’t know what it is he wants to hear.

Arlong doesn’t wait around for a proper response, though, and instead trails smooth, rubbery fingers down your neck to your shoulder, and then further still to grasp your wrist. You put up no resistance when he pulls, unceremoniously directing your slack hand to the front of his shorts and you jolt at the firm weight pressing up into your palm.

Sucking in a stilted gasp, your eyes go wide at him. “I - I haven’t - -“

“No?” He cuts across you with a faintly disappointed sigh. “Not even a little? You’re not at all curious?”

You whimper, shaking your head when he squeezes and manually forces your hand to close around the stiff outline in his pants. It was big and still growing, as evidenced by the eager twitch it gives at your touch. Shame immediately washes over you when your pussy clenches, the blood in your neck pounding as you try to turn away from him.

“Of course not, w - what would I have to be curious about?”

“You ever seen a fishman’s cock before?”

Your ears were starting to burn. “Nuh … no. Please, Arlong. I don’t - -“

“Come on. I’m sure you’ll like it. There isn’t anything else like it in the whole world, y’know. One of a kind.”

Same as before, he doesn’t give you a chance to sort through your thoughts before taking the incentive. His unoccupied hand drops from the wall and tugs at the waistband of his shorts even while he wrests your twisting hand where he wants it to be. You struggle wildly now, adrenaline fueled fear making you desperate and jerky, but he’s much too strong to break free from. You were trapped.

Horrified, you screw your eyes shut before you can catch a glimpse of what’s hanging between his legs. You’d never seen one before - not a fishman’s, and you would have preferred to keep it that way. The hushed rumors you’d overheard about encounters between people like Arlong and humans such as yourself were nothing kind, after all.

But with very little effort on his part, he clamps your hand into place and you go stock-still at the sensation of porcelain smooth, velvety skin under your fingertips. It doesn’t feel half as repulsive as you’d imagined it would. And, you’re surprised to find, it doesn’t look anywhere near as unnatural as you’d assumed it to be when you apprehensively crack your eyes open and glance at it.

What you had in your hand was just a cock. Nothing more and nothing less.

Albeit a rather large, hefty cock that was a slightly darker shade of blue than the rest of him but still by all accounts a normal looking appendage. If it hadn’t been for it’s unusual color and the staggering size, you could have easily mistaken it for a human’s.

Embarrassed, you flounder for something to say. “It’s … it’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

Arlong snorts and displaces a few of your wispy flyaways with the resulting puff of air, making you shudder between him and the wall. “Don’t try to bullshit me. S’not polite.”

“I’m not.” You insist, shyly forcing your gaze up to meet his. “I expected something different, that’s all.”

“Like what?” He murmurs as he leans his weight into you, not so subtly pinning you under him. You swallow hard, hesitant to say it. But either by virtue of being mildly intoxicated or genuine sincerity on his part, you felt a strange sort of inclination to be honest with him.

“Frankly, I thought it would be more monstrous.”

Arlong manages to catch you off guard again when he outright laughs at that. “Give it time. I’m not fully hard yet.”

Your eyes go big as saucers. “W - wha - -“

He laughs again, somehow even louder this time, and you start to quake with renewed vigor as his cock does indeed continue to twitch and grow in your hand. You couldn’t believe that it would get any bigger than it already was but the proof was right in front of your face. It was still filling out, becoming increasingly more weighty in your palm, and that knowledge terrified you far more than you were willing to admit.

“Don’t look so scared.” He coos, anything but sympathetic when he notices the obvious disquiet casting a shadow over your face. His suddenly good mood did not bode well for you at all. “You said it was nice, didn’t you?”

“Well … well, yes, but - -“

“Here. Let me show you something.”

Releasing his hold on you, Arlong clamps his moist palm down on the back of your neck and unceremoniously steers you forward, away from the wall. You don’t even think to fight it. And how could you when your fate was already sealed? You’d given him an inch by conceding that his cock was not entirely disagreeable and now he was taking a mile.

It was your own fault, really.

“Wait - hold on.” You stammer, panic suddenly creeping into your voice when you realize he was making a beeline with you for the nearest chair. “I didn’t mean it like that, Arlong! I just - -“

“You just what?” He sneers. “Felt like teasing me some more? Thought it’d be funny to tempt me with that pretty little mouth of yours again?”

You sputter in red faced affront. “I never - -“

Cutting you off yet again, he forcefully shoves you down onto your knees. Hard.

You seethe at the splintering pain racing up your legs as he pivots around you to plop down on the waiting seat, his ever present grip on the back of your neck quickly dragging you closer. Arlong’s anticipation for what was coming next was almost palpable, the eager excitement in his motions clear as day. In a last ditch effort, you try to twist away from him but he holds firm even as he works to tug his shorts the rest of the way down with the opposite hand.

“I know you’ve thought about this.” He says it again, breathy now, as if repetition would somehow make it true. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. There’s no need to hide it.”

Whatever biting insult you were going to spit at him catches in your throat and momentarily chokes you when he gets his pants down over his knees, cock springing up in all its full glory. You outright stare, your mouth going dry. Mind blank and pussy aching with phantom pain.

You weren’t sure what he expected you to do with it. He was far too big to fit in any human orifice, surely; but if he was at all concerned about the logistics involved he certainly didn’t show it.

Casually kicking his shorts off, Arlong plants his feet firmly on the floor and shuffles his long legs wide open to welcome you in. The heavy sway of his hanging nutsack seems to taunt you, silently promising a steaming hot load that you weren’t prepared to take. You audibly gulp down your nerves as he pulls you closer, right up against him until the sinfully smooth shaft of his cock is pressed tight against your cheek. It was hard to breathe through the potently masculine musk assaulting your nose and even harder to come to terms with the way your cunt gushes in response to it.

Why was this turning you on so much?

“Arlong … please!” You mewl, helpless to stop it when he relentlessly rubs his cock against your face as if to scent you. “Please listen to me. I never intentionally tried to tease you. I’m sorry …”

“Liar.” A sharp thwack against your cheek accompanies this accusation, the fleshy head of his dick leaving a sharp sting in its wake. “You want me. Just admit that. If you do, your punishment for being such a flirty slut won’t be so severe.”

You bristle at that, trying once again to recoil from him, but he merely pinches your neck even tighter to keep you in place. All you can do is watch in mounting horror as he takes his cock in the opposite hand and starts to pump it, slowly, as if to coax it that last little bit harder. The prominent vein running along the underside visibly throbs for you while he does it, pushing against the thin layer of skin in a rhythmic beat which probably would have flattered you under better circumstances. You hadn’t thought he’d get this worked up over you.

But, to be fair, you also hadn’t expected Arlong to be interested in a human woman in the first place.

“Like the view? You’re going to be a good girl and suck it for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Dazedly, you watch the steady up and down motion of his webbed hand until you eventually find yourself nodding along with it. You felt vaguely like an idiot for consenting to this but there was no denying how tantalizing he looked. For better or worse, you were willing to take the risk.

And that seems to amuse him a great deal, his raspy laugh misting over you even as he adds a twist to his pumping motion, tugging at the foreskin in the process. Scandalized surprise rushes to the forefront of your mind when you catch your first peek of the glans and realize it’s a blue so dark and rich it was almost purple. It’s such a stark contrast from the rest of his uniquely pigmented skin that you immediately want to see more of it, and you lean forward to get a better look with nothing short of rapt fascination. You’d never seen anything quite like it before.

“You’re that interested now?” He murmurs knowingly, snickering faintly under his breath.

“Only a little …”

“Liar.”

But Arlong’s tone holds no real bite this time, and he graciously gives you what you want by rolling the meaty tip back to tuck it behind the ridged glans. The blunt head is just as impossibly smooth as the rest of him, his skin entirely free of pores or blemishes, and so firm that you aren’t sure if there will be any give to it. You’re immediately reminded that you and him were not the same, the differences between you two as glaring as ever.

Without missing a beat, you decide you no longer care.

Reaching up, you carefully take him in hand and a thrill runs through you at the sensation. He’s every bit as silky as he looks but when you experimentally squeeze, it becomes apparent that he’s also relentlessly stiff. You’d thought, maybe, it was just the muscle bound parts of him that were as unyielding as they appeared to be but even this area was so densely padded with fatty insulation that it offered very little cushion. It seemed, then, that the only truly soft spot on his body was probably his ballsack.

Tentatively, you rove your gaze up to look at him. “Can I really?”

“I’ll be pissed if you don’t.”

You scoff, trying not to smile, but when that fails you lean up to drag your tongue along the throbbing vein and hide the curl of your mouth. A triumphant sigh puffs out of him, the hand on the back of your neck relaxing slightly, but he makes no move to completely let go of you yet. The weight of his palm spurs you on and you go up a little higher to flick at the glans, pleasantly surprised at the taste of him. Salty and strong, yet not repugnant. It was a heady flavor, one you’ve never sampled before, and you can’t help but wonder if this is how all fishmen taste. It was strangely intoxicating.

“There’s my good girl. That’s it.” He goads you, leaning back into the chair so he can fully appreciate the sight of you on your knees for him. “Is it as good as you thought it’d be? All you had to do was ask and I would have let you do this a lot sooner, you know.”

Resisting the urge to snap at him to shut up, you use your grip on his cock to angle the tip towards your face. The narrow slit in the center of that purple-blue bud winks at you, oozing a fresh bead of slick precum that glistens faintly in the overhead light. Sticking your tongue out, you lap it up with a hunger you hadn’t expected from yourself and a fresh wave of bitter salt swarms your tastebuds. You moan, very quietly, against the glans before sealing your lips around it.

Arlong’s lean thighs give the faintest jolt in response, his pelvis lifting just enough to nudge his dick a little deeper into your mouth. You allow it, for the time being, far too caught up in the exquisite taste of him to worry about his propensity for being a bit pushy. It was in his nature, after all.

But when you try to take more of him on your own, it quickly becomes apparent that your earlier estimation of him had been right on the money. He was much too large to comfortably fit and you only make it a few inches down before your jaw starts to scream in protest. You pull back to suckle on the spongy head for a moment, laving it with your tongue before deciding to try again. The progress you make is negligible at best, your lips straining around his girth as you furrow your brows and noise a muffled sound of frustration around him.

“Don’t try to force it, sweetheart. You’ll just hurt yourself.” He chuckles, the hand on the back of your neck sliding higher to curl around the curve of your skull. His palm is massive in comparison and you feel your cheeks start to warm when he condescendingly pats your head, tutting at you. “You’ll have to practice hard if you want to take it all someday.”

The heat inside your gut sparks anew as your eyes snap up at his face. He smirks right back, razor sharp rows of teeth glinting dangerously and reminding you, once again, that he was a real threat. An apex predator of the most deadly kind, and you were knelt at his feet sucking his cock like a good little pet. You should have been ashamed of yourself. You probably were going to be ashamed of yourself, later, when the carnal high faded and your senses returned.

For now, though, you’d already made peace with your fate and you pointedly give his cock a rough tug. That only makes Arlong’s lascivious grin widen, though, and you’re left with no other choice but come up off him with a wet, smacking pop to give your jaw a break.

Tilting your head back while you suck in a much needed lung full of air, you pull his cock to your open mouth and set it along your tongue. He hums appreciatively at the visual while you pump the length of him with your hand, letting more precum ooze out of him and onto your waiting palette. A faltering groan rises in the back of your throat at the taste, so heady and potent that it makes your mind spin dizzyingly fast. You couldn’t get enough.

“Heh. I take it you like it then?”

In lieu of an answer, you seal your lips around him and lean forward again, glancing up at Arlong through the fall of your lashes. His stilted sigh of approval rushes straight to your cunt, and you give a needy little squirm as he drags webbed fingers along the side of your face to touch at the pulled taught corner of your mouth. Rubbery palm skirting along your cheek, he reaches further back and then clamps down on the nape of your neck so he can pull you somehow even closer to him.

You’re pressed flush against the chair by the time he’s satisfied, neck straining to accommodate the length of his cock. Your unoccupied hand comes up to brace against his thigh when he starts to guide you through a bobbing motion, the stuffed full schlucking noise of your mouth almost unbearably loud in the otherwise quiet room. It sounds borderline obscene to you but he appears to enjoy it, resting his head against the back of the chair and sighing up at the ceiling with unmistakable pleasure coloring the exhalation.

Your pussy clenches at the sight of Arlong enjoying himself so much, enjoying what you were doing to him, and you offer the glans another enthusiastic suck in return. His fingers twitch against your neck and squeeze, just this side of painful. But he does a good job keeping himself in check, and you put a little more effort into pumping the part of him that your lips can’t reach by way of thanks. He could all too easily rip you in half - in more ways than one - so you appreciated the restraint he was showing.

He doesn’t even seem to notice the change in your hands pace though, his mouth running on drunken autopilot now that he’s let his guard down. Now that he’s fully given himself over to the wet warmth of your maw, he was uncharacteristically eager to heap his praises on you and you were more than happy to soak it all up.

“My good, good girl. Yeah, you like that cock, don’t you, baby? You love it. I can tell. You’ll never want another human to fuck you after I’m done. I’m gonna’ ruin you, you know that? So damn good for me …”

The tingling warmth that spreads through you makes it hard to think straight, your vision starting to swim as if you were looking through a foggy fish eye lense. You never thought he’d talk to you that way. Didn't think he could stand your kind enough to regard you as anything other than a nuisance to tolerate for the sake of his own goals. It may have just been the booze talking, you knew that, but you were still rather pleased by this turn of events anyway.

Your jaw was beginning to ache in earnest, though, and you whimper around his cock as you drag your hand down off his thigh to squeeze in between Arlong’s legs. Gently, you caress the heavy weight of his ballsack, delighted to find that it was just as soft and vulnerable as you’d suspected it would be. He hisses at the contact, hips lifting off the seat of the chair again, but he does it a little too roughly this time and you gag.

Seething through clenched teeth, he readjusts his hold on the back of your head, gets a better grip and slowly thrusts up into your mouth. The careful way he does it surprises you slightly, but you don’t get a chance to linger on that thought for very long because he immediately repeats the motion without giving you a moment to adjust and your eyes start to mist up. He doesn’t quite reach your throat like this, your lips already stretched to their limit and unable to accommodate any more of him, and yet that doesn’t stop you from choking with each drawn out flex of his hips. You were going to be sick at this rate.

Sucking in a faltering wet breath through your nose, you try to brace yourself for his next upward stroke. You weren’t sure how much more of this your gag reflex could take, or your poor jaw for that matter. Being on the receiving end of Arlong’s praises wasn’t worth it if you just ended up spewing your guts all over him, ruining everything in the end. Plus, you were pretty sure he’d just redact everything he’d said if it came down to that. You were damned either way.

Deciding it was best to take a moment and regroup, lest the unthinkable happen, you try to pull off him but the hand on your head keeps you firmly in place. You let out a muffled squawk, as confused as you were terrified of what would happen if he kept going like this. But he doesn’t seem to share any such concerns, and your gaze frantically shoots up at his face when he just keeps shallowly pumping into your mouth. He wasn’t even looking at you, though, his eyes closed and turned up at the ceiling.

“That’s it. Just a little more. I know it probably hurts, sweetheart, but just endure it a little bit longer for me, okay? I’m getting close … I’m getting so close, baby. Can you feel it? I’m gonna’ give you such a big load … ngh, you’ll never be able to swallow it all, but that’s okay. Just … haah, just keep it in your sweet little mouth a bit longer, okay?”

You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, your cheeks burning hot as reflexive tears streak down your face. Abandoning his balls, you dig trembling fingers into the meat of Arlong’s inner thigh as a painful reminder that you were working on borrowed time here. But he seems to enjoy that, the groaning burst of air that puffs out of him in a sudden rush sending sympathetic shockwaves racing down your spine. Your panties were soaked at this point, uncomfortably clinging to your sticky cunt as you rock forward in a fruitless bid for relief. It was all you could do just to keep your lunch down, though, and you were far too lightheaded to even consider slipping your hand between your legs to rub circles into your clit. It wouldn’t take much to send you over the edge, either.

Even through your clothes, you were sure to cum quick - but how could you possibly think about that right now when he was still thrusting into your mouth at such a staggered pace that you felt as violated as if he’d properly fucked you? It didn’t make sense, how he had such a powerful effect on you when he’d barely even touched you so far. Almost like he had some sort of potent aphrodisiac at his deploy.

Could this possibly be a fishman, thing or was it just an Arlong thing?

“Oooh yeah, baby, right there. Right there. Your mouth feels so damn good. Are you ready? I’m gonna’ give it to you now … fuck, I’m cumming, baby, I’m cumming!”

With a feral, animalistic grunt, Arlong thrusts up off the chair and shoves his cock as far into your mouth as it will go. You sputter around him, frantically noising as your throat constricts and heaves against the pressure. In the same moment, he gives a full bodied shudder and hot, thick ropes shoot out of him to pool at the base of your tongue. Your eyes promptly roll back as you choke around his bubbling semen, face wet with tears and snot, and perspiration, but he doesn’t stop. It just keeps coming out of him, flooding your mouth until you’re sure you’ll drown in it.

So blissfully numb by the time he finally pulls out, you almost don’t notice the absence. It’s only when a fresh string of ejaculate plops heavy against your cheek that you realize he's cumming on your face now, and you obediently stick your tongue out to catch the salty discharge. He doesn’t seem to be aiming for your mouth, though, and you’re left with no other choice than to sit there and let him paint your face white until the pulses gradually slow to a stop some moments later.

The last bit oozes out of him, achingly drained from the bottom of his balls it would seem, as he squeezes it from the base up with an accompanying guttural moan. You let him push your head back down without protest and lap up the sticky bead, much to Arlong’s heaving pleasure.

He was still panting from the exertion, trying to catch his breath, and you were still struggling to swallow the excessive cum in your mouth so you could breathe at all. An odd sense of peace settles in the aftermath and you think maybe, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, maybe he wasn’t quite as mean as you’d pegged him. Someone inherently cruel wouldn’t have been so mindful of your physical limitations, right?

You’re pretty sure that’s not how it usually goes, anyway.

Gathering yourself to the best of your ability, you glance down at the front of your shirt only to outright grimace. You were absolutely coated in sheets of fast drying cum, and you weren’t so sure it wouldn’t stain. Dammit.

“So, uh. Do you always cum buckets, or was that all just for little ol’ me?” You venture to ask, not the least bit surprised when your voice comes out a raspy mess. You’d definitely need some warm tea after this.

“It’s a fishman thing.” He says rather flippantly, clearly unconcerned. “You’ll get used to it.”

Your head comes up in stark surprise. Well. That certainly answered your earlier question.

“Y’know,” you say, speaking cautiously slow. “That sounds an awful lot like you’re planning on doing this again, boss.”

Arlong actually has the audacity to smirk at you, his pale eyes dancing with what could only be mischief, and a not entirely unpleasant shudder promptly races through you in response.

“Again? We haven’t even finished the first time, sweetheart.”

#arlong #arlong x reader #one piece #self insert bullshit #my writing

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aslitheryprinx · 3 years

Note

Fake Fic Titles:

You Look So Different When You're Sleeping

Under The Moonlight

Please Don't Leave Me

There's A Monster in the Sky, in the Wood, in the Fields

These prompts are all so good!! Again, I kind of wrote a LOT for this lol. I hope you enjoy!

CW: some fear and panic, sacrifice.

Nothing too dark this time.

You look so different when you're sleeping

A borrower is rarely active during the day. It is much safer to borrow when the humans are asleep, less likely to see you. Ranboo has no desire to borrow during the day. The very few times he's been awake while the humans were have been terrifying. He's never even had a close call; there's just something frightening about watching humans move and interact with the world, even from a hidden position. They're too fast for something so large; too attentive, too intelligent. They are loud and smart and utterly petrifying, and Ranboo will stick to borrowing at night, thank you very much.

But... In the darkness, in the peace and quiet of the night, the humans aren't quite as frightening. They're still and calm while they sleep, expressions lax and breathing deep and slow. It's almost... Peaceful seeing the giant beings so still and gentle.

He probably shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching the human sleep with such fascination. But he's done everything thing he needs to do... And everything he doesn't need to do. He has no chores to keep him occupied, has enough food stored to last for weeks if it keeps that long. He has nothing to do, and finds himself drifting to the human's room. He climbs the nightstand, only a little nervous at how close he is to the dangerous being, and watches.

It's relaxing somehow, and the human looks much less like a dangerous threat like this. He looks more like a person. Which he is, humans are people, but it's hard to remember that when they walk past and all he can think of is how easily a single step could crush him.

He feels calmer than he has in a while, and watching someone sleep makes him sleepy. He's tempted to blink his eyes shut, but he can't while still in a dangerous place. But he's tired enough he should probably head home.

Ranboo stands up, and is about to start the climb back down the nightstand when the human shifts.

Instantly he's alert, adrenalin flooding his body. He doesn't know whether to run, try to make it to the floor before the human wakes up or to hide on the nightstand and pray he isn't seen.

He's too slow to decide, to frozen with indecision, and the humans eyes snap open. A second later, an eye half his size filled with a terrifying amount of intelligence rests on him.

There's a blink as the human registers his presence, then the human is sitting up, laser focused on him.

Ranboo trembled under the gaze, wishing he could just teleport away to safety. The human had looked much less terrifying when he was sleeping.

Under the Moonlight

Please don't leave me

Ok I'm just gonna bullet point this one lol.

Phil is an immortal with a strange curse

When he's beneath the moonlight, he can move. But when he's no longer touched by the light from the moon, he freezes into a solid statue.

This causes a lot of problems, and he's found out the hard way that's he can't die. If he's smashed to pieces, he'll just wake up beneath the next moon, completely fine.

One night when the moon is not out, a strange man finds him and takes him home.

The man, Technoblade, restores damaged statues, sculpture, and similar art in his free time, and Phil is apparently damaged enough to need restoration.

Eventually Phil is placed by a window. The problem is, the moon only shines through for less than an hour each night.

Phil needs to figure out how to escape outside in that short time frame... Without alerting the human, who seems far too perceptive.

Wilbur should've known better. Really, falling asleep while outside of the fae realm? That was just asking for trouble. Any human, or just a wild animal for that matter could stumble across him and that would be that.

At least he'd had the sense to stay in his insect form. To any passing humans, he just looked like a butterfly. Perhaps his brilliant blue wings were a little unusual, but not enough to draw suspicion.

Unfortunately, his butterfly appearance did not seem to help him any this time. Because when Wilbur woke up, he was in a jar.

He'd been caught, by a human child no less. And according to the natural laws of the world, his magic wouldn't work once he'd been trapped, not until his captor decided to release him.

Wilbur was in quite the conundrum. There was no way the kid was going to release a cool butterfly he caught. But if Wilbur revealed himself, there was no guarantee he'd want to release the even cooler fairy. Still, being in his normal form would at least give him a chance of talking his way out, and he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in a jar.

With a sigh, he shed his insect disguise. As expected the kid gasped, and gazed down at him with wide eyes.

"Woah!!!" the young human gasped, raising the jar higher and staring at Wilbur. He couldn't lie, having someone so much larger than him looking so closely at him was a little unnerving. But Wilbur put on a charming smile to talk to them.

"Hello!" He said, and the human kid grinned.

"Hi!" He replied excitedly. "You're a fairy? I've never met a fairy before! What's your name?"

Did... Did the child not know anything about fairies? Did he not know the power names held? Well if not, Wilbur certainly wasn't going to tell him. He also wasn't going to give him his full name, whether or not the kid could use it or not.

"You can call me Wilby," he said, unable to tell a complete lie. It was a little bit embarrassing to give the kid his childhood nickname, but it would do.

"Wilby," the kid repeated and despite his awkward situation, Wilbur had to fight the urge to coo. The kid didn't say his own name, however, so he decided to push slightly.

"What's yours?" He asked, not an ounce of deception in his voice.

"I'm T- uhhh I mean I can't tell you. The adults say we can't give our names to strangers."

Damn. At least he didn't know why, which meant Wilbur still might be able to get out of this.

"That's ok," he says, showing none of his disappointment. "We'll just have to become friends first."

He's a little startled when tears spring up in the kid's eyes and he sniffles. Oh dear.

"Really?" The kid asks. "You'll really be my friend, Wilby?"

That should have no right to make his heart melt. He was trapped in a jar for fuck sake! He needed the kid to free him, not make him feel soft.

"Of course," Wilbur said. "Could you let me out of the jar first?"

The kid hesitates and he fights the urge to curse. It's worth a try, but he gets the feeling it won't be that easy.

"But... if I let you out, you'll go away," the human says sadly. It's true, but Wilbur refuses to feel guilty for that fact. "And then I won't have any friends at all."

"I can't be your friend if I'm in a jar," Wilbur tries. "Then I'm just a prisoner." The kid hesitates even more.

"How about this," Wilbur hedges. If you promise to let me out, I'll be your friend."

The human lights up.

"You promise?" He asks. Wilbur words his promise very carefully, knowing he'll be held to it by his own nature.

"I promise that if you let me out, I'll be your friend," he says, and the human cheers.

"Now we're friends forever!" He says excitedly. "And I'll let you out when we get home and you can live with me and, and-"

Wilbur tunes him out. He can feel the promise taking hold, which means the kid really does intend on letting him out. Luckily being friends with someone doesn't influence his mind, but he's still in the jar.

"Hey, do you want to play a game?" He asks. The kid brightens.

"Yes! What game?" He nearly shouts.

"We'll play Simon Says," Wilbur says with a grin. The name had become commonplace, but few humans knew the origin of the game.

"Can I go first?" The kid asked. If Wilbur interpreted the question as the kid playing first rather than giving the commands then...

"Yes," he said truthfully, as all fairies must. "But we're going to play a more fun version. You use your own name instead."

"Oh," The human said, disappointed. "But I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers."

Wilbur feels victory, tantalizingly close.

"Well we aren't strangers anymore, are we?" He asks reasonably. The child's face brightens, and he gasps in delight.

"You're right," he says. "we're friends now! My name is Tommy!"

And just like that, Wilbur has his ticket to freedom.

"Tommy," he croons, testing the power behind the name. Tommy instantly sways in place, eyes glazing over.

"Saemonsae, Tommy," Wilbur says, speaking the true name of the spell that gives him power over anyone who gives up their name. It's the easiest spell to perform; he never met another fairy who couldn't use this spell. Even while trapped, the spell was child's play.

"Open the jar, Tommy," he commands sweetly. Instantly, the child is moving, unscrewing the lid. Wilbur flutters free, heart soaring. He circles the dazed human's head a few times before landing on the lid of the jar.

If he were a crueler being, he could pay back the imprisonment a hundredfold. If he wished, he could make Tommy do anything he wanted. A dark part of him, the part that was the most instinctual part of being a fairy, wanted to. It wanted to trap the silly boy and show him that fairies weren't toys, weren't creatures to be trifled with.

The rest of him knew that Tommy was just a kid. He would make Tommy take back the deal, the one that still bound him to be the child's friend.

But... Tommy was crying. He froze, watching the kid, still under his power sniffle. Maybe he was scared? It was very likely. He didn't have control of himself anymore, and that would scare most adults.

"Wilby," Tommy sniffled. Wilbur was morbidly curious. What would the child say while scared? Would he ask to be spared? To be freed? Wilbur wouldn't hurt him regardless, but he wanted to know. He let Tommy keep talking.

"Wilby, are you leaving?" He asked, and suddenly another part of Wilbur rose up at the desperation in the child's voice. He felt his face soften, and then Tommy spoke the final words that pierced Wilbur's heart.

"Please don't leave me alone," the little human child begged. Not worried at all about Wilbur abusing the power he had and hurting him; just wanting Wilbur to stay. How lonely was this young human, that he became so attached to the first friendly person he met? (And how soft was Wilbur, that he was already attached as well?)

"I won't leave you," Wilbur decided on a whim.

Fairies could be many things. Cruel and kind, gentle and vicious, completely truthful while being manipulative. They were also be selfish.

Wilbur liked Tommy. He was his friend because of the promise he'd made, the one that he could make the child release at any moment. But the human was also lonely and sad, and the fairy decided he was Wilbur's.

"Saemonsae, Tommy," he repeated, and the human would do as he asked. "You're going to live with me."

There's a Monster in the Sky, in the Woods, in the Fields.

It has been centuries since humanity was safe on the surface. When the Endless War of the the gods broke out, at the end of it all, the earth went to the victors. It was only by the grace and mercy of the dual gods of the Underground and Wealth that humanity was not subjugated by the powerful gods above.

The cave Tommy's village lives in is close; far too close to the territories of several very powerful gods. Their village gives sacrifices every year; the best cow in the village, the most bountiful portion of their crops. Yet still, the gods seek unsatisfied. Each year the twisting trees from the woods grow closer, and the wild crops from the field creep towards the entrance of their cave, and the sky peeks more and more through the slowly crumbling ceiling of the cave.

For centuries, the village has increased their sacrifices, giving all they can without starving their own people. Each household gives until it hurts, leaving behind everything they can spare, sometimes parting with sentimental items. It's never enough. Finally, there is only one more way to escalate the sacrifices.

They must give the gods a life to be free.

With great reluctance, the elders choose a child to be sent out. He is innocent, and he is alone. His sacrifice will be tragic, but better a poor waif with no family to miss him then one of the children of the families around. It must be a child; innocence is essential to a good sacrifice and they cannot afford to slight the gods.

The boy's name is Tommy, and he's terrified as he's tied up and dragged go the entrance of the cave. The priests are covered head to toe, so they tread as little on sacred ground as possible. Tommy is barefoot, dressed only in loose robes that fall past his knees.

He shakes as he's placed perfectly between the wild fields and dark woods, open and seen by the sky above.

The priests tie the ropes to the ground and return to the village, muttering prayers as they go. No matter how he tries, Tommy cannot free himself from the bindings. He struggles until he hears a snap of a foot on a branch.

From the woods, he comes. He is the first to arrive, and the sight of him makes Tommy's heart tremble in his chest from the sheer terror.

He is a giant, as the gods tend to be. Towering easily above the trees of his domain, and looking down at where Tommy lays bound with a curious gleam in his eyes. His eyes are a warm brown like sunwarmed soil. Brown eyes should not be able to glow, but rules don't apply to gods. His curling brown hair looks a bit like branches, and he has a crown of leaves braided around his head like a circlet. It distracts him for a moment from the pointed ears that could never be mistaken as human and the razor sharp fangs from a mouth big enough Tommy felt faint with fear.

"What have we here?" The god asks, voice melodic and resonating through Tommy's entire being. There's something almost sad in his voice, and Tommy feels the emotion despite his fear. "A little gift from the humans, I suppose."

"Are you sure this gift is for you?" a deep voice calls from behind Tommy. He freezes, a fresh wave of terror washing over him. He turns to find a second god, standing tall and proud in the fields.

He is meant to be a god of harvest, but the scent of blood fills Tommy's nose. The god looks far more like a king than a farmer, with an intricate crown of gold resting on his head. His hair is a vibrant pink, and Tommy had never found the color so intimidating as when this powerful looking god wore it. His ears and mouth were the same as the other gods, but his eyes were a terrible red, looking like blood might spill from them at any moment.

"After all," he continued, and the powerful sound made Tommy feel like his bones were vibrating in his body, "he seems to be in my field."

"Perhaps," the god of the forest says, and although there is no anger in his voice, Tommy tenses at what must be a growing argument between gods.

"You cannot deny," the Woods continues, "That he is also in my forest. He is partially bound to the roots of a tree."

"And partially bound to the soil of my fields," the harvest god finishes.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, breathing shakily. It is said gods rarely share. Especially when it comes to matters of power, such as sacrifices, they will not accept others taking what is theirs. Will they fight to have all of him? Or will they tear him perfectly in half, split him and call it even? No matter the outcome, Tommy doesn't see himself surviving, and he whimpers quietly.

The sound of wings fluttering startles him, and he opens his eyes. The two gods must have heard it as well, because they fall silent.

Tommy's eyes catch a single feather, floating down from the sky. Despite the third shadow that is now falling over him, all he can do is watch the falling feather as is slowly drifts down, landing right next to him. It is as black as the night, looks soft as silk... And is twice as long as he is tall. He shudders uncontrollably, finally gazing up at the third god; the god of the sky.

He catches sight of him and his breath catches in his throat. That is not a mere god of the sky.

Wings as dark as death stretch behind him. He is cloaked in dark green robes that cover his hands. Soft blonde hair falls around his face, and an unmistakeable hat covers his eyes and his pointed ears. Tommy has seen his likeness carved into countless statues, painted onto the walls of the cavern, etched into books.

This was one of the Two; this was the Angel of Death, the god over all endings.

"Don't tell me you have a claim on him as well," the forest god says lightly, and Tommy shudders at the idea. The Angel of Death laughs.

"He's been placed equally between Woods, Fields and Sky; I believe we are meant to share him."

The gaze of three gods, one of them one of the two most powerful beings in the universe fall on him, and Tommy's terror becomes too much to handle. His vision goes dark, and he knows no more.

#mcyt g/t #g/t #giant/tiny #dsmp g/t #prinx fake title game #aslitheryanswers #tiny!ranboo #tiny!tommy

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

Text

young god | chapter 12

serial killer!han jisung au

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 4.5k

warnings: descriptions of violence, foul language, allusions to trauma and mental illness

description: Prosecutor Kim Seungmin faces pressures from his coworkers about the serial killer case. When Jisung wakes up next to you, remorse and doubt sends him back onto the streets, where one wrong decision finally leads to him doing the one thing he had feared above all.

watch the trailer here!

12| point of no return.

“Well, well, well — look what the cat dragged in.”

Kim Seungmin winced at the sound of Prosecutor Kang’s haughty voice as soon as he stepped into the office. The older prosecutor’s words had made all the others look up from their desks, directing several pairs of eyes onto the younger man, who was actively trying his best not to tuck his head down and fold in on himself to avoid their scrutiny. To Seungmin’s dismay, Kang continued speaking.

“If it isn’t our newest prosecutor. How are you holding up, Kim? I heard there have been more attacks — a witness, even. Shameful, really, how they had to call a lockdown just to keep things under control.”

Seungmin swallowed a lump in his throat, forcing his jaw to unclench. “We’ve—been actively gathering evidence.” While it was true — Chan and Woojin had called him to the precinct in the middle of the night to preserve witness statements, and he’d spent the last few days searching through Miroh Heights for clues — the words sounded incredibly lame nonetheless. Sure enough, Kang snorted, and a few other prosecutors shifted uncomfortably.

“What kind of evidence, Kim? Enlighten me.”

“The suspicion has been placed on Miroh Heights’ students after interviewing the last witness. And we have reason to suspect that the perpetrator is mentally unstable, or at least harbours some sort of...trauma, due to the erratic selection of their victims.” Seungmin cleared his throat, hoping his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. He had only repeated what he’d theorised together with Chan and Woojin, after all.

“I’m just finding it strange — embarrassing, really — how it seems like you’re getting everything handed to you, Prosecutor Kim, and yet you’re still taking this long to reach a verdict.” Kang raised an eyebrow. “Seems to me you're hesitant? Indecisive, or uncertain?”

“Beginner’s nerves, perhaps?” One woman piped up, and a few workers around her stifled their chuckles.

Seungmin clenched his fists, hoping the others couldn’t see. “Dealing with a mentally unstable serial killer calls for a different approach, Kang. We have to keep into consideration how accountable they are to be held for their actions, and—”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution,” Kang interrupted coldly, his eyes two black daggers. “What you think is being kind or empathetic is a weakness, kid. Focus on the incriminating evidence, not the humanity in the perpetrator — after all,” he gave a leer, “anyone who murders humans is a monster — and monsters deserve to be punished, don’t you think?”

There were a few murmurs of agreement, and Seungmin ripped his gaze from Prosecutor Kang’s expectant face.

“I assure you, that is what I intend to do.” With that, Seungmin brushed past Prosecutor Kang, suddenly grateful that his office was further down the hallway. The woman who had tried speaking up for him on his first day flashed him a sympathetic look as he passed, but it only made him feel worse. Was he really that...weak? Incompetent?

If catching this killer and condemning them was what it took to get Prosecutor Kang off his back, then that was exactly what Seungmin would do. He shut the door to his office, a bit harder than he meant to, and opened his briefcase on his desk, organizing his notes.

It was time to hunt a killer.

━━━━━━━━

All was quiet when Jisung awoke, eyes blinking as they opened and adjusted to the hazy morning light. He was in a room with off-white ceilings and walls, and the dusty blue curtains were open, fluttering lightly from a soft breeze. His even breathing filled the air — for the first time in what seemed like forever, he hadn’t had nightmares. His eyes wandered to the windows, wincing slightly — it was a cloudy day, the kind where looking at the grey sky stung his eyes. Aside from the light wind, the room was absolutely still. Almost as if it was holding its breath.

Jisung turned to the side, freezing when he saw your sleeping face next to him. You were sleeping with no pillow, and Jisung realised with a sharp pang of guilt that you had placed the only one on the bed under his head instead. He slowly slid his palm beneath your cheek, lifting your head as gently as he could before pushing the pillow between you and the mattress instead. You immediately buried your face into the softer fabric, still fully asleep, and Jisung chuckled. For a long moment, he gazed down at your sleeping figure, a bittersweet warmth spreading in his chest. Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead, eyes momentarily closing.

Jisung felt your hand reach up for him and he pulled away slightly, worried that he’d woken you. When he saw that your eyes were still shut, chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm, he let out a breath of relief. Your fingers grazed his shoulder and there was a slight furrow beginning to form in your brow, and suddenly he was reminded of the previous night — when you had looked at him with the same confused, horrified expression; when you had instinctively pushed him away, looking ready to run.

He looked down at you now, gut twisting as he frowned — were you having nightmares? Were they—were they about him? Memories flooded his mind from last night: him running back to your apartment; your face, twisted with disbelief and horror; all the things he had ended up telling you. Each memory sent a wave of panic through him, a cold sweat beginning to form at the back of his neck. Jisung pulled away, sitting up and burying his head in his hands.

What had he done?

All he could think about was the way you had looked at him when you had first found out — the betrayal, fear, raw pain scrawled across your features. That was what you thought of the real him — wasn’t it? Your shaking hands, wavering pupils, the tears brimming in your eyes — the images kept flashing in his mind, patching themselves over the memories of your laugh, the way your entire face would light up, your reddened cheeks and ears when you got embarrassed.

They were all as good as lost once he’d told you the truth.

Even though you had let him sit down, let him stay — he swore he caught the way you stiffened slightly beneath his touch, the way you had begun avoiding his gaze. And when you did look at him — it was like he was a ticking time bomb.

Jisung slid off the bed onto his feet. Instinctively, he began pacing, his heart pounding louder and louder with every step. His chest was closing up again, the floor was beginning to spin, the thoughts were all too, too much. With one hand still clasped around his head, he bolted out of the bedroom and down the hall, coming to an unsteady halt when he reached the living room. Jisung’s vision spun, a wave of nausea inching up his throat as his gaze landed on the vase of peach coloured roses sitting on the coffee table.

He seized the vase and brought the flowers closer to his face. They were the ones he had bought on your first date. A short laugh pushed through his lips, and even the subtle twitch of a tentative smile tugging at his cheeks felt painful.

“First date, kid?” The florist had a lopsided grin on her face, already reaching for the shelves of rose bouquets behind her.

“Um, yeah. I—I don’t want...red roses, though. Do you have, um, anything else?” Jisung watched the florist’s brow furrow at his words.

“Hm. Roses are a classic go-to, kid, but...ah!” Her face lit up, snapping her fingers as she reached for a different bouquet. “These are much prettier, in my opinion. Peach roses!”

Jisung took the bouquet from her curiously as she continued, “Red might come off a little strong ‘n cliche, yeah? So the peach hue makes ‘em look softer. The colour symbolises strength and resilience, so here’s to wishing you and your lucky girl a love that stands the tests of time, hm?”

They were nearly all wilted now, the edges shrivelled and the leaves drooping. But the scent dripping from the petals was heavy, so thick it seemed to make his legs buckle from dizziness. Jisung set the vase back down too hard and it struck the corner of the coffee table, wobbling precariously, and before Jisung could reach out to catch it the vase toppled over the edge and shattered against the floor.

The crash that rang through your silent apartment sounded deafening, and Jisung whipped his gaze towards the bedroom where you were sleeping. Dried petals and glass were splayed across his feet as he stumbled back, his heel snagging painfully on a thorn. His blood was roaring in his ears as he held his breath, expecting you to wake up at any second. But a minute passed, then another, and Jisung finally tore his gaze away, fists unclenching slightly.

You don’t belong here.

The words rang in his head, an incessant throb that grew stronger with every heartbeat. Every part of him was screaming at Jisung to run — to leave behind the mess he had already made before it was too late; before the police found him with you, before he could hurt you any more than he already had—and with that last fear pounding through his skull, Jisung slipped on his shoes, threw open the front door, and broke into a run.

You don’t belong here. Get out. Get out. GET. OUT.

The clouds were stitching themselves together over the hazy sun when he sprinted outside, casting a dark grey shadow over the entire city. Jisung’s mind was racing as he ducked into the first alleyway he saw, narrowly missing a police cruiser that had turned around the corner onto your street. Where could he go? The dorms? Another cafe? He risked another glance out onto the main street, heart sinking at the sheer amount of officers patrolling the road. He shook his head. He had to get away — where, exactly, he wasn’t sure — but he needed to get out of Miroh Heights.

Jisung darted down backstreets and alleyways, growing increasingly aware of the rumbling of thunder overhead and the light droplets of rain beginning to splatter onto his skin. When he reached a narrow strip between two brick buildings, a strange feeling of deja vu sent a chill trickling down his spine. Shaking the feeling off, Jisung pushed through the path, eyes fixed on the wavering sliver of gray light at its end—until the alleyway opened up into the familiar back parking lot of a diner.

Mia’s Diner.

The toe of Jisung’s shoe caught on the uneven gravel and he stopped running, chest heaving. Of all the shortcuts he could have chosen, this one had lead him all the way back here. To his relief, he noticed the lot was relatively secluded—the back of the diner and a tall stack of Dumpsters hid him from the main street, while a thicket of trees and the two buildings that had formed the alleyway closed up the space behind him. Even in the growing fog, he could spot the diner’s bright neon sign on the roof.

His gaze wandered towards the diner’s windows, which were glowing like a row of dim eyes. The tables were empty, a bored waitress sipping a milkshake by the counter with her back turned. His eyes landed on the window side booth from your first date. Your first date, what felt like an eternity ago.

“O-oh, hi! You’re…”

“Jisung. Han Jisung.”

It had been raining that day, too, hadn’t it? Sheets of water that had swept the streets, soaked his shoes, and nearly torn the heads off the roses he’d bought on the way. And when the storm had cleared in the evening, the way the sunset had bathed the city in gold. A small smile tugged at his lips, vision fogging over at the memory. Your warm touch on his cheek. Your tentative fingers in his hair.

The warmth turned ice cold as soon as he spotted a familiar alley in the corner of his eye, and like a stormcloud splitting wide open, all the uglier memories began spilling out instead. The brick walls that felt like they were closing in on him, the prostitute’s catlike eyes, the choking darkness of an unkept, one-bedroom bungalow, fresh, hot blood spilling onto his hands and vodka flames licking at his feet—

“Han Jisung!”

The unfamiliar voice pulled Jisung out of his thoughts. A group of male students had come around the diner, a stocky boy with a buzzcut at their head. Jisung narrowed his eyes, clenching his fists involuntarily. He had seen them before, somewhere — a club, perhaps, or a late-night party…

“That’s cold, man — aren’t you gonna greet your old friends?” The boy with the buzzcut stopped just short of a metre from Jisung — too close for his liking — and spat on Jisung’s shoes.

“Kid’s been off in the head since the orphanage,” a taller boy with dirty blond hair that fell to his chin grinned. “Isn’t that so?”

Something in the back of Jisung’s mind clicked and he squinted in the growing darkness, eyes focusing on their faces. The orphanage. The other boys he and Minho had grown up with. After they’d all been released from the children’s home, Jisung had seen a few of them in passing — some had barely managed to get into college, while most of the others had dropped altogether and lingered around the town like parasites.

Jisung lifted his gaze back to the stocky boy’s face, a humourless chuckle escaping his lips. His former classmates shifted nervously.

“Fucking psycho,” someone behind the boy muttered.

“Well, that’s what he is, isn’t he?” The blond boy continued, a sneer growing on his crusted lips. He had a hand shoved into his pockets, and Jisung heard the sound of something metal clinking—a lighter? “Remember what they say brought him to the orphanage?” He took a step closer to Jisung, lowering his voice. “Arson. Patricide.”

“Get away from me,” Jisung breathed, his throat dry. The ringing in his ears was growing more and more high pitched with every second, and his limbs felt stiff — as if he could will himself to stay still, to stay in control.

“Is it true, then? You killed your old man and set his corpse on fire? Is that your dirty little secret?” The boy with the buzzcut jerked his head towards the distant screeching sirens on the main street. “Are those because of you, too?”

Dead silence fell between them, the gang’s mocking smiles boring into him. The boy with the buzzcut tilted his head, snorting when Jisung only stared back at him.

“Forget it. There’s no way he’s the serial killer.” A third boy behind them spoke, his eyes raking Jisung up and down in a leer. “Looks like he’s about to piss his pants — probably can’t throw a punch to save his life. He’s a runner, that’s what he is.”

The blond boy laughed, fingers jabbing at Jisung’s shoulder and pushing him back. “You’re right about that one. Han Jisung, always running away. Just like your momma, yeah? Momma’s boy.” At that, Jisung’s gaze flickered up to meet the blond boy’s, eyes narrowing in wary confusion.

“What? Your momma always ran from your old man, didn’t she? Didn’t how how to do anything else. And every time your old man beat her bloody...” the boy with the buzzcut reached for Jisung’s lowered head, ruffling his hair and snickering when Jisung flinched away. “You ran away from her, too, yeah?”

Jisung froze, his fingers numb. He had been clenching his fists so tightly the blood circulation was cut off, his hands beginning to tremble as a horribly familiar ache pulsed in his temples. But before he could bring himself to move, the boy with the buzzcut suddenly tightened his grip on Jisung’s hair, yanking his head back hard.

“Fuckin’ mute bastard’s pissing me off. Try running now, Han.”

A fist came out of nowhere and smashed into the side Jisung’s jaw. He flew backwards, the back of his head slamming into hard gravel. For a moment, his vision went black, before coming back in fuzzy, burning flashes. His eyes had already been watering — both from his headache and the boy’s harsh grip on his hair — and just as Jisung was blinking the sand from his eyes he felt a foot crash into his ribs and knock the air straight out of his lungs.

Jisung could barely hear their taunts over his own choked coughing, his fingers scrabbling through the dusty ground as he tried to pull himself up. Pain coursed through his bones like liquid fire, sending waves of nausea shooting up his gut and black spots dancing across his vision.

“Shit, it’s like hitting a little girl,” the boy with the buzzcut muttered. “C’mon, Han, put some fight into it, will ya?” He dropped down into a squat until they were nearly face to face, his squinty eyes twisted into a permanent sneer. “Pretend I’m your old man or someth—”

Jisung’s hand shot out, seizing the front of the boy’s shirt. He saw the sneer freeze on the boy’s face for a split second before Jisung drove his fist into the boy’s nose.

“Fffuckin’ hell!” The boy toppled back screaming, blood beginning to spurt from his face as he scrambled away frantically. One boy wearing a letterman jacket immediately moved to push Jisung back down. Hooking a foot around the boy’s legs, Jisung kicked hard and brought the boy crashing down to the ground. He pulled himself back to his feet shakily, reddening vision scanning the remaining boys that were closing in on him.

“Now you’re asking for it, kid,” the blond boy growled, grabbing Jisung’s collar. Before he could register the blond boy’s fingers curling into a fist, a hot flash of pain flared across Jisung’s cheekbone and his head snapped to the side. When Jisung turned his head back, locks of his own hair fell into his eyes, beads of sweat beginning to make them stick to his brow.

Another punch, then another, then another. Jisung could feel cuts splitting open on his cheeks and lips, as if his blood was demanding to be let out. A smile began stretching across his bruised lips, growing wider and wider with every blow. Jisung had lost count by the time the blond boy stopped momentarily, breathing hard, beady blue eyes searching Jisung’s face.

“The fuck?” His chest was heaving as he shook Jisung like a ragdoll. The younger boy was beginning to laugh — his hair obscured most of his face, revealing only bloodstained teeth. “Are you—you a fuckin’ psycho or somethin’?”

The laughter ripping from his vocal chords felt more like sobs; as soon as the first one rolled off his tongue Jisung couldn’t stop the rest from bubbling up his throat. The blond knocked his head to the side again before jamming his fingers into Jisung’s forehead. “Hey, freak. I asked you a question.”

Jisung’s eyes were hazy, his face throbbed, the boy’s finger felt like a knifepoint in his skin.

“If you ever speak a word of this to your mother, boy, I’ll ram that camera right into your skull.”

This felt familiar.

He shook his hair out of his face and stared straight into the blond’s eyes. “You want me to pretend you’re my father?”

For a moment the blond boy’s grin faltered, a flash of fear skipping across his pupils, but Jisung barely noticed. His hands shot out, seizing the blond by the throat in a horribly familiar chokehold. The boy cried out in silent surprise, losing his balance, and Jisung took the chance to force him all the way backwards into the diner’s brick wall. The sickening crack when the boy’s skull hit the bricks seemed to send a shudder into Jisung’s hands and body, and the high pitched ringing in his ears finally snapped.

Pure red poured into his vision as he threw punch after punch, pinning the taller boy to the wall. Jisung couldn’t tell if the screaming was the boy’s, or his, or both — or if there was any screaming at all; all he could hear was his own pounding heartbeat. Somewhere, in the back of his head, a small voice was begging for him to stop, but it grew weaker and weaker with every blow.

FATHER. FATHER. FATHER.

He felt hands grabbing at his shoulders as one boy tried to pull him back and Jisung whirled back momentarily, kicking him in the chest. The blond was beginning to grow limp, each hit feeling more and more like Jisung was punching a bag of wet rocks. Jisung felt a distant, stinging pain in his abdomen as he finally let the boy slide to the ground in a broken heap, and vaguely registered a spot of dark blood spreading across his own shirt. His shaky pupils fell on the unconscious boy’s hands, which were clutching a metal switchblade, its tip smeared with blood — Jisung’s blood.

So that had been the metallic sound from earlier. At some point—Jisung couldn’t recall when—the boy must have tried to stab him before he finally fell unconscious.

There were three of them left — four, if you counted the boy with buzzcut hair, bleeding out on the ground from his broken nose. Head buzzing, Jisung leaned down to scoop the blade from the boy’s limp hands as the rest of them closed in.

Jisung could barely see what he was doing; it had begun to rain, clouds casting inky darkness around them despite it being noon. The rain tasted sour as it mixed with foreign blood, the flash of the knife the only light visible. He could no longer hear the words that they were screaming as he buried the blade into every surface that came near him; all he could see were scenes from that day. It was like he had been swallowed back into the nightmare, his gut twisting like he had been thrown over the edge of a cliff and was hurtling towards the ground. His mother’s blood pooling over slivers of splintered wood, her pleading eyes, the water boiling over in the kitchen, the glass shards carving the hellish memories into the soles of his bare feet. It was his father — his father again, trying to kill them, trying to kill them all, and Jisung was fighting back. His father’s red face — or was it the boys’ terrified faces? The glint of his father’s lighter, or the shining tears of pain from the boy whose bones he was breaking? It was horrible — or was it was exhilarating?—and everything Jisung could see was red, red, endless red.

He didn’t know when they had all ended up on the ground, the last conscious boy trembling feebly beneath him. The tiniest voice echoed in his ears as he brought the knife down again and again in terrible arcs, the warm spurts of blood onto his face feeling like a demon’s caress.

So this is what it feels like to be a monster.

Jisung was shuddering, fingers slippery with blood and rain. His ears felt as though they were underwater, a muffled voice beginning to echo through the haze.

“Ji...Ji…”

He shook his head wildly, eyes cloudy with water, but the voice persisted. It was getting louder now, growing clearer and clearer, as if it was dragging him back up from the darkness.

“Ji...sung. Jisung?”

Was the voice calling for him? The ground felt shaky beneath Jisung’s knees. He had lost his grip on the knife, his tremulous fingers tightening around the sharp blade and sending dull pain searing through his skin. He was going too far — it was too much, it was all too much — he needed to calm down, he needed an anchor to reality, he needed to be back in control before it was too late —

“...sungie? J-Jisung?”

Feeling like his hand wasn’t his own, Jisung whirled around, switchblade swinging across his blurred vision in a terrible arc, and plunged the knife into a mass of darkness.

The moment he made impact, the cloudiness in his head began to clear away, the numbness leaving his body like venom had been sucked clean from his veins. Jisung let out a shuddering breath. He had done it, it was over, something — or someone had pulled him out of the nightmare. The rain was falling harder now, a crack of lightning flashing over the puddles around him, but all was quiet as his eyes focused in the hazy darkness.

Eerily quiet, save for a muffled, shaky gasp of pain that made Jisung lift his gaze from the bloodstained gravel up to —

You.

“Y-Y/N?” His own voice sounded raw, as if he’d been screaming for hours. “What are...w-why are you...here?” You were staring back at him with impossibly wide eyes, and he realised one of your hands had been clutching his arm. It was already beginning to shake as you pulled it back towards your chest, and you looked down. Time seemed to stop as Jisung’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he slowly followed the line of your gaze.

All the way to the switchblade buried deep in your chest.

“H-how did that—w-what happ—” Jisung looked down, breaking off when he saw the pools of blood welling in his palms and soaking the front of his shirt. “N-no. I—Did I—”

The sight of your face left him speechless, another flash of lightning reflecting off the stunned tears that were falling from your eyes. Your expression mirrored his own — frozen in equal parts surprise and agony — but what wrenched Jisung’s heart was the complete absence of anger on your face.

Mouth slightly parted, you slowly shook your head, and Jisung felt a sudden, sharp pain twist his chest as if he’d been the one stabbed in the heart. Thunder rumbled above and as he opened his mouth to call your name, just as your eyes rolled back and you fell with a dull thud onto the soaked pavement.

“N-no. Don’t do this, not again, I c-can’t—”

The wind was howling in Jisung’s ears. He was screaming your name like it was the only thing he had ever learned but his head was pounding again, and it was like he had been thrust back underwater again, unable to hear his own voice. The rain was plummeting in torrents, as if the sky had been split wide open with an axe, the fat drops cutting at his bruised cheeks like shards of broken glass. The wail of police sirens was growing closer and closer, and suddenly,Jisung was ten years old again — cradling the last thing he had loved in a growing pool of blood, sobs racking through his body like gunshots.

Crimson was blooming rapidly through the front of your shirt. The neon lights of the diner burned at the corner of his eye, and a faint, warm memory echoed in the back of his mind.

“Least favourite colour?”

“Red.”

“W-well, it’s a good thing I’m not wearing red, then, huh?”

“No. No, I’m sure you would still look pretty in red.”

Red. It was everywhere; his shaking pupils took in the blood soaking your clothes, staining your skin, running from his fingers into your hair.

No, he decided in that moment; you looked absolutely, horrifically, bad in red.

━━━━━━━━

Maybe it was the sirens wailing all throughout Miroh Heights, painting the streets in blurs of blue and red. Or maybe it was the thunderstorm pounding on the windows of the hospital all day, as if it was crying out for a lost love. Nobody could say why, exactly, for certain.

But that night, somewhere in the heart of the city, Yang Jeongin opened his eyes for the first time in three months.

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minnochu · 4 years

Text

Lustrous (pt 19)

Hybrid!Kook x Fem!Reader AU

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Pt 9 | Pt 10 | Pt 11 | Pt 12 | Pt 13 | Pt 14 | Pt 15 | Pt 16 | Pt 17 | Pt 18 | Pt 19 | Pt 20

(A/n): This has been in my drafts for the past week, debating if I wanna post this or not, ‘cause it’s a bit of a filler but I also gotta feed my readers at some point in time y’know lol!

The pining is almost endless I feel bad. Just a little.

Also the only time my irl knowledge in tkd comes in handy is now, and still shits on my lack of ability to write anything having to do with action lol.

Once again, let me know what you think!! Love you all a bunch <3

The sun hits your eyes through the blinds the very next morning. As your eyelids flutter open, you reminisce the happenings of last night.

“Will you forgive me then?” Jungkook’s voice had asked quietly after a moment of silence, the both of you busying yourselves at that time with staring at the night sky. The way he glanced at you in search of an answer stole your breath.

His eyes shimmered with a glint of his azure glow so quick, you wondered if he’d even shown his true colors in the first place. You admire the way they hold so much emotion, vulnerability. Outwardly, he’s closed off, a defense mechanism after hurting Hyejin and his pack, in order to protect others and himself from going crazy. His gaze that constantly shifted between an earthy cedar and a roaring sea, you loved them all. In the beginning, they appeared cold and lonely, but fuck all if you didn’t love the way they reflected the light of the moon and the stars. Even the emotions you had yet to witness, it was bound to be as beautiful as what he’s allowed you to see.

“Hm… I don’t know…” You had answered back with a teasing lilt to your smile. The wolf had visibly been taken aback by the reply, wondering if he was being too indecisive. The panic that crosses his expression is so apparent that you can’t help but find it too cute. The bubble of a giggle soothes him, his shoulders sink with relief, eyes drinking up the beginnings of a smile that graces your lips.

Better than before, the air between you both had finally begun to calm and it felt more serene and secure, just as it was before this whole mess.

“Come back to us, (Y/n),” He said, more like a command than a request, but the way he whispered your name that time sent you soaring. The way the syllables of your name sounded on his tongue seemed almost unrealistic. You almost forgotten that he was fated to another lucky woman.

Until Jimin interrupted the two of you of course.

Both of you went rigid when Jimin’s messy brunette hair pops up from the edge of the roof.

“You both are real loud you know?” His smile is goofy as he wiggles his eyebrows at the two, “You know… ‘cause us were-creatures have enhanced hearing.” He taps his right ear with a smirk before taking his leave when a growl emits from Jungkook’s chest.

Glaring up at the familiar ceiling, Jungkook’s ceiling, you missed the sense of security you felt laying in his bed. His sheets, dare you say creepily, were drenched in his scent. Vanilla and a twist of floral, not the scent you’d expect of a growing boy, but you grew fond of it nonetheless as you continued to stay with the boys.

You hadn’t realized it until now, the inexplicable warmth curled around your body. Turning over, you don’t expect Jungkook’s giant wolf form lying asleep behind you.

How unexpected, you think, despite all this, the hybrid sleeping in the same bed as you was the most least likely to happen after all the tension between you both. If you recalled correctly as well, Jungkook was very adamant on sleeping on the floor last night.

Shades of pink blossom over your cheeks, a warm sensation settling in your chest as you reach out a hand to gently stroke your fingers over his fur. Soft. It doesn’t even feel like he’s a wolf, more like an extremely oversized puppy. His ears twitch at the sudden stimulation, and you’re suddenly aware that his tail had been curled over your hip. The long appendage rises and falls, wagging just slightly as you snicker softly and move to scratch your fingers behind his ear.

An azure eye peers open, and his tail immediately halts before it can fall back over your side. He seems to grow increasingly aware that he’d slipped onto the bed in the middle of the night and despite his less expressive state as a wolf, he turns away in embarrassment. You, however, take this as disturbing his sleep. Smiling softly, you sift your fingers one last time down his spine with a whispered apology and good morning before getting up to head downstairs for some breakfast.

A puff of air shoots from his nostrils, mimicking a sigh as he watches you glance back at him one more time before closing the door softly behind you. He’s hyper aware of you bumping into Hoseok at the stairs, no thanks to his enhanced hearing, and feels his tail bristling with jealousy when he can hear Hoseok laughing with you about something he hadn’t cared to remember.

“Are you a dumbass?”

Jimin stood up from his seat, chopsticks clattering on the ground as his eyes flashed a dangerous gold hue at the hybrid. Namjoon stays steely, taken to resting his chin on his knuckles, eyes watching patiently as Seokjin pries their chairs further away from one another.

“I thought I’d spare her the pain knowing that a disgusting monster like me imprinted on her.”

“Spare her the pain? Are you sure you’re not trying to protect yourself from the possibility that she might reject you? Don’t even try to convince yourself that you’re pushing her away because you want to protect her,” Yoongi scoffs this time, his face doesn’t show it but his eyes swirl with a relentless storm, anger and disappointment as the younger scowls back at him. The hybrid doesn’t have a comeback, because he and everyone at the table knows that Yoongi’s right.

“She’s a mortal,” Hoseok speaks up, trying to lift the tension between his pack mates, although he was also quite upset at Jungkook’s childish and self-deprecating tendencies, “He has some right to being scared, she doesn’t feel the pull like he does, she might run away or have second thoughts about his feelings.”

“You do… like her… right?” he asks a little tentatively this time. All eyes turn to the youngest, eager and curious. He almost feels intimidated like he wants to shrivel up until the floor swallowed him whole. He can’t even bother trying to lie in front of them either, not when there were two vampires and a warlock that could force the truth out of him if need be.

“I do. So much it hurts. Ever since I decided that she and Hyejin are two different people and merely a present and a past, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, she’s all I can think about and I hate it. But I’m scared, I’m so scared, I don’t wanna hurt her. I was angry initially, frustrated, and torn. Why did the stars give me someone I could just as easily kill? I wanted to hate her, but I can’t.

“She thinks I imprinted on Hyejin and I’m such a big dumbass I can’t bring myself to tell her that it’s her. She’s gonna think I’m playing with her, that I was only forced to like her. But fuck do I like her, it’s ruining me, smelling Yoongi’s scent on her made me so angry, I wanted to hurt you hyung, why does she smell like you when it should be me? I’ve messed up… but I can’t even trust myself around her.”

“Then tell her Kook-ah,” Seokjin smiles softly, “Obviously not that you imprinted on her since you’re obviously not ready yet… just that you’re not ready yet to disclose that part of yourself yet, I’m sure she’ll understand as long as you’re not simply pushing her away without saying anything.”

“Yeah Kookie! She’s a teenage girl, she’ll be more hurt that you continue to shut her out.”

Yoongi catches the teen once everyone had said their fill, motioning him to follow the elder into the thicket until they reached what was once the clearing where you and Jungkook had fought for your lives against the hunters. Seokjin had meant his word and returned to the area and cleaned up, no bodies, no damage from magic or fighting. Trees covered the area as though two meteors did not just come raining. Kneeling down, he sighed at his own reflection in the pond, the vibrant colors of the fish greeting his eyes.

“I think you make her out to be a lot more weak than she really is, you know?” Yoongi finally says, standing at the top of the hill with his hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks. His eyes stare down at the water, his gaze pinned on the pond skater racing back and forth on the surface. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed in you, but you’re smarter than that.”

“I’m glad you took my food for thought and finally used your brains to realize what (Y/n) means to you, but I think you’re underestimating her a little too much.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to protest but the withering glance from the older wolf has him deflating and clamping his mouth shut once more.

“I get it, but she’s been taking everything handed to her head on, the girl just found out she was a siphoner, had to fight her dead mother, and she’s just now trying to get the hang of using her abilities. You don’t think she can handle a little confession?”

The hybrid scoffed this time, tossing a pebble into the water. Its inhabitants fled the area as the rock broke past the surface with gentle ripples. “It’s not just a confession. You forget that she’s still mortal with human feelings. Hoseok-hyung said himself. She doesn’t full that pull and it will only confuse her. She’ll start thinking about the unnecessary like what if my feelings are all a lie. It’s not really me who likes her, it’s my wolf.”

“But you do like her?”

“I do! So fucking much it’s tearing me apart!”

Yoongi tapped Jungkook on the shoulder, waiting for the younger to turn before sending him stumbling into the pond with punch to his face. Slipping on the uneven ground, the boy fell backwards onto his rear with a large splash. Water goes flying from his sudden weight and he’s soaked from head to toe, simmering in the pond as he glares at the elder.

“Now that’s a look,” he chuckles, “Cool off a little will you? There’s nothing wrong with telling her, do it at your own pace sure, but you know you’re inevitably going to have to tell her someday. If she questions it, all you have to do is prove that you like her with or without the pull of your wolf.”

“Rejection is harsh, but seeing her move on without you is even harder, but she’s your soulmate in simpler terms, you just need to grow a pair. She can handle you, you just don’t give her the credit she deserves, you ass.”

Yoongi bends down to offer the boy a hand, to which Jungkook relents his glare and clasps his hand in the other’s. He should have seen it coming as the elder is yanked forward, head first diving into the pond.

“You little fucker!”

“That’s what you fucking get, asshole.”

The two stare at each other pensively before bursting into laughter. Yoongi smiles softly at the younger, eyes warm as he nudges the boy with his fist.

“Still, I can’t believe I get to see the day you get all mushy over your imprintee”

“H-hyung!”

“I know Hyejin was something else, but still, you lucky bastard I still haven’t found my own mate yet.”

Jungkook stretched with a drawn out yawn, bones melding together and steam unfurling from his bare skin. Eyes struggling to stay open, he scratches and ruffles his hair before finding the energy to get up from bed. Looking for clothes, he pondered over the thought.

Was he really underestimating you?

“Glad to have you back,” Seokjin greets when you appear in the kitchen, offering to help as he prepares breakfast for all the boys. The warlock happily lets you set up the table with side dishes as he finished up the main plates.

“Sorry for worrying everyone,” You say a bit hesitantly when you finally face the warlock. It hadn’t caught up to you just yet, but being around the boys again reminded you of how childish you were for running away like that.

“Don’t be, Kook’s just an idiot,” Taehyung hums when he walks in, ruffling his already messy hair as he yawns and rummages through the fridge. Returning to his full height, he winked your way while dangling a pouch of pork blood in between his two fingers. “If you get tired of waiting on him, I’ll always be an option.”

“There will be no options when I rip your head off,” Jungkook’s growl enters abruptly, startling you as you greeted him warmly. Releasing the vampire from his withering glare, he refocused his attention on you with a soft gleam in his chocolate gaze.

“How scary,” Taehyung whines in feigned fear, emphasizing a shiver as he pierces the pouch with a straw, “And here I thought you let me off the hook for forcing her memories out.”

“And then shoving them back in you fuckhead!”

The two bicker and you can only muffle a giggle at how lively they are in the morning. You don’t realize the addition of another aura, until Namjoon’s large hand is gently squeezing your shoulder. You turn to look up to him, slightly surprised by his sudden entrance. If you didn’t know any better, the warmth of his smile that matched the gentleness in his dark eyes nearly made you forget that he was the vampiric leader of this rowdy bunch.

“At the very least they’re back to normal,” his deep voice rumbles with the ghost of a pleasant chuckle, “Yesterday was a little… tense… so let’s not run away again, yeah?”

“Y-yes sir!” You gulp, expecting his eyes to flash gold, but he merely laughs at your apparent fear.

“(Y/n), lighten up, I only say that since we are protecting you, the recent attack has us all on edge, you know. Jungkook’s a prick but nothing’s stopped you until now right? He’s just a bit... dumb.”

“I heard that hyung!”

Namjoon raises his hand from your shoulder quickly, holding it up with a cheeky grin when Jungkook turns his glare over to the blatant hand on your shoulder.

“Heel puppy,” Taehyung tsks, rolling his eyes at the youngest’s irritation. The second youngest moves to take a seat at the table when Jungkook elbows him, causing him to momentarily choke on his blood.

“Oh my Gods you children,” Seokjin sighs exasperatedly as the two bicker once more, whispering a silent spell that none too gently shoves them into the dining table chairs. The eldest shakes his head in disapproval as they pout and stare each other down.

The rest of the boys coming bounding into the room, at least on Hoseok and Jimin’s part. Yoongi could barely go a second without his mouth opening wide in a long yawn, dragging his feet and falling onto the chair with a slump.

Breakfast came and went, and you can only think about how fond you were starting to become of this scene. In the beginning, when you had first started staying with the pack, this scene felt weird. Like an outsider intruding on a happy family. But Hoseok was boasting to you about the dream he’d just had, and Jimin was conversing about the recent cartoon on television last night. It didn’t hit you when Jungkook had said it last night that the boys saw you as their own pack member. You didn’t even realize it until Jimin’s voice had melted into concern, blinking at you as others turned away from their conversations and breakfast to regard you with the same confusion and worry.

“Hey, (Y/n), you’re crying, are you okay?”

You remembered Taehyung’s comforting words on the morning after the first attack.

“Family is Yahiko, family is us. That is… if you see us that way…” He said with a meek smile that day, “A family should be a place or people you can go home to and feel safe and loved. Evidently, the Blackwells do none of that.”

Then Jungkook’s words from last night.

“Then don’t hate yourself for being a burden to the pack, you’re not just a guest in our house now, you’re pretty much a pack member. The boys don’t treat you any differently than they would each other.”

Yahiko had been your only family up until now. Then Hyejin. Then Jungkook and the rest of the boys. Without your memories, you forgot what it was like to have a mother and a father, besides the ever doting kitsune who beckoned you to try liver and intestines, siblings and whatnot. Although you did have your mother before your memories were sealed, your coven brothers and sisters barely wanted to associate with you. Until now, you hadn’t thought about how the pack saw you, and you only thought that they were forced to have to keep you around and protect you because on your own, you had nothing and knew only the basis of what you could do as a siphoner. It all seemed obligatory from the start.

Maybe. Just maybe you found a place to belong with them.

“I’m okay… just I’m sorry for causing so much panic yesterday…” You smiled meekly, accepting the napkin from Hoseok and wiping away the wet trails your tears had left in their wake.

Would it be selfish to want to stay?

“Hey, if you’re up for it, we can start some self defense training after you get home from school okay?” Seokjin says, offering a brief hug as the four of you prepare to leave for the day. You reply with a nod, much happier than you were minutes prior.

Would it be too much to want to be with them even after all this is over?

“You’re such a cry baby,” Jungkook comments during lunch with Hyejin clinging to your side, the two exchange menacing leers with stuck out tongue from your best friend and a finger pulling down his eye lid from the male’s part.

“I was being sentimental jerk,” You scoff, forcing your brows to scrunch in mock annoyance.

“You were sentimental enough last night, quit it,” He frowns. In reality, he felt like he was being torn into two at the sight of tears.

Hyejin rolls her eyes at them, “Would you two just make out already or something?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as did Jungkook’s, the ghost of a blush blossoming over his cheeks as he weakly glared at the girl. Jimin burst into obnoxious laughter, Taehyung looking away to very poorly muffle his own chuckle.

I would if I could, you both thought, neither having enough courage to look the other in the eye right now.

No no no, I told him I’d give him time to sort himself out, he has his own imprintee, I can’t just do that, you think to yourself.

What the fuck is wrong with you, you dumbass dog, Jungkook groans inwardly at his own reaction and thoughts. He’d be a liar if he denied wanting to, heavens above he’s wanted to for so long. Only problem was, if he started, he wasn’t sure if he could keep his hands away. Fuck, he was ready to combust right then and there. The image of your lips, their plush pressed against his, setting him on fire the same way he had when he first set eyes on you, stayed engraved into his mind.

The remainder of his classes were spent distracted, half paying attention when he found his eyes drawing towards your form hunched over the desk beside him or even across the room with Hyejin beside you. By the time Potions had come around, he was ready to smash a flask into his face.

To rub salt to injury, Seokjin asked him to help out in training you.

“I know we’re gonna be facing witches, who are more likely to attack using spells, but I just want you to be able to defend yourself if something like those bounty hunters happen again,” the warlock explains as the hybrid fidgets in his spot beside the elder, “We’ll keep studying and practicing some defensive and offensive skills, so you can get the hang of using your magic more often.”

Despite the obvious tension between the two of you, Seokjin teaches you how to punch correctly and to specific points like the inside of the arm. Jungkook forces down his heart in his throat and does his best to be your sparring partner.

Using a spell that covers your flesh in a layer of magic that protects you from the brunt of Jungkook’s punch and kick, Seokjin directs you and guides your body into a balanced stance. It helps make sure you don’t get knocked back too easily, as he fixes the awkward angle of your arm in a better block.

By the next day, Seokjin has you moving onto redirection and throws. You’re still a little sloppy at blocking and dodging, but he smiles and assures you that with more practice you’ll start getting the hang of it. He has Jungkook throwing punches your way for you to use your hand to push it aside.

“Chances are, your attacker might be just a large as this brick wall,” the warlock grins as the hybrid frowns, “And I don’t expect you to be able to lift him with just brute strength, but you can use his weight to your advantage and be able to flip him over your shoulder, as well as knock him down.”

Jungkook can barely concentrate on what the elder is explaining, his senses overwhelmed at the close proximity with his arm around your neck in a mock choke. Your scent invades his nose, the beginnings of a blush crawling up his neck as your fingers curl over his forearm, pulling him down as you spread your feet into a base stance. Your right hand twists around the shoulder of his sleeve, pushing your hips back into his.

“Good good, he’s off balance, now take use of that to step forward with your right and throw him.”

The hybrid is too distracted to realize what’s happening, when his world goes flying and suddenly he’s on his back and you’re on your knees beside him, hands still curled on his arm and shoulder.

“Perfect! Just don’t fall with him too!” Seokin chuckles as you bow in response and offer the wolf a hand. Not wanting to be rude, he gives in and clasps his hand over yours, wincing when his heart pounds at the simple touch of your skin on his. Your skin retreats from his, but the skin of his palm is still tingling with what’s left of your lingering warmth.

Damn the mutt inside him.

“A-are you okay?” You ask worriedly, noticing how spaced out he was.

“I’m fine, that was one helluvah throw though,” He says with a tight lipped smile, knowing he was very well distracted by holding you close like that.

“Alright you two, if you’re done chatting, we can do a few more throws and try some leg sweeps.”

True to his word, you have your left arm splayed across Jungkook’s chest, holding his left arm with your right. Pressing against him, your leg moves forward before swinging back against Jungkook’s, swiping it from the ground. The pressure of your left forces him down, moving your hand the way Seokjin had instructed around his head and guiding him down.

It was exhilarating, although in a controlled and safe environment, you felt confident being able to take down Jungkook. Although he obviously wasn’t putting that much resistance, you felt a little more safer being able to know such techniques.

“How you feeling?” He asks nonchalantly when you get ready for bed that night. The hybrid made it routine to sleep on the floor in wolf form now, only to always end up crawling onto the bed in the middle of the night right after. Despite knowing his clothes were only going to be kicked under the bed after he turns, he settles on the foot of the bed to chat for a little.

You offer him a smile, drying off your damp hair after a much needed shower, “Muscles a little sore, but I’m glad to be able to learn how to defend myself when the time finally comes, you know.”

“That’s good,” He mumbles, unsure what else to say without sounding weird or desperate. Hey I really like the way you slammed me into the ground today or wow you looked so fucking hot standing above me. Oh heavens what even was that last thought?

“You seem pretty versed in fighting, I mean you were always good… not that you were ever bad or anything… you held your own against those two hunters really well… and er… okay I’m gonna shut my mouth now.”

He couldn’t help his own sputter, a small pfft passed through his hand covering over his mouth. The attempts to muffle his amusement failed and he noticed the way you weakly glare at his reaction.

“I enjoyed Taekwondo when I was younger, they were wary of me as a supernatural, so I mostly practiced by myself or with Junghyun, and… after that…” His voice faltered momentarily and you can guess what he was referring to, “I practiced with Namjoon and Hoseok sometimes. Times are peaceful now though, so I never really had a reason to fight seriously until your dumbass came around.”

“Okay, listen, I did not ask to be attacked like this,” You frown at his jab.

“You played yourself for even breathing,” He cracks a subtle smile that you take in greedily. This was good. This was very good progress. You both were talking, and he even showed just a minuscule of emotion. Something was better than nothing at all.

“For someone who’s never had to fight or protect themself, you’re doing pretty well,” He says after a moment of silence, eyes peering over to you, “A little more practice and I might actually feel a pinch when you hit me.” He cracks a mischievous quirk at the corner of his lips with a subtle twitch of his eyebrow.

You however, puff out your cheeks and launch one of his pillows at him.

When Jungkook has long curled up in his wolf form, lying at the foot of the bed while you take up your usual spot on his bed, he’s abruptly awoken by the heavy musk of distress. Marine eyes fly open in alarm, darting back and forth within the darkness of his room. His dry nose twitches in recognition of the obvious discomforting scent. Ears flicking, he raises his head to glance towards the bed where you lay.

As he thought, you’re tossing around, curling into a fetal position. Your breath hitches, eyebrows furrowing from what he can tell in the dark.

Knowing himself, he can’t just leave you alone. Not like he was able to stay away anyways, always waking up curled beside you on the bed for the past few mornings. The lack of self control was astounding.

And just like those nights, he rises from his position, shaking his head briefly before stepping onto the bed. The frame whines at the added weight, mattress dipping as he crawls to your side. Silently letting his large body curl around you, tail swishing in excitement before falling over your form, he settles comfortably. His azure gaze is hooded, watching as you toss once more before finding his warmth and relaxing against him.

What were you dreaming about? He wonders as his mouth opens in a long yawn.

What has you so antsy at night, even when you were long unconscious and deep asleep?

Maybe he’ll ask tomorrow.

Morning falls over the cabin once more, the day passing as you attend school and return to another day of training.

“Alright, hope you know how to clench your teeth, a lot of physical fights end up on the ground, so we’re gonna practice some falls and then some ground fighting.”

Some what?

“Clench your teeth Kookie-ah!”

Tags!! (Let me know if you want to be added or if I forgot you!!)

@twilight-loveer @reinyrei @mistytail @mygukandonlyficrecs @xanny91 @unpocodesoledadywisky @xxqueenwxtchxx @lildemonangele @gukworld @sunnyoongles @serendipity-secrets @ilaria-np @jules-park @treetops68 @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @jeonkooksgirl @coffeeismylife28 @nshitae @bookoffracturedescapes @ellsbells72 @zamirayinyue13 @hannahdearr @tiredjedi @sushibunn @perrshian @lovinggalaxies @ditttiii @cookies-are-done @mintyrae @blackravena @lilacdreams-00

#lustrous #idk if this is good #lolol #but please let me know what you think!!#kpop fanfic #bts fanfic #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungguk x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook imagine #jungguk x you #jungkook scenarios #hybrid!jungkook #werewolf!jungkook

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devak66 · 3 years

Text

His first transformation

Eyyy i finally finished this

i thought it would be fun

word count: 1457

explaination in tags

The day starts… much better than others. Ranboo is going for a walk, paying some respects to the damage that Dream had caused to L’Manberg. The crater where it once stood. Ranboo clutched his memory book, looking at what the now imprisoned man had done. Ranboo smiled. Things were going to get better. He hadn’t heard the voice in a while, he found a new home by Phil and Techno. Nothing could ruin this moment.

“Hello dreamon” Fundy’s voice chirped from behind Ranboo, making him jump, luckily he wasnt so close to the ledge he was at risk of falling into the crater but he was still spooked. He turned to face the fox with a very confused “What..?”

“Don’t play dumb with me” Fundy said with a smug smile “Dream told me a while ago. Now Dream is in prison and i want to run some tests on a real dreamon”

“I.. I’m not a dreamon. I’m half enderman-”

“And your other half is dreamon. Honestly i'm surprised i didn’t realize sooner” Fundy took a step towards Ranboo, making the hybrid step closer to the ledge

“N-no… that.. That can't be” ranboo felt his anxiety rise at this idea. It feel wrong but… what… what if Fundy is right. No. That can’t be “I… If I were, why does it matter…?”

Fundy was reaching for something in his bag “well. Ranboo, i'm a part of a little group of people called Dreamon Hunters. And if you’re at all related to a dreamon like Dream, you need to be dealt with”

Ranboo took a step back, right on the ledge. What? Related to Dream…? No.. that can't be true, can it..? “What.. does that mean…?” he glanced down as Fundy had grabbed what he was looking for and with a quick movement had produced a bottle of something and splashed it on Ranboo, who screamed in pain and fell backwards. What Fundy had splashed on Ranboo was not just any water, it was prime water, something very dangerous to dreamons. “Holy shit..” Fundy said looking over the edge, Ranboo had landed on a decent sized ledge, clutching his new burn. The stress and raw emotion of this situation was making Ranboo’s body change.. and transform “it worked!” Fundy smiled

Ranboo’s horns grew longer, as did many of his features. His fingers became closer to claws as a growl grew in his throat. This is when Fundy realized “wait.. it worked” he backed up a few steps when he heard what could be described as a sheik of rage. Fundy quickly pulled out his communicator and sent a message to Tubbo “dreamon. L’Manberg crater. Hurry” he looked up to see the creature that was earlier Ranboo use his longer limbs and claws to pull himself out of the pit

Fundy started to back away from the very angry dreamon “H-hey… ranboo… i can guess youre a little angry” he reached for his bag. Ok.. take inventory. Sword, hoe(of course for defending against dreamons), and.. Perfect. A bottle. Fundy triumphantly pulled it out to find.. Empty. Fuck “C-come on.. It wasnt personal a-and in my defence… it was for research and I didn’t think it would work” that was the exact wrong thing to say. The dreamon roared in rage and charged. Fundy turned tail and ran, checking his communicator with hopes that Tubbo was nearby, but he couldn't tell because tubbo hadnt responded. After several sharp turns, the fox had made it to the holy land. Dreamonic ranboo skid to a stop just at the border, not even trying to step onto the land of prime, he did try to rake his claws at Fundy, who was thankfully just out of range. Fundy’s communicator chirped with a notification. Fundy took it out and glanced at the dreamon pacing the border. Waiting. Fundy checked the message, it was from tubbo, that said ‘A dreamon! Holy shit! Where are you so you can tell me more’

Fundy responded with a simple ‘I’m at church prime, barely escaped it. Be careful when you get here, it's still roaming’ Tubbo gave a quick response and Fundy looked at the beast. It’s eyes held a rage that Fundy didn’t know Ranboo could even have. Moving to the safer space of the church, he glanced over to the dreamon, who was pacing by the border of the holy land.

After a few minutes, Tubbo walked in, wearing his dreamon hunting clothes, looking over at hi compatriot “I messaged Sapnap but he said he’s busy doing something with Karl and Quackity”

Fundy sighed “Then it’s just the two of us”

“How did dream even get out of prison. I thought that place was inescapable”

“It’s not Dream. Its someone else. I thought you’d be able to tell when you saw it” Fundy felt a twinge of panic at what he knew was coming of Tubbo’s response

“I didnt see any dreamon” tubbo saw the fear in Fundy’s eyes

“We need to go. Now. before someone else finds it. Someone who cant defend themself” Fundy was ready to go, as he had already filled some bottles with prime water. Tubbo nodded and turned to leave, Fundy following after “I doubt we’ll be able to do the ritual, but with any hope we can weaken it enough to transform back to normal form”

“You saw the dreamon transform.. Holy shit” as they passed over the border of the holy land, Tubbo thought to ask a very important question “If not Dream, who is the dreamon?”

Before Fundy could answer, a roar echoed through the air, startling some birds. Fundy reached for a bottle of prime water, looking around quickly trying to pinpoint where the sound came from, before he saw it. Long thin limbs ending with clawed almost paws. Those red eyes completely ignored Tubbo as it charged, running on all fours, to kill the bastard who burned him in the first place. It was more difficult to tell with the burns on his body, but the white of his skin was creeping further as he was in this form longer. It was barely noticable as it hasnt been too long but anyone who knows Ranboo well would be able to tell. Before he could lunge he heard a the voice of his best friend, in absolute shock, say “Ranboo?”

Ranboo, if you could call this dreamonic form Ranboo, skidded to a stop, basically sitting on the ground like a dog. “Ranboo.. Is .. his other half is Dreamon..” Tubbo was dumbfounded, but he did notice how ready Fundy was to use his prime water “Fundy! Put that away, this is our friend!”

“That thing isnt ranboo! Its a monster using his form to trick you!” Fundy replied, hearing the growl growing from Ranboo.

“Fundy. Stop. We.. we can try to snap him out of this..” Tubbo said

“Are you kidding! It doesnt care about you! It will kill you at it’s first chance”

“Stop. We are doing this and that is final. Understood fundy?” Tubbo was getting angry, fundy didnt say anything “we.. just need to remind him of who he is” Tubbo looked at the dreamon. He had calmed down, his tail swaying a bit like a cat’s. On his back was a small set of insectoid wings, Nowhere near large enough to use to fly. Neat.

“Ranboo.. Do you remember who i am?” Tubbo tried, only getting a tilted head in response “I.. I’ll take that as a no.. I’m Tubbo, you-”

“This isnt going to work. If you want to remind him of who he is-”

“Fundy..”

“Who he is is a fucking coward” fundy looked straight at the dreamon, who seemed to actually flinch at that “When i first heard what he believed i thought he was an indecisive, insane spineless fuck but when i realized he was right and wanted to join him to continue what he believed he left me like everyone in my fucking life” Ranboo seemed to be slouching.. Or at least.. Smaller.. Closer to his normal size, he backed up a bit away from the angry fox “and even now when he could so easily kill me, youre being a fucking coward” Ranboo whimpered

“Fundy enough”. Tubbo was looking at the dreamon. Ranboo was about his normal size but his eyes were still that red. “Ranboo.. Its o-” Ranboo had gotten up and made a run for it in the opposite direction, Tubbo was angry “fundy what the fuck!”

“Looks like it worked”

“Thats not my point!”

“Hes half dreamon. Hes a danger and if you dont understand that then i will deal with him if he ever goes to that state again. Understood, Tubbo?” Fundy glared

#half dreamon Ranboo #half dreamon ranboo au #got bored #this was fun to write #ask me questions if you need #explaination: I do what I want #HDR AU

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drugs-and-deadlines · 4 years

Text

she & her

You are haunted by the manic female NYC writer trope. Not a trope, really, because that feels like a reduction of her wiles, her slipperiness, her popularity, her perseverance, and her sex. It is a certain kind of ghost, progressive and beguiling, her kink as boundary pushing as the prose lifting up her personal narrative. She sculpts meaning-making out of every lived moment in her life, but most especially the young ones, because those are more thrilling for her audience, wherein she oscillated from a teetering cocktail of stimulants and alcohol, between egotist self-aggrandizing and pure self-flagellation.

You know exactly who she is, because her definition and her very body is composed of the resistance to definition, most especially the questions and expectations of femininity. She is by turns lithe, waifish, possibly sick; by turns defying categorization with a smirk and a firm muscular body; by turns unafraid of her fatness in brain and body to take up space. When she generally speaks of her body, it is to make a philosophical point about the world at large and the place of female-bodied people in it; she skewers her feelings about her own corporal form with analysis. You know her because you have flirted with her in a literal sense, but also a figurative one -- you have let your body, fashion, and being explore each of the categories but none of them ever stuck. And a big part of you has feared why that is -- perhaps you don’t know yourself, perhaps your indecisiveness outstrips your ambition, a thoroughly un-manic trait. Perhaps, most horrifyingly, you fall too cleanly into a Freudian ball of neuroses to allow yourself to ever be you and thus will always be chasing the best way to present yourself. And meanwhile, while you’re asking yourself all these questions, she is writing.

She is not just writing. She is staying up late, refining the same sentence with rigor, stripping it further down to its essentials while you stare up at the ceiling, wondering at the opportunities you’ve missed. She is a ghost because she is able to slip through all the cracks of the house that is your life. She creates a mythos of every doorway she’s passed through. Even in her floundering, even in her telling of her own failures, there is a sort of certitude that each bumbling embarrassment served the narrative purpose of bringing her right to this moment: a moment of fame, of byline, of acknowledged brimming talent.

If you had little money or privilege growing up, she had all of it, spending summers on a family boat in Greek waters, inviting friends from your liberal arts college to come along and therefore fall in love with her for years. She deliberately chose not to apply to the Ivies because she wanted a less conventional path; you chose not to apply because you never thought you could get in. She ends up dating the women from your past and you watch the thirst traps and inside jokes filter their way through Instagram and Twitter, a life you might have lived but weren’t brave enough or wealthy enough to attract. You cannot offer anyone a good time consistently because it exhausts you along with the other trappings of the class you were born into. You eventually grow out of resenting that which you never had, but the injustice of how the rich always have extra time still stings. Time seems to be everything a writer needs.

If you did grow up with privilege or money, the ghost shapeshifts. She worked her way through undergrad as a server, or possibly a dominatrix or a stripper, a woman aware of the power of her own body and the ability to turn society’s preying into a currency she could use. She is always embodied, all her couplings and couplets enviable because of the bravery that surrounds them. When she is tired in her classes the next morning, it is only because she worked a double the night before. Her voice still leads your class’s intellectual thought, she openly confesses that she fell asleep in her work uniform with Plato’s Republic two pages away from the end of the reading assignment sometime around 2am. She does this in your 8am class. You’d hope to catch her for lunch, but she always has work to do, is always begging off invitations, and you hope desperately that it’s true and not because you’re not cool enough. And on the weekends, she always seems to have friends from work and beyond inviting her out. They have nothing to do with your age group or with the school you both attend. She is rapacious in her discipline but still somehow has time to try all the drugs you haven’t tried and are too afraid to. How is she so unafraid? Her fortitude and coolness with hard work is a currency too, making up for all the things she didn’t grow up with. Every privilege you’ve ever had only seems to undercut your sense of whether you earned anything. She is raw, willing to say the first absurd thing that comes in her head. Her poetry takes risks yours cannot.

And you are pissed. Because regardless of where you come from, you are confronted with all these Instagram realities (that only make larger the actual realities), which is mostly that the rules are still the same. You avoided trying to be a cool girl as a child and a teenager because you knew you could not accomplish it, and so you strove to satisfy yourself with being an intellectual. You decided to give up on being an actor or a singer or a dancer and plunge yourself into letters because you thought it would be a refuge from constant performance. Constant performance required constant realigning to the changing modes of cool, and so you thought writing would suit you better. How wrong you were.

Writing in itself is a more complete performance: if you are serious about it, you must be an intellectual builder of words in every moment of self-narrative, whether spoken, written, or posted. You listen to tales of “dressing for the muse” and showing up at the writing desk at 6am. You also listen to tales of complete slobbishness, writing on the floor with crayons, unafraid to make mistakes while creating in underwear and a tank top. Sex and danger, especially when both can be intertwined, are palpable in every sentence and interaction the manic girl has. It is part of her attraction. No knows if she’s going to want to fuck or fight, or, best of all, floatingly let you know she thinks you are full of your own light. The latter ideal scenario happens right before she leaves you to stride home, empowered enough to tromp through the late night New York City streetlamps dappling through the trees, deciding to walk with your now ever-aggrandizing thoughts rather than take the MTA. She is most thrilling when she leaves you wanting more, which is always. Your thoughts ping around your head with a velocity borrowed from her own.

Once home, you look up all the writers she mentioned and see them all connected by several nodes: one MFA program or a particular residency, publishing house, or theater company. You become determined that this node is the epicenter, which will be true for a time until you’ve penetrated it and find another node of hot writers beyond your reach.

There are always conversations happening without you. There are always people fucking without you. There will always have been a better time to be in New York, some time well before you were here, when it would’ve been easy to meet these intellectuals and be friends with them and the real estate was cheaper therefore making the creation of art and myth more accessible. You will always have missed the boat by five years or more, something you curse your age or attachment to another city before this one for. They took time away from the pulsing magnetism of your true love for this city, and you resent that, because now you are less attractive, less energetic, less manic than you were when you were younger. You cannot stay out for so long without chemical dependence & when you do, you bemoan that you should’ve been writing. But when you stay home to write, you invariably miss the moment when you would’ve met the right person who would’ve fallen in love with you & asked to read you.

You alternate with being obsessed with her, wanting in some way to possess her as a friend or ally or lover, to actually being possessed by her. The need to write what you know are brilliant fucking things infecting every moment -- prose pooling into an appetizing puddle at the bar, waiting for you to mop it up, poetry lingering on the steering wheel, electrifying your hands when you touch it to go go go go go fly to paper, even in those moments when you are fully possessed by her and become her, it is not enough, there is a time when you were more brilliant, more boundary pushing, more consumed by the manic need for a narrative that you simultaneously sculpted in your own life and committed opulently to paper. The poetry monster is always hungry. There is always a better-worded performance of the myth of your own making and you begin practicing by interviewing yourself. The graphomania can always, always, always increase its acceleration. But better that than a pandemic-inspired staring at the ceiling, this moment when you are certain you missed your chance and it will never come again, that there will never be a doing coke in the Village with some rich folks you barely know, the bumps wrapping you in cynicism and excitement for your new friend group all at once. No, in your pandemic reality, and perhaps before, clout is only gained via social media and you seem to be especially bad at that. The manic NYC female writer is better at it. She is genderbending her own performance of herself, twisting her depression and isolation somewhere in Connecticut or New Hampshire or her Manhattan fire escape as something to be envied.

How, you wonder, how how how how how

And then it becomes obvious

Her performance of self is nimble like white supremacy, resilient like the virus itself, always finding a new way to shapeshift her experience into something artful. You should be using this moment, because she certainly is. Because what the manic NYC female writer has is an obsession and possession of talent, a haunting that allows her to keep working at the problem into the late hours, when hers is the only light left on. And then there are moments when she obsesses instead of possesses, moments when the light is off but she is still awake, questioning this ceiling, her choices, and the fact that she’s chosen a stable partner beside her in bed instead of an ever-shifting existence that allows for new narratives to come in. She questions her life with the same rigor she does her stories, every choice that does not suit the performance and pursuit of her potential.

And, to that end, all of her/your characters become you/her or are versions of you/her -- and that is the only constant. The feedback she/you get(s) in workshops is that your/her main characters are too similar and that is precisely the point -- you are her and she is you and you both see one another on every street corner and every passage, only a few centimeters to the left in an alternate universe. The Quantumness of it all exhausts you and haunts the many yearning yous, the whole network of them, so overwhelming that then you must return to the facts of your autobiography to find stable ground before your own architecting of your autobiography shifts it again.

#prose #nyc #pandemic #career #obsession #creative writing mfa #long reads #spilled ink #creative writing

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runescrafted · 4 years

Note

♕ for a kiss of swearing fealty.

— bestow a kiss prompt.

there was nowhere to run in edom, no place to go where jonathan couldn’t — wouldn’t — find her. the demon lilith gifted him a kingdom of his own, and here he was well & truly king. the land, the atmosphere, the castle; they all conformed to his will, and what jonathan wanted he got.

even, clary supposed, her.

a full month ( maybe more ) after they’d struck their deal, jonathan led her to the throne room — alone, under the bone-bleached brilliance of edom’s full moon. he guided her to the throne — her throne — and waited until she took a seat before moving to claim his own, dropping down into it with more lanquid grace than she’d ever manage. and there he sat, looking at her with his chin propped in his hand for several excruciatingly long moments, his fathomless eyes searching her face. a bored god, she thought. how shall i end the world today? and the tragedy of it was that he was beautiful, even in malice, but especially in repose. he was gifted with a face that should have been struck in marble; a masterpiece, hewn from stone & given the breath of life. warmed to a semblance of humanity, but with a heart frozen and cold in his chest.

( she wanted to think of him as a monster; wanted to hold onto that convinction — alongside her despair, her rage, her mislaid dreams of the future — for as long as she could. )

on that throne, sitting beside her, jonathan looked into her eyes and said, ‘ swear yourself to me.’

she wasn’t quick enough to stop the incredulous laugh that bubbled between her lips. ‘ what?’ she leaned back into the cradle of the throne, gaining a scant inch of distance from him. ‘ you won. isn’t that enough?’

something unnameable flickered in his expression; his jaw tightened. ‘no.’ it was said simply, flatly; an uncomfortable truth. ‘ because i’ve also spared your world, your friends — our viper of a mother and her lover. i’ve given you every comfort. i’ve given you a crown.’

it was her turn to grit her teeth. she knew what she got out of this deal — and she knew what she lost. ‘ so you want me to — what, thank you? promise to be good and obey you? love you? ’

clary wondered if she imagined the flinch. she blinked, barely a heartbeat, but when she looked again he once again appeared composed. a study in cruel beauty. the only difference was that his hand had dropped. no longer beneath his chin, it rested instead in his lap, curled into a fist.

‘ swear yourself to me,’ he said again — with more steel. ‘ swear to be my queen in more than name. you so love to fight me, but i enjoy crossing swords with you, sister. i don’t need your obedience — only your fealty. ’ his jet eyes burned over her. ‘ be mine, clary — mine in every way that matters.’

something uncomfortably like warning skittered down her spine. the thing about demons ( about jonathan ) is that there is never one straight forward purpose to anything. even a simple word like mine.

‘ or — what?’

jonathan’s brows lifted, a cool mockery of surprise. ‘ feeling brave, aren’t we? your friends could be spending the next few centuries rotting in a cell with no light or air, remember. lucian greymark would make an excellent rug. and your mother—’

‘ you’re threatening me.’ a whipcrack of an accusation. fury raged behind her ribs. ‘ you tell me how good you’ve been to me, and in the same breath threaten the people i care about. but whatever it takes to get what you want, right? ’

a beat of silence followed — stretched thin in the hushed atmosphere of the throneroom.

jon exhaled, slow and exasperated. ‘ i’m not threatening you. i was just — pointing out that there are a great many terrible things that could happen to your entourage and that, as of yet, have not. because i’m generous. let’s be clear on that.’

clary’s temples throbbed.

‘ besides, it doesn’t mean as much, not if i make you do it.’ he pushed a hand through his hair, disordering the strands in a way that made him look — infuriatingly — soft. probably on purpose. ‘ that’s not how oaths work, you know. you have to swear freely.’

‘nothing i do here is done freely,’ she snapped, and shoved off of the throne, done with this conversation. she started to storm down the dais — but jonathan simply reached out, snagged her arm and hauled her back.

she landed inelegantly in his lap, furious.

‘ case in point,’ she hissed, trying to sit upright. jonathan adjusted beneath her, but only just; one arm he banded around her waist, arranging her sideways across his thighs. his other hand crept up to curl in her hair, near her scalp. a firm tug dragged her head up, and clary found herself looking up through the oculus, at the stars that suddenly seemed to pinwheel in and out of focus.

jonathan’s lips brushed over the hammering pulse in her throat; his breath whispered across her skin like fingertips, caressing.

‘ i’m asking for so little, clary.’ he pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw; then another, and another, laying a trail that meandered back and forth, indecisive. ‘ swear yourself to me, and i promise to make you happy.’

‘ you can’t make someone happy. that’s not how it works, you know.’

he sighed against her collar. ‘ you won’t even give me a chance to try.’ the hand fisted in her hair loosened, then slipped away to settle instead at the nape of her neck, to guide her head back down. jonathan’s midnight gaze found her and rooted her to the spot, insistent. ‘ swear you’ll be mine — and i’ll be yours.’

she stiffened, just a little. ‘mine?’

‘ yes.’ it was a feverish acknowledgement. jonathan’s lips brushed the corner of her own, formed words that left the ghost of impressions there. ‘as long as you promise yourself to me truly — i’ll give you anything you want.’

the wheels started to turn, ever so slowly. ‘ anything? ’ experimentally, she turned her head — just a fraction, yes, but now her question fitted itself in the scant space between their lips. dangerous. provocative.

jonathan took a small, stilted breath, pulling back just far enough to search her expression. careful. ‘ anything, clary. except let you go.’

details. she could work on that later. her tongue touched the swell of her lower lip and she watched jonathan’s gaze drop to follow the motion; saw the way his jaw worked; the hard swallow. it took forever for his eyes to track back upward, to meet her gaze.

with excruciating slowness, clary lifted both hands to frame his face, his hard jaw cradled in her palms. curious, she swept the pad of her thumb across his mouth, and watched his lips part around a precarious exhale. back and forth, she brushed a gentle caress — and when his tongue darted out to wet his lips ( or, perhaps, to get a taste of her ) clary hummed in consideration.

jonathan’s eyes were riveted to her face, as if he couldn’t — dared not — look elsewhere.

clary inclined her head a fraction once more, her hair slipping over her shoulder to cast a burnished curtain around them. ‘ promise me, then. that what you say is true.’

‘ i’ll never lie to you,’ he murmured, hushed and reverent. ‘ anything you want, except to leave me — it’s yours. as long as you’re mine. ’

‘then i swear,’ she said, and felt him shudder between her palms; beneath her. ‘i swear myself in fealty to you, jonathan.’ she hardly whispered them, but the words seemed to hang in the air, heavy & real; magic. binding.

‘ prove it. ’ a quiet order — one, she suspects, of many to come. but this one she is prepared for; expected. because for all the ways demons twist words, setting aside all the clever mechaniations, and despite all the times she’d asked, screamed, demanded to know — clary has always known what jonathan wanted.

she lowered her head, a devotee in prayer, and just before her lips touched his, clary whispered, ‘ hail, master. ’

it’s the echo of words from another life ( from another world ) but in this one, it seals her fate. clary’s lips settle over jonathan’s, and for a moment she is surprised that carved marble could be so warm — but then jonathan’s mouth is opening beneath hers, and his hand is once against curled in her hair, the strands twisted beneath his grasping fingers, and she—

clary leans into him, over him; she deepens the kiss and jonathan quivers against her, his arm an adamas band around her waist. he says her name, just once, between kisses. she tugs his lower lip between her teeth in retribution.

jonathan groans beneath her and to clary it sounds like a lock breaking open.

#erchommai #╳┊❛ fire message. ❜ ❪ inbox. ❫#╳┊❛ to rule in hell. ❜ ❪ edom au. ❫#( what a dark heart you have valentine’s daughter. )#( but also. hi. we appreciate power plays. )#( also hi. jon is not my muse so i can’t do him the justice cass can but. uh. )#( oop. here we go. )#( better to rule in hell and all that. )#( jon gets what he wants 2kforever. )#( clary’s in for a ride. B)))) in more ways than one. )#( this is probelmatic and perfect thank u. )

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mars-barssss · 5 years

Text

you aren’t alone anymore: Virgil P.2 (5/6)

Chapters

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Trigger warnings: Deceit Appearance/Mention, Facades, Mentions of arguments/fight, Low self-worth, Possession, Snakes

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan, Deceit

Pairings: Platonic LAMP; Platonic Analogical, Platonic Moxiety, Platonic/Romantic Prinxiety

Word Count: 1.8k Words.

Summary: Virgil’s need to protect others goes beyond physical protection. He does a good job of looking after each of the others in his famILY, but he doesn’t have the time to take care of himself. Lucky for him, he’s got someone looking after him too. More than one actually, to his surprise.

_ _ _

Virgil’s been possessed by Deceit. Everyone tries to fix it.

…

Virgil’s form grew heavy, his head facing down, almost limp. The feeling was familiar, extremely familiar actually. It was this sickly sweet feeling, almost like swimming through honey. His mind grew hazy, as his eyelids drooped slightly. The whites of his eyes began to glow amber, a small aura of light surrounded them.

He could barely think straight as he tried to focus on the ground. This feeling dug into his skin, making it tingle a bit on his arms. He vaguely recognized the feeling of a snake slithering around to his other arm. Lifting his head up, he heard voices, panicked and angry, but all of them sounded like he was deep underwater. None of the words really made any sense to him, anyways.

A hand caressed his cheek, turning his head to the right. The only clear thing in the entire room was now in front of him. His mind, while struggling on who the other blurs were, knew exactly who this was.

Deceit.

The snake slithered once again around, and went onto Deceit’s shoulder.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright. You took quite a massive tumble there. Is your head alright?” Deceit’s smile was struggling to remain under the lie of concern. His whispers ended in hisses in Virgil’s ear.

“... I can’t see, wha-?” Virgil felt almost sedated as he looked around the room. Something, a deep instinct, told him to back away. But something new and sickening was comforting him standing here. “What… is going on?”

One of the other distant voices suddenly became much louder. Virgil’s head turned so sharply, only to see a blur with a red mark approaching them quickly.

“That is enough, Roman.” The cool voice of Deceit echoed deeper into Virgil’s brain. It almost gave him a headache. Light-headed was a close enough description though.

Gold blurs… gold lines… gold… somethings. Something else was slithering towards them, surrounding them.

“I can help you, Vee. What do you want to believe?” His smile grew even larger, his eyes piercing into his head. “One snake bite, and you’ll be happy! Like the past, okay? You just need to tell me what you want.”

Virgil felt power tingling at his fingertips, that was slowly draining. Or he at least thought it was draining?

“Look at them, Virge.” Deceit turned his head towards the three sides, suddenly becoming so much clearer. Their names still escaped him, yet he could see one curled up on a piece of furniture, another standing between the first one and said terrifying thing, and one who has a sword drawn. “They’ve called you a monster all the time since your manifestation. And yet you still want them over us, over me? You need to see the truth for once. You’re lying to yourself.”

With a gesture of his hand, Virgil saw something new in place of the three previous sides. They seem almost surrounded in gray clouds, before their outfits changed slightly, although messily. They were no longer concerned with whatever they were scared of. They were all staring at Virgil. These glares, they pierced into him, like knives. He slowly felt the hand guiding his face disappear, leaving him by himself with the sides.

Then all of a sudden, his mind grew into surprisingly clarity. He knew exactly who each of them were, what they were saying, everything.

“To offer his mopey, dopey input? I- I don’t like him.”

Roman was facing away from him, seemingly whispering among the rest of them.

“I don’t like him.”

The other two briefly began to fade, as Virgil slowly approached the side, nervously. Roman suddenly turns around, his face stern. His eyes remained stuck on Virgil. A few more steps, and Roman was looking down on him, surprisingly taller than normal.

“How could you do this to us?” The words were quiet, but they struck Virgil with a knife. “How?”

“W-What? What did I do?” Virgil shrank under his words. His body seemingly shrinking into his own hoodie.

“What?! How could you not know! You ruined everything!” A sudden shove landed Virgil on the floor, with a sword aimed at his throat.

“I-I… I thought I could trust you! You were doing better, but you still kept secrets from us!” Tears dropped onto Virgil from Roman’s eyes.

“Everyone always told me, that I was being too harsh! That I can’t say anything bad about you! And, oh, did I LISTEN-!” Roman turned slightly away, gesturing largely. “Well look now, everyone! The anxious one was the one at fault! And you’ve wrongly accused this prince! Welcome everyone, the true monster!”

“R-Roman, please I-”

“...I can’t believe we let a dastardly beast like you here, with us. You-!” Roman turned back down, his face breaking slightly. “You’re one of them.”

“-I… please. Roman, they never, I wanted to-” Virgil tightly shut his eyes together, expecting a stab to happen any moment now.

“When did you think you would tell us?”

When he next opened his eyes, someone new was above him. Looking away, at a faded version of Patton, but talking to Virgil. It was no longer the prince, but now Logan.

“It’s a question, Anxiety.” Logan was glaring deeply, like a frustrated teacher. His hands folded nicely together, and stiff shoulders. “Sure, I see how deeply difficult it is to answer, but, even I'm not a defeatist.”

Virgil struggles, but manages to stand. The darkness that now began to become even worse shrouded them. The room didn’t even look like his own anymore. His eyes grew a brighter amber as he stumbled towards the logical side. “I… I was going to tell you! I promise, Lo-”

As if not hearing him, Logan continued. “Indecisive, aren’t you. Look, Anxiety, as that’s what I should call you, I’m impartial. While I find it problematic that you have halted Thomas’s progress with… this… It’s quite easy to resolve. It’s a simple rule, light sides reside above, and dark sides are beneath. Please, do get going on your way.” Logan was now facing him completely, his body was no longer towards the faded version of Patton.

“Logan, please… don’t tell Patton…” Virgil didn’t know why those specific words fell out of his voice, he dug his hands into his hoodie. Which he didn’t deserve.

“I already know, kiddo.”

Virgil stumbled back, as Logan faded away right in front of him. Leaving the last side, Patton, to become slowly more real. His cardigan was slightly falling off of his shoulder, and his emotion was unreadable.

“Patton, please, hear me out, please please-”

Again, it fell right onto deaf ears. “Kiddo.” The look that was being thrust upon him was much more like a disappointed parent, rather than straight anger. “I-I thought… I don’t know anymore. I tried, Virge. I’m sorry.”

Those words were the last thing Virgil expected from the figure. Patton slowly approached Virgil, a tear dropped down his face, and his smile was broken.

“I didn’t… I wanted to let you in, I didn’t know about you. What you were, or uh, are. And how’d they react. But… Why did you not tell us sooner? Maybe… It could’ve worked out. I was your best friend! You said that to me, w-was that a lie…?” Patton wiped his tears, tightening his cardigan.

“I’m sorry I pitied you. Maybe it’s best if you don’t come back. It’d be like old times, and I know… I know you don’t want it kiddo, but…” Patton just let a few more tears fall, before looking away.

“Maybe it’s for the best Thomas doesn’t have anxiety.”

“Patton, no, wait-! I-”

Virgil was alone, but was that any different from he was normally?

Again, his mind heard muffled voices once more. Like he was still deeply submerged in water. One, shouting towards him. Another, trying to get things under control. Lastly, crying?

And suddenly, the darkness around him shook, some of the gray haze faded slightly. The walls of darkness he felt himself in were cracking. But along with the shaking of where he was, he heard a voice yell, before being cut off.

The other two voices also cut off, frantic mumbles coming through.

Slowly, the gray haze faded slightly, as tears fell down his cheeks, although he didn’t know why. Just a bit in front of him, Roman’s sword was laying there, abandoned.

His breathing stilled at the appearance of it, causing him to stumble back. Every moment felt blind, and every moment felt like someone was convincing him to do something still. It was a blend of control that gripped onto Virgil tightly.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps, still echoing through the dense feeling of water around him, no longer so sweet of a feeling.

“-rgil-! Don’t, wake up I-”

In blind fear, Virgil sent out a wave of magic in front of him. Another thud sounded, and the darkness shook around him. The voice of whoever he just hurt cut off in a groan. The darkness was swirling stronger now, but extended far enough to see Logan’s glasses on the floor now. Tears were now falling and falling down. His breathing was erratic, and he sobbed into his hands, as he stumbled back, falling onto the ground. The gray haze was now swirling threateningly, like a hurricane.

So loud, that Virgil barely heard the last voice still in the room.

“N-Not today. I can-”

Suddenly, the torrents of the gray swirl picked up, Virgil was curled up one the floor, his power being strained into a weapon of terror. His amber eyes were wavering with the onslaught of tears.

Through his tears and wind, he looked up in fear as the last figure placed a hand on his knee.

His arm reached up, extra power reserved to defend himself against this intruder-! When-

A body collided with him, and he flailed, scared he was getting attacked or hurt, or if he was going to be taken away to the dark sides again! But slowly, his mind cleared enough when he felt a sob against his shoulder. When he felt two arms gripping for life against his hoodie.

Something felt so, so familiar. Something like home.

The winds of his magic slowed and slowed, as his breathing stifled and soon slowed.

He was so, so tired.

He felt his hand reach up and grip tightly onto Patton’s cat hoodie as he let his tears fall. As everything went black again, Virgil felt safe.

The last thing he heard echoed in his mind.

“I’m okay. They’re okay. You’re okay. Don’t leave m-”

…

Taglist: @i-am-overly-complicated @mferge7

I’m sorry for how late this is! I’ll keep a better schedule from now on, I promise! I hope you all like it! The next chapter will be all fluff.

#platonic lamp #lamp #sandersides #sanders sides #virgil #patton #logan #roman #deceit #anxiet

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 5 years

Note

destiel roll reversal where dean's the angel and cas is a hunter?

Okay, so I know this is SUPER LATE, but would you still accept the short thingy I could write? Many thanks, and the prompt is extremely appreciated ~

***

Bobby and Castiel waited. The older hunter was going through the ingredients of the spell again, though it had already been performed and discovering a flaw wouldn’t be helpful now - but perhaps he did it to look for a reason why he hadn’t shown up yet.

Dean.

That’s all Pamela had told them.

It didn’t sound like a grand name you call an all-powerful entity by. It wasn’t a name you’d listen to and quake in your boots. It brought the image of a guy-next-door; the name of a neighbor with a little garden but an unmowed lawn, the name of a mechanic shop owner, maybe a business major at community college. It didn’t make Castiel think of someone who could pull him out of hell. Literally.

But he didn’t doubt Pamela either. So, he simply waited, with a shotgun and a demon blade, all prepared for whoever came through that door - demon or some other supernatural sonuvabitch.

Castiel had been leaning against a dusty slab, counting his breath, and he could see Bobby pace around in circles around the ashes of the performed ritual, still frowning as if the grey remains were telling him that he’d got it wrong. “Bobby,” He called. “Stop it. You didn’t make any mistakes, you know that too. And we both went over it together. So if - if this thing is summonable, he’s on his way.”

Bobby shot a gruff look at the hunter, who may not have been pacing around anxiously like him, but his grip on his demon blade hadn’t loosened an inch. Castiel’s eyes held a familiar flare, one of the final stages of a hunt. How could any of them have known, that this was the opposite of a hunt and the opposite of a finale?

When Bobby started to say something to the latter, about minding his own business probably, suddenly the barn door swung open.

Following the clear creak of rusted metal hinges, and darkness pouring in from outside, finally came distinct footsteps.

It was everything at once. The man’s face came into the clear, and Bobby recognized a confident stride. Green eyes. No greatness implied in his gait. Barely taller than Castiel. No weapons on him.

It was everything at once, and nothing at all. Castiel had instantly aimed his gun at the figure but didn’t use it just yet. An anticlimax beheld him, and some sort of damp dread vanished. He stared at the man.

No, not a man. Just...Dean.

The footsteps brought him closer. Now that Castiel had gotten over his initial surprise at the man’s inhumanly attractive face, he stared at the rest of him with a more objective sense. This was the being that pulled him out of hell. This was the terrific Dean! It was ridiculous that Castiel had trouble looking past those green, green eyes; when there was so much to behold.

The one who’d walked in looked shockingly ordinary, in the cosmic scheme of things.

He slumped slightly beneath a leather jacket, with the air of someone who wore it too often, and had classic cut blond hair. There was no expression on his face, all hard lines of jaw and cheek - except perhaps the beginnings of a smirk as he noticed Castiel’s heavy, inspecting gaze.

Inwardly, Castiel didn’t know what to make of this. They’d been expecting a higher-pay grade demon - but Dean looked the opposite of one of those hellish creatures. There was a glow he carried into the room with himself. They’d expected a force of nature strong enough to pull him out of hell; someone terrible and violent; something vastly more evil!

This being...he wore holey acid-washed jeans, for Christ’s sake.

Castiel shoved the incredulous judgment of character from his head momentarily and resumed thinking like a hunter should’ve been. Not someone who’s suddenly enamored by a non-human who casually walked into the traps he'd been summoned to. (Like he was looking to order two drinks for a date.)

Dean walked over the devil’s trap without a thought, crossing the barn over to them. So, either this demon was strong enough that those didn’t hold him back at all - or he wasn’t a demon at all.

But when Castiel heard Bobby cock his gun, he dropped his thoughts and did the same. They both shot at him together, multiple times, aiming for the heart.

Well, neither of them had expected this ghastly entity to drop dead due to iron-bullets, but they were both shocked when he didn’t even flinch. Just twisted his lips into a bemused frown, directing it completely at Castiel with eyebrows raised as if to mock.

The strain of being focused upon affected Castiel’s accuracy, and he fumbled to put down the gun after two of his bullets hit Dean without cause, and one struck the wall behind him after being shot with a loud rapport. His grip on the knife, at his waist, tightened still.

“Who are you?” Castiel conjured his most commanding voice, and glared at him.

“Wanna do this the good ol’ 20-questions style?” He grinned.

It was such a sudden gesture, the baring of teeth in such a genial smile, and Castiel’s sense of safety - he had no idea where it had even come from - shattered. He snapped, and all the righteous fury to demand answers - and much of the residue from goddamn hell, came bolting back to his chest.

Castiel had always hated the villains who thought they were funny.

“No, I don't.” He growled, and in a quick motion, stabbed him; piercing the man’s heart with Ruby's knife. And a stab in the heart could kill just about everyone, and with Ruby’s blade - This had killed the worst of monsters yet.

But there was no dying light, or yelp of pain. Blood drenched the man's shirt as it flowed from the wound, and Castiel was too taken aback to even twist it out. As if he’d been ticked with a feather, the man took the blade by the hilt and calmly pulled it out of his chest. The blood which flowed out seemed to reduce.

Before Castiel could exchange a look with Bobby about this strange encounter they were in the middle of, and warn him against attacking more, it was too late. Bobby rushed up to hit the guy with a pipe from behind, aiming for the head and a fatal wound. Without even looking in his direction, he caught Bobby’s swing, turned, and waved two fingers at the grizzled hunter’s forehead, causing him to pass out instantly.

Castiel inhaled sharply, fearful for Bobby’s safety. He followed his dropping body and noticed - hopefully - a heaving chest, indicating there’s still life. Castiel needed to save him! So, he doesn’t charge at Dean or yell at him, lest he anger him further and make him take Bobby’s life. All his thoughts of this thing not being as evil as they’d anticipated vanished.

“Look,” Dean suddenly spoke up, and Castiel glared at him. Dean took a step ahead and Castiel inattentively shuffled back, “We need to talk. Preferably somewhere less dusty, though.” Castiel swallowed, waiting for him to finish. The man went on casually, and it was all sorts of ridiculous how normal he sounded. “Well, how about this roadhouse that I’m a regular at? It’s a couple states away, so what say you and I skip town?”

“Who are you?” Castiel repeated, stormy. What sort of jest was this? Take him out for drinks, and then take out his intestines? And what did he want to talk about? What could Castiel know about anything, that was of interest to him? What could he have to say to him?

“Dean.” He replied, simply.

“I..” Castiel was once again hit by how the name was so normal. Why couldn’t he have had an unpronounceable Latin name which translated to The Supreme Evil or something, that’d make it easier. “I know that!” He recomposed himself. “I meant, what are you?”

“You could call me an angel if that’s the kind of stuff you’re into,” Dean shrugged. Castiel froze. Angel? “But it’d be better if you called me Dean. There are thousands of angels, just as there are millions of humans. But I’m Dean. That’s what’s important, if at all. Just as you’re Cas, right?”

“I’m not.” Castiel pulled back, dumbly.

“What, wrong address?” Dean squinted, before breaking into such an easy grin that the desire to mirror it was strong. “Nah, I’m kidding. I know you well enough to know who you are, Cas. I pulled you from hell. And I’m kind of a gentleman that way because I only forget the really dumb one-night-stands, not my four-month favorites.” He winked.

Castiel frowned. “First of all, I’m Castiel.” Dean rolled his eyes, dismissively. He ignored it. “And secondly, we aren't - I mean, surely you can’t be an angel!?”

“Why not?” Dean asked, curious. “You don't believe we exist?” Dean didn’t wait for Castiel’s firm nod of his head. “Don't be a dick, Cas, everyone is valid.” Dean snickered at his own joke, but Castiel didn’t.

Castiel was silent for a minute, and when he finally spoke up, his head was a tangle of indecision. “But if you’re a-actually an angel,” He stammered. “Wouldn’t you have wings?”

“You need proof?” Dean’s eyes flashed with a slight bit of emotion. As if...for some reason, he was disinclined to show Castiel his wings. “Well, it’s kinda third date material, you know?”

“I don't believe you’re an angel, because -” Castiel declared, barely thinking about what he spoke.

“Because I’m not as grand as an angel would be, huh?” Dean shot back. “Because I don't have a halo? Because when I entered, I didn’t make sparks fly and shatter the windows? Because I didn’t give you some lame line like ‘I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition’, and because I’m not a Michael wannabe in a tuxedo and because I -”

Castiel didn’t know exactly why, but it was hurtful to hear Dean mock his judgment, and hurtful still to see him this fighting back verbally.

“Some angel you are,” He cut him off, pointedly. Not listening to the voice in his head. “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes!”

“I warned her to stop,” Dean countered, but sounding like he’d taken a blow too. “She didn't listen! Looking at my true form can do that to people.”

“Then, what is this?” The dots connected in his head. “Why am I alright?”

“Oh, don't worry, it's not because you're special or anything. Of course this isn't my true form,” Dean displayed a tiny bit of a smirk. “You grossly underestimate me if you think this freckle-faced bow-legged 30 year old white man is all that’s me?”

“So, you’re possessing some poor -” Castiel recoiled.

“He prayed for this; some corner-office-y Smith from Illinois,” Dean raised his eyebrows. “And, well, there’s a limit to the number of days you can survive on suspenders, treadmill desks and kale salads. He turned to the divine, gave himself over, and well - I kinda liked his face.” Dean ran a hand through his hair.

Castiel decided to drop it because he had hardly an idea what he’d even say to that. “I still don't get it, Dean. Why would an angel rescue me from hell? ...why did you do it?”

“Because I was dispensible, I guess, I was sent on an errand, and the guy they told me to save originally seemed like a torturous dick, but you were much better, so I went with my instincts and fought off those dickheads like a badass, to fly out with you,” Dean deadpanned.

“I -” Castiel blinked.

“I’m kidding, okay?” Dean suddenly burst into a grin. “You were my errand. You're both the dick and the good guy. Nevermind. It was a joke for another audience, another time." He paused. Cleared his throat. "Because God - no, because Heaven commanded it.” And in a slow descend, the dangerously contagious charming smile slipped away into a frown, his eyes grave. “W-They have work for you, Castiel.”

***

I just really hope you find this okay because this is awfully short and I dunno, and once again, sorry for being months late, @xxkatgotyourtonguexx ~ and tagging my taglist : @all-or-nothing-baby @petrichoravellichor @adventurous-blob @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @telefunkies @legendary-destiel @ladywaywarddsc @styggtroll @moderatelypanickedbisexual @trenchcoatsandfreckles @noemithenephilim @naitia @ctrl-alt-destiel @a-mess-of-many-fandoms and maybe @3dg310rdsupreme uwu

Also, many thanks to @shejustcalledmeafish for helping me edit, and If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist, just drop me a line!

#destiel #writing prompts #destiel roll reversal #angel dean #hunter cas #bobby singer #humorous maybe #and a teensy bit of angst if you could call it that #general #supernatural #spn #castiel #dean winchester #spn fanfiction #castiel winchester #spn fandom

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archivepolarisornah · 4 years

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A Little bit in trouble | James & Tina - Completed

It wasn’t a good day for Tina. She had been back at work for a few days since the party, and was still seething at having been dunked in the pool by her boss. She had been avoiding him, or maybe he had been avoiding her, but it was a guarantee that she wouldn’t be forgiving him any time soon.

Her least favourite job at work just happened to be right at the top of the to-do list (The icing on the cake of a day filled with pure frustration). Tina had made a grand total of two single beds, and one double today, though the latter was of a questionable quality.

See, Tina was just too small to make anything bigger than a single. Her arms didn’t reach, and she ended up performing some elaborate acrobatics just to get the corners of the sheet over the mattress. Duvets swamped her, and standing on the bed to shake them out was definitely not protocol.

She had spent close to forty minutes in the next room (of which the door was propped open with a chair to let some air in). To put it lightly, it wasn’t going well. In fact, Tina was now lying face down in the middle of the bed, a pillow over her head and sheets thrown carelessly across the mattress. Her uniform was creased (and totally not practical for this job, might she add) and lord knows the state of her hair was something to behold.

What kind of boss would James be if he wouldn’t be aware of the smallest of details, such as his employer avoiding him for reasons he imagined to be from a certain ordeal at a certain party where said certain employer might have been dropped into a pool. Well, at least she wasn’t the only one that got wet at the party considering he jumped in with her. He had a strange sense of humour and he would blame it on the alcohol, though he was still quite sober when all of it happened.

As a boss, James learned a close representation of what a routine is. He was aware of task Tina would have at this moment, and even if he didn’t know where she was surveillance cameras would show it soon. Right now she would be making the beds, which meant he could uninvitedly show up and perhaps do something about that big frown of hers.

That and she was laying on a bed, which wasn’t what she was expected to do. “Fighting quite some beast aren’t you.” The look she had at this moment was difficult to put into words. It looked like she participated in a wrestling match and lost. She just lacked the bruises. “I thought princesses were meant to be saved from monsters, not face them alone.” He teased. Remembering the small pet name that had formed since their last meeting. Though if he was honest, perhaps the angry gremlin did suit her more

Tina barely heard Hook enter the room through her covered ears, and she only held on to the pillow tighter when his voice broke through the feathery barrier. Maybe (hopefully) she misheard and it was a customer entering the room. She could explain herself to them at least - pretend she was a guest with weird sleeping habits. But then he called her a damned princess and she wanted the bed to swallow her whole.

“Fuck off,” came a muffled grumble from under the pillow. And then she lifted her head just enough to glare out from underneath. From the bridge of her nose out to the tips of her ears, Tina flushed a deep shade of scarlet. She was not. in. the. mood. Not for talking, not for games, and certainly not for work. Part of her was convinced that Hook gave her the job of making the beds just to make her suffer. (But really, who wouldn’t want to see that? Tina was a petulant child sometimes. Hard work was the least she deserved.)

“Unless you want me to go for another princess carry to drag you out of the bed?” He raised his eyebrow, though his lips curled into a smirk.

“You’re doing a downright fucking awful job, if that’s why you’re here,” Tina spat. If there was one thing she hated more than not being able to do something on her own, it was other people acknowledging that she was hopeless and needed help. It seemed spite was a great motivator, but right now her anger was overriding that instinct and she wouldn’t try any longer.

The pillow flew through the air with force, hitting it’s target, one James Hook, with a dull thud.

“Shut up!” An exasperated sigh escaped Tina’s lips and she slumped back on to the bed. “Talk about your feelings, blah, blah,” came a mocking voice and an eye roll so dramatic The Academy were already having ‘Tina Bell’ engraved on an Oscar. “Gross! Go away…” Clearly she had inadvertently chosen the second option.

A flashback to the party caused her to sit upright again, her hair as wild as the look in her eye. Tina did not want to be touched right now. But stubborness being what it was, she stuck up her middle finger. At this point it would be easier to just quit her job and run away to live in the forest.

“I’m doing an awful job by helping someone who clearly is wasting too much time?” He certainly disagreed. Well, he got used to Tina’s temper, at this moment she looked like a child having a tantrum. Sometimes you need help, it was that simple. These beds needed to be made, guests were going to arrive in a couple of minutes.

A pillow hit his chest and he frowned at her. Alright very angry.

“Alright if you do not want to talk, at least allow me to help to get this finished.” He ignored the rude remarks she was making, mainly because it didn’t really get to him.

“Oh right.” He walked out for a moment and dropped two bags onto her hands. “It’s a large cupcake from the bakery and a bag from Mode. I was planning to give this to you this morning as an apology but work prevented me. If you see Peter tell him he also has a cake with his name on it in the fridge in my office. So he can come to see me to get his share.”

As she flipped him the bird James saw no other thing to do than to talk to her: “You go take a breather outside, you are way too over your head. You might want to go and relax for a bit. I expect you back at four pm.” He picked the pillow and placed it back on the bed. “Go, Tina, I got work to do.”

“You heard what I said,” Tina stated, her arms flying to cover her face where the pillow had previously been. She muttered in to the sleeve of her shirt, barely audible; “You’re not helping by standing in the door watching me suffer.”

Maybe if she wished hard enough the bed would just eat her whole and she wouldn’t have to look at anyone or work ever again. Or even better, maybe the bed would eat James and she would be free from this hell!

The girl sat up again as James left the room briefly, folding her legs beneath her and huffing in to her hands. When he returned, he handed her two bags. Tina eyed the bags with suspicion, holding them at arms reach. And then her eyebrow quirked at James. An… apology? An apology?! The nerve! she thought. (Of course an apology was totally reasonable, but in her blind fit of anger, nothing was reasonable.)

“You can’t buy my forgiveness! And I don’t need a breather, I’m fine!” The nest of hair that was once a bun on the top of her head threatened to unfurl as she shook her head. The first statement was true, for the moment, but the sprite of a girl was temperamental and could change her mind whenever she felt like. The second was a bold faced lie.

Tina sprang to her feet almost immediately when told to leave. Not because she was going to take orders from James, absolutely not, but any excuse not to finish making the beds was a good enough one for her. Before she could bound out the door, however, she had to make sure she had the final word. “Just some advice, by the way,” Tina was now standing in front of James at her full unimpressive height and gave him a jab in the chest with her finger. “Hire some taller people.”

“I did hear what you say, I’m for one actually listening.” He sighed. He watched her cling to the pillow before shaking his head. “You didn’t want my help, you truly are indecisive aren’t you. Either you want help, or you don’t want help. It’s one of the two.”

He didn’t understand why Smee was the only one he employed that actually was willing to do his job. Why did he hire her in the first place? It was in moments like these he started to question this.

“I’m not buying your forgiveness.” He honestly didn’t care if she would forgive him or not. “There is smoke coming out of your ears princess - I think you do need a breather.” He rolled his eyes, arms locked and a part of him wanted to groan, loudly.

Honestly, what was it that made it so hard for the both of them to get along? Part of him was really getting tired of this, he’d been patient. And he tried to deal with the insults, the rudeness in her voice and allowing her to work for him even though she showed little to no respect to him.

She did, however, make a mistake when she put her finger on his chest and he honestly got tired of everything in this moment. So he did the one thing he knew would get her angry to the point he’d regret his actions quite immediately. He picked her up as he had done with the pool and dropped her back on the bed.

“Look, Tina.” His voice turned cold, his eyes hard and his lips were pressed into a firm line. He turned into his scold mode. “The reason I hired you was not because of your height. And no, we are talking this out because I’m so done with this. Why can’t we get along?” What more did he have to do to be treated as a respectful adult? Or well an actual human being. “I’m allowing you to work here, honestly if you ever find yourself in trouble I’d be the first to bail you out. You are not a bloody charity case before you going to fucking come up with that excuse. And yes, I’m fucking fed up now. What the hell Tina?” His voice turned into a low hiss. “You are getting properly paid, I’m not giving you any trouble for not doing your work properly, I’m just bloody expecting you to ask for some help when you need it.” Honestly, for a man of little words, he truly turned into a waterfall when he was pissed.

“I’m not harmful, I pay you more than what you should earn. I’m fed up with this behaviour. I want to know why? Why you keep acting like a spoiled brat and why do you have so much issue with asking help.” Was it the same reason he did? The lack of having support around him? Was it something more, did he do something to distrust her? “At the end of the day, I’m still your boss.” Some respect he at least deserved.

“What do you expect from me, because honestly, I don’t fucking know it anymore.”

It seemed that Tina had made a very poor judgement call when she decided to prod James on the chest. There was no way she could have seen his next action coming. Before a single word could fly out of her mouth her feet were lifted from the ground and she hit the mattress with a surprised “oof!”

Tina would have been fully prepared to rip James a new one had she not just been given the fright of her life. For a brief part of the ‘lecture’ she couldn’t hear a word James said because her heart was beating so loudly she could feel it in her ears. The redness in her cheeks disappeared almost immediately. The blue of Tina’s eyes flashed with a sense of frenzied fright. And she was frozen momentarily on the spot.

It seemed there was one thing that Tina was simply awful at, and that was hiding her feelings. They flashed across her face like an obnoxious neon billboard. The girl couldn’t have hidden the panic if she tried. It was one thing to be man-handled and carried with some air of grace while drunk, another to be picked up and flung quickly on to a bed in the heat of an argument while stone-cold sober.

Tina hadn’t ever been afraid of James but it was a disquieting to realise just how easily he could over-power her.

Her heart slowed to a thrum and James’ words made it to her ears. Finally the panic morphed in to a petulant scoff. Maybe it was a defense mechanism. She felt small. She hated it.

If the scolding had been aimed at anyone else, they would have apologised for their behaviour and walked away with their tail between their legs. But it wasn’t aimed at anyone else. It was all on Tina. She was absolutely in the wrong and adamant that she would not be taking the heat for it.

An insolent look graced her features. Tina chewed the inside of her cheek, gaze averted in point-blank refusal to look James in the eye. She could have burned a hole in the wardrobe with the intensity of her glare. Her pre-school teachers had seen this look a thousand times, as had her high school teachers and her college professors. It had even been the precursor to a fair share of fist fights.

Today, however, all that followed was a shrug.

A shrug. That was all Tina had given him with the rainfall of words he had basically threw at her. Which he replied to with a raise of an eyebrow and a face that just showed how he had expected a reaction.

A groan followed a deep sigh, an eyeroll to the lowering of his shoulders. Part of him wanted to see her crack under the weight of the seriousness in the situation. it’s the same feeling he expected for screaming against a child for numerous minutes just to get an: ok. from them.

He wanted…What? Why did it bother him so much what Peter and Tina even did? He found himself growing silent. He didn’t want to know, moreover he refused to look deep inside himself to figure out what made him feel this way because, why would he? What would it offer him? Probably more complication that he wished to deal with. Yet he couldn’t walk away either. Nor could he end the conversation where it was right now. “Tina.” His voice grew soft because he basically had already given her the scolding of a lifetime. “This has to stop.” At the end of the day, he was her employer. And for this hotel to run working together had to be key in their interaction.

“Why can’t you ask such a simple question, or just go ahead and tell me, hey dude I’m too small to do the beds properly move your dumb ass and get this shit working kay.” He rolled his eyes for a moment but it was what he expected. “You’ve been rude plenty of times let’s be fair here.” He didn’t fire her then, he wouldn’t now. “

Another thing that bothered him he voiced. “Look, I’m not asking you to like working here, nor am I asking you to like me as your boss.” She was Peter’s girl, not his. “What I do ask of you- is to rely on me, or on those who work here. Heck, you can even bother Peter for this, you get my permission since he doesn’t do anything I ask of him.” He shrugged. “But I do expect you to figure something out to keep things like this from happening, I’m not your dad, I’m not your teacher, heck I’m not your family. But I’m your boss.” That’s the relationship they had. Employer and employé.

“Sorry I threw you again.” Not sure why he developed that habit. Maybe the reaction was a tiny bit funny to him. A part of him was glad she didn’t resort to violence with him. Yet a part also wondered why she didn’t do that.

He couldn’t figure her out and on this point. It was pretty much driving him mad.

There was a palpable tension in the room when James grew silent.

Tina wanted to get up and run. Or give James a solid punch in the face. But she just stayed where she sat, fidgeting with a loose thread on the end of her shirt. She thought that if she tried either, James would just pick her right back up again and that was the last thing she wanted.

Actually, quite a fair amount of her Do Not Wants were happening right now. She didn’t want to be at work, or making the beds. She didn’t want to feel totally hopeless at it. Tina didn’t want to ask for help, because that meant admitting defeat. And she definitely didn’t want to be cornered, like an ant under a magnifying glass and called out for her bullshit attitude.

Later that night, when trying to sleep, she would cry about it. But right now she was too stubborn to even do that.

James finally spoke and Tina found herself sighing heavily. She looked him in the eye, even though that was another thing she didn’t want to do. It felt like he was still taking jabs at her, despite his voice softening. Tina was very aware that he was probably trying to reason with her now.

Eventually her voice came back. But it was quiet. A mumble. A far cry from the screeching brat she had been moments ago. It was like, if she spoke too loud, if anyone actually heard her, then it would all be too real. Once it was out of the box, she couldn’t force it back in.

“I can’t help it…”

The glare dissipated and Tina looked at her knees. It was the closest to an admission of guilt Tina was ever going to get. And the sincerest she had been for a very long time. Another shrug followed.

“I just– It–” A heavy, frustrated groan followed and Tina was back to lying on the bed with her hands covering her face. “I hate this…” Though it didn’t look like it, she was listening. To everything - To James’ suggestion, to his insistence on viewing him only as a boss, and begrudgingly to his apology. It just so happened that, for once in her life, she didn’t know what to say without giving in. Nor was she certain the little ball of anger that lived in the back of her head would stay away much longer. If he kept talking at her she might explode all over again.

There were certain things James didn’t enjoy, and one of them was a deafening silence. The kind of silence that makes you want to reflect on yourself and experience emotions he was pretty darn sure about he’d locked away the moment he left the orphanage. How foolish of him to think that was an option.

In this situation, he’d rather get punched, instead of this game of pull where it was seemingly about who caves in first. Yet never would he have imagined seeing such a change in demeanour with Tina. The always so snappy girl had actually turned quiet. It was enough to get James to actually worry about her wellbeing, well a little bit. That was what he told himself, he cared a little. His gaze shifted on her hands, which for one was picking at a loose thread on her shirt, and he had to refrain himself to still her hands from doing so.

The sigh made him wonder what was going on in her mind, it was pretty unlikely to see her in this position, and James didn’t know what to think of it. She seemed…Vulnerable. Which wasn’t the sort of position he got to see her in. Yet it didn’t mean he was unaware that she could have this sort of moments, it just simply was a first.

“I can’t help it.” Never had James ever heard her sound so small. It made him blink, look at her carefully as if to try to read a novel written in a foreign language. He couldn’t grasp it, yet a large part of him wanted to know.

“Why?”

That one word he immediately regretted, because Tina wasn’t one to share such things. She valued being tough, she valued being noticed. Being emotional wasn’t something many people got to see her as, let alone James. As she looked at her knees James lowered himself, to look at her from the same eye level. Quite a puzzle she is. And she had been ever since she had come to work for him. He saw her as an extension of Peter, though part of him wondered when he began to see her as a separate being.

And then he chuckled, a reply to her groan and he shook his head. A soft smile carried on his lips as the silence still lingered. “First of all, what do you hate. Second of all what can I do to change it.” He wanted her to feel more at ease. This place was never meant as a place for torment. “I don’t know what you think Tina, but-” He carefully worded his next line. “You are doing alright here, I’m not finding many issues when you work, well you are a little menace at times. But I just took it as part of your personality. Something tells me the you I am seeing, isn’t something you share quite often.” He found that truly regrettable. “Know if you need help you can ask me. I won’t think of you as any less, you are a strong girl and you are capable of many things. You are an out of the box thinker. And I’m proud of you.” As someone who never had heard those words himself, he knew how important at times it was to hear them.

“Why..?” Tina repeated just as softly, but it seemed something sparked behind her eyes and in less than a millisecond her temperature was rising again and her ears burned that same hot shade of red as before. Her voice rose with it. “Why?! What kind of stupid question is that? I don’t fucking know why?!” If she knew the answer, then she certainly wouldn’t be lying where she was right now, having the worst existential crisis of her life. The problem would already have been solved and the beds would have been made without an issue!

Tina’s wall shot straight back up. She couldn’t begin to fathom the look James gave her when he came down to her level and looked her in the eye. It was like… confused? Worried? Amused? She didn’t really know what to call it. And she definitely didn’t want to keep looking at him.

Then he laughed and Tina could feel her frustration building all over again because he was asking more questions and she just wanted him to stop it already. The magnifying glass had found a ray of light and it was burning her alive.

“I– This! I hate this!” Tina whined, shaking her head and gesturing her hands frantically. Whatever hair had been left hanging on to her bun had now unfurled completely and she looked as wild as she felt. James’ sappiness was just the icing on top of the cake. It made her squirm. The exact thing that Tina didn’t want happening was happening right now - someone was seeing her as the small, damaged little thing that she really was and now nothing was on her terms any more. James felt sorry for her in a way that she hadn’t planned on.

This attention was all wrong.

She wanted to be done. “Can you just… Like… Stop. Stop talking. Jesus Christ! I don’t need help, I don’t need you feeling sorry for me, or, or… Proud of me or whatever. You’ve just ripped me a fucking new one and– and now you’re just making it worse! I just need you to stop.”

Thank god, James knew how to press the wrong buttons with Tina because for some reason, her being upset with him felt much more comfortable than to realize a human being isn’t limited to happiness, and anger. He had no need for a new unknown range of emotions, that honestly why were they even installed as an instinct. He gave up crying years ago.

“It’s a question.” James pointed out, it was hard to acknowledge the anger when it came to Tina. When wasn’t she angry around him. This was a more common area for James than her being emotional. This he could deal with. Perhaps all of this was a lie. He simply didn’t know how to handle Tina, he just ended up being himself around her, how crappy that might have been. Honestly, he truly believed this side of him was dropped off with the orphanage he spends the first 18 years of his life at. This was also turning unpleasant for him.

The frustration was readable on her face, a soft redness behind her ears and he knew, he knew that he had upset her. Though it caused a rather conflicting feeling to weld up inside him. Was this amusing to him? Honestly, He needed a drink. Maybe a few. How many hours till work was over again?

He sighed, though it hadn’t had to do anything with her, it was the trail of thoughts that annoyed him. Honestly, this much emotion for what? Being unable to do some bedsheets on the beds properly. After a whole wave of emotions, he had finally settle with annoyance.

He rolled his eyes, puffed his chest to escape a loud huff. She hated this? He hated this too. He hated how he couldn’t deal with anything else than upsetting her. At least that was easy. It was much easier to make her angry than to make her smile. A part of him hated himself for it as well.

It seemed like she was unable to read him as well. Hence the poor communication between the both of them. Yet James refused to give up. One day they would manage a conversation without anger. Even if it’ll end him. He didn’t want to know why he wanted this, he refused to pry deeper. As he did with a lot of things that happened in his life. Such as why is Peter still in his hotel, knowing the boy doesn’t do shit.

“I can stop talking, doesn’t mean I will.” She couldn’t have her way all the time. Nor did he find it very respectful in how she phrased it, yet he was aware Tina wasn’t the type of person to think what to say before she said it. She just said it. Which worked both ways honestly. Her honesty could be both welcoming and annoying, or well insulting. “Don’t charm yourself, I don’t pity anyone. Nor do I pity you at this moment. That’s not an emotion I have.” He didn’t lack empathy, however. But no he didn’t pity her at this moment. If anything she was quite acting ridiculous right now.

He didn’t like his time being wasted, but when it came to her and Peter, they always got to. Instead of having this emotional dramatic moment, he could’ve just done the bed already and walked away. Yet, it felt like loosing. And he wasn’t turning back from a fight if taunted. Nor could he leave someone this much in distress.

Lord Tina was truly testing his patience here.

“Doesn’t mean I will,” Tina repeated in a mocking tone, shaking her head. Her face had now turned completely scarlet, and no amount of wafting her hands around could hide it. “Pfft, yeah, clearly because you’re still going! Can you actually hear yourself? Do you know what you sound like?”

Tina sat upright for what felt like the hundredth time, hands landing squarely on hips. She felt like she was on a trampoline with all the ups and downs happening right now. If she bounced one more time she might end up nauseous. Her head was reeling. Why couldn’t he have just let her be dramatic for five minutes? That’s all she ever needed! Had she not been so absolutely, horribly stubborn, that breather might have helped too. But there was no chance she was admitting James Hook would have been right. Ah, but hindsight was a wonderful thing!

The girl huffed a piece of hair from her face, and decided in that moment that she was finished arguing. Finished listening, and being scolded, and being cornered. Somehow she had to seem in control of what was happening right now, and if James wasn’t going to leave her alone then she was going to leave, by her own choice.

“I’ve decided I’m going home,” Tina stated rather suddenly, quite matter-of-factly. She stood, dusting herself off and adjusting her clothes in the hopes she would look significantly less disheveled. Her nose stuck high in to the air. But her face was still red, and her hair was still a mess. “Consider this me calling in sick.” The urge to give James another hard poke on the chest returned briefly, but she squashed that thought down quickly by folding her arms.

And then she wasn’t sure if she should wait for him to agree or not. Because he would probably say no, right? And then rant some more about how lazy and irresponsible she was being, and that running away from your problems never fixes them. Okay, she definitely wasn’t waiting. Her ears would bleed if she had to listen to any more yelling. Tina stormed past James and straight for the door.

It was unfortunate that she made it half way down the corridor and remembered about the cake he had brought for her. It looked like a really good cake and surely she couldn’t just let it go to waste, that would just be sad. Like, really sad…

Tina turned swiftly on her heels, sprinted back to the room, barged past James and grabbed the cake, before flitting back down the corridor in a flash. “I’m still having this, by the way!!” she yelled as she went.

That mocking tone really was just, very much like Tina. James had to suppress quite an urge to grin at the moment. That flustered face, however, was new, another thing James found himself enjoying as he gazed upon her. “Seemingly so.” He agreed though he could sense she was quite done with talking. He couldn’t blame her, he too wanted to move forward to the work that had been waiting for him. “Oh, I hear myself just fine, as I also hear you just fine. I wasn’t born a deaf man after all.” Ah, the insults. Quite a routine they had become.

Yes, all of this was amusing to him now. He managed to accept this behaviour quite smoothly.

It was as if he had finally figured her out for a bit, and found himself feeling quite proud for it too. Well, he had been carefully taking notice of her behaviour for a while, not with any intentions he had told himself. More due to a mere curiosity. Yes, that was all. She was dramatic, quite sharp of a girl, especially when it came to making excuses. Intriguing in a way. But he would never voice that out loud, she didn’t need a bigger ego.

He had to laugh as she blew a strand of hair away, it was as if he was watching something, a cat perhaps. No matter what they did, how angry they became, it still got him to laugh. She absolutely looked done with him, now that truely had lightened up something inside of him, especially mixed with that blush of her. Oh, he’d certainly taunt her for it next time. And then he blinked to himself. Since when was teasing Tina an actual thing he looked forward to. Shrugging to himself he found himself not paying too much attention to her more, that however stopped as she announced she was going home. A smirk carried on his lips. So the princess planned to flee, how peculiar.

She looked like quite an adorable mess at the moment. Her hair was ruffled, her cheeks were red, and she was absolutely furious. How cute. She thinks she could act like a queen around him, now wasn’t that the most heartwarming thing. He’d cut her pay for leaving like this. He might fancy her, but like all things, if it didn’t profit him, he wouldn’t be nice about it. “Like you were sick last time?” He asked her, a reference to that time she lied having a major assignment while she hadn’t. Lies always came around to reveal the truth in the end. He found himself making way for her, smirking, a grin from ear to ear.

“Be my guest, I wouldn’t want you to waste your time feeling sick princess.” It was a taunt, for once James was going to play a game in a way that it would drive Tina mad, and he would test her, plenty of times to see this type of reaction. And he was going to enjoy every second of it. He’d let her run away from her problems, from him. She could even cry to Peter if she felt the need to. Perhaps that would get the boy for treating her better. He chuckled.

And then she was gone and he found himself laying on the bed for a moment. Shaking his head. Now the day would feel awfully long, he, however, jumped when she returned for the cake. And he rolled his eyes.

She could always amaze him.

“Enjoy your cake, Princess.” He called back to her. Laughing. Well, it certainly was time to return to work.

#A Little bit in trouble #A Little bit in trouble - Tina #Tina #xaspiringbeamoflightx #theneverlandjameshook #[Greetings (Gremlin) Princess - Tina]#replied

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sebeth · 5 years

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Fantastic Four # 4 - 6

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

Brief Summary: The return of Namor, the debut of Doctor Doom, and the first Namor-Doom team-up.

Debuts:

· Doctor Doom

· Baxter Building

· Yancy Street Gang

Favorite Cover: #4 – I love the image of Namor escaping into the ocean with Susan.

Points of Interest:

· Ben’s very indecisive on Johnny’s leaving the team. He starts with “He’s nothin’ but a spoiled brat of a teenager! What do we need him for?” to “When I find ‘im, I’ll team him to run off on us that way!” So do you want Johnny gone or not?

· Sue once again causes panic in a public setting by using her powers for ordinary tasks. Why do you need to be invisible to drink soda in a café?

· The amount of time Johnny has been away from the team isn’t specified. If it’s only been a few hours, the team is panicking over nothing. Johnny wouldn’t be the first teen to storm off for a few hours, cool down, and then return home. If it has been over a day, Johnny owes Sue a huge apology.

· Reed yanks a passing motorcyclist off his bike to see if he’s seen Johnny. Reed tells the man “But if you don’t know where Johnny Storm is, I’ve no more time to waste with you!”Reed’s rather rude. I mean, Reed was the one who yanked the poor man off of his motorcycle – possibly damaging the bike in the process.

· Reed thinks “I’ve got to keep trying! Sooner or later I’ll find some teen-ager who’s seen him!” Yep, that’s Reed’s solution to the missing Johnny problem – question every teenager in New York City on Johnny’s whereabouts. I was expecting more from the world’s smartest man – maybe a device that would sense Johnny’s elevated temperature or energy output but nope, instead he’s going to interrogate all of New York’s thousands upon thousands of teenagers.

· It’s revealed that Johnny is at Swanson’s Garage working on cars and hanging with his pals. The same Swanson’s Garage we saw Johnny at during the first issue of the Fantastic Four. I can understand Reed not being aware of the garage – he becomes so absorbed in his experiments he forgets the outside world – but are you telling me that Sue didn’t check out the place? Sue wouldn’t be fooled by the “tell her I’m not here” game – one invisible drop-in later and Johnny’s busted.

· Johnny uses his powers to weld the engine. He also shows off by flaming on – while near cans of gasoline! Johnny explains: “Notice how I can control my flame! By not moving, it doesn’t go near the gasoline!” Way to scare the crap out of your friends!

· Ben enters the garage by breaking through the wall. The team is racking up the collateral damage for a simple search mission – Swanson’s garage wall, the man’s motorcycle, and who knows if Sue paid for that soda!

· Ben warns Johnny: “And now I’ll teach you what happens to deserters! And your flame doesn’t scare me! I know you can’t move while you’re burning, because there’s gasoline all over here! One spark and your pals are done for!”

· Reading Ben’s early appearances are rather jarring compared to his later personality. I understand Ben’s anger, frustration and bitterness. I’m also sure his transformation caused a severe case of post-traumatic stress disorder but casually dismissing the safety of innocent bystanders? Not the Ben we know and love.

· Johnny, acting as the mature one, immediately flames off and attempts to defuse the situation. Ben proceeds to throw a car through the other wall of the garage. Ben takes a swing at Johnny: “You’ve always laughed at me because I was ugly! Well? Why aren’t you laughing now? Don’t worry, sonny boy…I’m not gonna spoil your pretty features! I’ll just rough you up a little…teach you who’s boss, once and for all!”

· Ben turns back to human mid-rant. Johnny takes the opportunity to flame on and retreat. Ben’s calls after Johnny: “Go on, Torch! Fly off! What do I care! Ha Ha! I’m human again! Fly away, you flaming freak!!”

· A flying Johnny thinks to himself: “The poor fool! He should know by now his change is only temporary!” Sure enough, Ben changes back into the Thing seconds later.

· Johnny’s often portrayed as the immature one but he was the exact opposite in this scene – he stayed calm, attempted to defuse the situation, prevented innocent bystanders from being harmed, and retreated at the first opportunity instead of being dragged into a senseless fight.

· The scene nicely shows that Ben’s rage is caused by the transformation – as soon as Ben regained his human form, he lost all interest in the fight. “The flaming freak” comment was interesting – did Ben feel that he was removed from that category since he regained his human form. Would Ben consider Sue a freak? Does Ben call Johnny a freak because he resents Johnny’s attractiveness?

· Johnny decides to retreat to the Bowery and hang with the derelicts. Johnny finds a comic from the 1940’s about the Sub-Mariner. A derelict tells Johnny that they have “a stumble-bum right here who’s supposed to be as strong as that Joker was supposed to be!”

· The derelicts harass the stumble-bum until a brawl breaks out and the bodies hit the floor! “Wham! Pow! Bam!”

· The derelicts gear up for round two but Johnny intervenes: “Hold on! Let him alone! Can’t you see, he’s ill? He’s got amnesia! A loss of memory! He doesn’t even know who he is!!” Johnny decides to shave off the amnesiac man’s beard and cut his hair with his flame abilities. Johnny proclaims: “Wait!! His face! No – it – can’t be! It is! It is!! He – He’s the Sub-Mariner!”

· Johnny has clearly been working hard on controlling his powers as evidenced by this scene and the previous scene at the garage. He seems to have done this without any prompting by Reed or Sue. It makes sense as Johnny’s powers are clearly the most destructive of the Four.

· I highly recommend this issue for Johnny fans – he has many shining moments and it’s a nice, subtle look at his character.

· Reed’s continues his quest of randomly harassing random citizens on Johnny’s whereabouts – the latest being a helicopter crew (while in the sky) and travelers in the subway. This amuses me way more than it should – maybe Reed really needed social time?

· An invisible Sue enters the Bowery: “I can’t believe that Johnny would ever come here!” Sue proceeds to walk right past Johnny and Namor! Seriously, is Ben the only observant member of this team? I guess Johnny gets points too for recognizing Namor

· Johnny flies Namor to the ocean and drops him in! Thankfully the bum is Namor and not some homeless man that Johnny terrorized for no reason.

· Namor returns to Atlantis to find that “It’s destroyed!! It’s all destroyed!! That glow in the water – it’s radioactivity! Now I know what happened! The humans did it, unthinkingly with their cursed atomic tests!”

· Sadly, this issue is from 1962 but the “human unthinkingly destroy” plot is still relevant today – for example, the bleaching of the coral reefs and the tons of plastic found in the ocean.

· Namor returns to New York City with vengeance on his mind: “I am the mightiest living mortal on earth!! And now, mankind shall feel that might…as it is turned against you all!”

· Namor’s been able to make that claim – unchallenged in the Marvel Universe – since World War II. He had to be really annoyed when the Thing, the Hulk, and Thor all debuted within months of each other. Namor being Namor, I’m sure was still telling everyone that he was “the mightiest mortal living on earth!”

· Namor uses a monster-controlling horn to summon Giganto from the depths of the ocean. Ben defeats Giganto by hauling a bomb into the monster’s abdomen. Poor Giganto!

· Sue adds another name to the list of men infatuated with her. Namor declares: “Well! Here is a prize worth catching! You’re the loveliest human I’ve ever seen! If you will be my bride, I might show mercy to the rest of your pitiful race!”

· Namor’s not one to beat around the bush! We now know Namor’s true weakness – it’s not lack of water, it’s beautiful women. We can’t even justify that he’s attracted to Sue’s personality – Namor glanced at Sue and was all “Whoa, mamma!”

· We now begin the longest running triangle in all of comics – Namor, Sue, and Reed. I don’t count Superman-Lois-Clark as that triangle only involves two individuals.

· Namor’s the epitome of mercurial mood swings so he changes from “Now I’ll have the girl, and my revenge!” to annoyance that Sue isn’t properly impressed by his manly manliness.

· Issue 5 opens with Doctor Doom playing with chess pieces modeled after the Fantastic Four. First Doom and later the Puppet Master – do all of the FF’s enemies act out their upcoming fights with action figures?

· Doom’s lair contains a stuffed vulture and reference books labeled “Demons” and “Science and Sorcery” on the table. The books nicely foreshadow Doom’s later affinity with magic.

· Johnny’s reading the “Hulk” comic back at the Fantastic Four headquarters. Marvel was really pushing the debut of the Hulk title – the previous issue had multiple “who is the Hulk” statements at the bottom of the pages.

· “Fantastic Four!! Heed my words! This is Doctor Doom!”

· Sue: “Who?” I wish Sue had been able to say that to Doom’s face. I don’t think his ego could handle it.

· Reed: “That voice! I recognize it! But I thought he was dead!” Reed has quite the talent for voice recognition since Doom is speaking through a metal mask from a helicopter.

· I’m loving campy, over-the-top Doctor Doom. Can you imagine if this was your first exposure to Doom in modern years? You’d seriously question how Doom became the top villain in the Marvel Universe! The crossover I want to see: First-appearance Doctor Doom versus Batman from the 1966 tv series!

· Flashback time: Reed and Victor Von Doom were college roommates. Doom, a brilliant science student, was fascinated with sorcery and black magic: “One night, the evil genius went too far, as he brought forth powers which even he could not control!” Cue explosion, facial disfigurement, and school expulsion.

· The extent of Doom’s scarring/disfigurement caused much debate throughout the years – was it a small scar that Doom’s ego couldn’t tolerate or was it massive disfigurement? The panel shows Doom’s entire head wrapped mummy-style so I’m going with the massive disfigurement option.

· Reed tells the group that Victor left the school and when he was last heard of “he was prowling the wastelands of Tibet, still seeking the forbidden secrets of black magic and sorcery”.

· Doom demands the Four send Sue to him as a hostage. Sue: Girl Hostage happens a lot in the early comics. Sue insists it’s the only way and Reed agrees. Seriously? The net only covers the exterior of the building – Ben and Johnny have the strength to tunnel underneath the building and exit elsewhere. Shouldn’t that be an option instead of handing Sue over to some ranting psycho? Reed’s definitely not earning “the world’s smartest man” title during the early adventures of the Four. Doom opens a section of the net so Sue can enter his helicopter.

· Doom demands the rest of the team “board my plane, and you must swear you will not attack me!” The team agrees. What?! Seriously, Reed, this is why you can’t hang with Captain America and Cyclops when it comes to strategic planning.

· Doom sends the male members of the Four back in time: “: “Gone to bring me the gems which, unknown to them, will make Doctor Doom the ruler of the earth!”

· The boys disguise themselves as pirates. Ben tells Reed to “Take it easy, Bub!” Ben was using “Bub” decades before Wolverine!

· Ben’s having a blast playing the role of pirate: “Ahoy, matey! Let’s see if we can date one of these pretty barmaids! Heh Heh!” It’s nice to see Ben enjoying himself as he’s been miserable throughout the series.

· Johnny’s also having fun: “This is keen! I feel like Errol Flynn!”

· Reed’s a fuddy-duddy: “Knock it off!”

· Ben has a moment where he refuses to return to the present: “Why can’t I stay? The future holds nothing for me! In the Twentieth Century I’m nothing but a monster…a freak! But here I’m somebody! I’m a leader of men! I’m a captain! I’m the guy who started the legend of Blackbeard! The kids will read about me in school some day! I ain’t never giving this up…never!” Ben, you’ve been in the past for 30 minutes, calm down!

· The trio returns to the present only for Doom to escape.

· A total campy, ridiculous and fun issue. Despite the goofiness, a few of Doom’s defining characteristics – the intelligence, the sorcery, the Doom-bots, the ego, the grudge with Richards – were clearly established in this issue.

· “Have the Fantastic Four at last met their match when Mighty Sub-Mariner and Evil Doctor Doom team up?? Don’t miss the Diabolical Duo join forces!”

· Johnny blazes across the sky. An onlooker gasps “The Torch!! A living legend! And I thought I’d never see him with my own eyes!” The onlooker seems to be mixing Johnny up with the World War II era Human Torch (Jim Hammond). Johnny hasn’t been the Torch for long. Definitely not enough time to be considered a “living legend”. Would the general public even realize there was a difference between Johnny and Jim? Issue 6 was published in the early 1960s. The original Human Torch operated in the 1940s – the older citizens of the Marvel Universe would assume it was the original making a comeback after a long sabbatical. After all, how many blonde men can set themselves on fire, fly, and call themselves the “Human Torch”?

· The same citizens gawking at Johnny are pushed aside by an invisible Sue. Sue turns visible to apologize and enter the Baxter Building. We’ve seen Sue use her powers multiple times to scare or push through people. She’s either a big fan of the “jump-scare” or using her powers to let out her frustrations by shoving people. Seriously, it would be easier – and more polite – to stay visible and skirt around people as opposed to moving around unseen and shoving people out of the way.

· Sue notes that “The Torch has been scouting for signs of Doctor Doom.” Isn’t Sue better suited for the task? She is the “Invisible Girl”! Johnny’s a human-sized ball of fire – Doom will see him coming from a mile away!

· We receive our first detailed glimpse of the Baxter Building. The Fantastic Four’s headquarters are located on the 34th to the 37th stories of the building. The members of the Four take the express elevator to the 34th floor. The elevator operates via a signal that is sent from the belt buckle of the members’ uniforms. The 34th floor clearly belongs to Reed – it consists of labs and computers. The 35th floor are living quarters, the recreation room, and the gymnasium. The 36th floor are conference rooms. The 37th floor holds the team’s vehicles.

· Reed catches up on the team’s mail. He discovers a letter sent from a child at Harmon General Hospital. The hospital is located across the street so Reed stretches across to have a long chat with the child. A sweet moment for Reed who is too often characterized as obsessed with science and oblivious to social mores.

· Johnny and Ben continue reading the mail. We receive the first mention of the Yancy Street Gang: “…and if the Thing will meet us on the corner of Ashby and Main Street, we’ll knock that chip off his shoulder and make him like it! Signed, the Yancy Street Gang!”

· Ben is not amused: “I’ve heard from those mealy-mouthed braggarts before! They get their kicks out of tryin’ to rile me!” Ben decides to answer the challenge: “This block is titanium steel – six inches thick and the strongest metal known to man! I’ll just roll it by hand into a from acceptable for mailing – I wouldn’t want the Yancy Gang to think I wasn’t neat – Here! Send this to them! And on the day they manage to unroll it, I’ll personally congratulate ‘em!” Clearly, adamantium wasn’t known to the Marvel Universe at this point.

· The Fantastic Four – secret identities or publicly known? The writers in the Fantastic Four and Strange Tales titles go back and forth on this point in the early issues. A few issues ago, the identities were stated to be a “secret”? If so, how does the Yancy Gang recognize Ben? He looks significantly different post-transformation! If the identities are still a secret at this point and the Yancy Gang still realize the Thing is Ben Grimm…well, Batman will have to forfeit the “World’s Greatest Detective” title!

· Ben’s itching to fight someone worthy of him, “a foe like Doctor Doom…or a Submariner!”

· Sue defends her crush: “Submariner is hostile because he’s hurt and bitter!”

· Yeah, Namor has man-pain! The fact that he looks damn good in a speedo has nothing to do with Sue’s defense of him!

· We switch to the ocean where the “hurt and bitter” Namor instructs porpoises in swimming maneuvers.

· Doctor Doom travels to Namor’s location, proposes an alliance, and brags up his credentials: “ I am strong – strong enough to join the powers of science to those of darkness! Show me the puny mortal who does not tremble at the name of Doctor Doom!”

· Let’s recap Sue’s reaction upon hearing the name of Doctor Doom: “Who?”

· Doom notes “It would appear that you’ve taken a holiday from your campaign against the surface world! Men no longer speak your name in fear!”

· Well, playing with dolphins doesn’t exactly reinforce an angry and vengeance-driven persona.

· Doctor Doom notes a framed photo of Susan Storm.

· Namor warns “Take care! That female is no concern of yours!”

· How did Namor get the photo? Did Sue give it to him? Did he take the picture while he held her hostage a few issues ago? Clip it out of a newspaper?

· Doom taunts Namor into assisting him: “What happened to your thirst for revenge? Have you forgot the glistening towers of your once great civilization? The culture and comfort enjoyed by your happy subjects…imagine your great and proud people struggling for thousands of years, defeating all the terrors of the deep to build a civilization, superb and beautiful…yes, beautiful and glowing with life until that last terrifying moment when that monster of a bomb lodged in the midst of that beauty…gone! All that glorious history gone in one brief instant! Replaced by an ugly crater in the ocean floor…littered with fused masonry and bitter memories that cry out…revenge! Revenge! Revenge upon the surface world which did this in its ignorance! Revenge upon humanity’s defenders! Death to the Fantastic Four!”

· Namor agrees: “I cannot harm the girl! But I will aid you in defeating the others!”

· Dr. Doom is a large ham.

· Namor is easily manipulated.

· I want to see a “What If?” where Namor’s all “Nah, I’m gonna keep playing with the dolphins”.

· Wouldn’t it be easier for Namor to simply ask Reed for assistance in locating the lost Atlanteans instead of trusting some random dude in armor?

· Namor leaves to pursue his part of the plan and plays “chicken” with an airplane along the way: “No time to dodge! It’s going to hit us head on!” “Bah! That’s enough horseplay! I mustn’t forget the mission!”

· Back to the Baxter Building where Johnny snoops around Sue’s possessions. Why is Johnny snooping in Sue’s room? Typical younger sibling nosiness? Johnny’s around 16-17 years old at this time. Sue raised Johnny – I’ve always felt that she was 10 – 12 years older than him. The dual mother-sister role makes it even odder that Johnny is nosing around her room.

· Johnny finds a photo of Namor and isn’t happy about it: “So! You’ve gone soft on Submariner – our arch-enemy!” The Four have only fought Namor once. I don’t think that’s enough to qualify him as an “arch-enemy”. Of course, the other options are: a short man who lives underground, aliens who were outsmarted by “B” horror movies, a maybe-maybe not hypnotist, and an egotistical man in armor whose master plan was throwing a net over a skyscraper. I can see why Johnny chose Namor for the arch-enemy role.

· Sue is not amused: “Give me that photo, you insolent brat!” When did this photo exchange between Namor and Sue take place? Were they taking pictures of each other during issue #4?

· Namor arrives at the Baxter Building and all hell breaks loose as Ben and Johnny brawl with the Sub-Mariner.

· Namor advises Sue to get out of the way: “He’s too angry to listen to reason! You’d best stay out of the way! I do not fear the Torch!” Yeah, Namor has had plenty of experience battling Human Torches.

· It’s curious that Johnny is so angry over Sue’s crush on Namor. Does he dislike Namor so much or is he afraid it would cause the breakup of the Four which is his home, family, and a large part of his identity?

· Namor states he’s come in peace and doesn’t mention the devices he’s rigged to the Baxter Building.

· Crack! The Baxter Building is launched into space for the first but not the only time!

· Namor rages: “The double-crossing dog is in a rocket plane above pulling this building into space!” And yet Namor will continue to ally with Doom after this betrayal.

· Namor’s not in much danger – he can simply jump out and fly away. Johnny would normally be able to escape but he “exhausted his flame” during his fight with Namor. Johnny didn’t have much stamina in the early issues. The Four’s planes were damaged in the launching of the building.

· Reed insists “our only hope of ever getting down is to seize control of that plane!”

· Does Doom ever recall his earliest attacks on the four and face-palm? They were so ridiculous and over-the-top!

· Reed stretches after Doom’s plane: “Somehow, conditions in space tend to weaken my powers!” Was this ever mentioned again? The Four spend a lot of time in space.

· Namor decides enough is enough: “That jackal Doctor Doom still has Prince Namor to reckon with!” Namor dives into a water storage, amps up to full strength, launches himself to Doom’s ship, evicts Doom from the ship, assumes control of the ship, and returns the Baxter Building to earth. Doom hitches a ride to earth on a meteor.

· Ben: “How do you thank an enemy? Submariner’s above us in that confounded ship. And if I could reach him I still don’t know if I’d shake his hand or try to smash him!”

· Sue: “Oh, he isn’t our enemy! I just know it! He’s so full of pain and bitterness that it blinds his better instincts! Submariner needs time…time to heal!” Sue, dear, I think the boys are over your continued defense of Namor.

· Namor: “So shall I return to the sea! Perhaps someday when I am no longer haunted by bitter memories of my lost people, I may return…but, until then, this is where I belong! In the sea which is my home!”

· So ends the first super-villain team-up in the Marvel Universe and the beginning of one of Marvel’s longest running love-hate relationships.

#Fantastic Four #Namor #Doctor Doom #Johnny Storm #Susan Storm #Reed Richards #Ben Grimm #Baxter Building #Yancy Street Gang #susan richards #invisible girl #Human Torch #Thing #Mister Fantastic #sub-mariner #Victor Von Doom #Giganto

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missusk · 6 years

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She wasn’t used to touching people.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like people. In fact, she loved people. She adored nothing more than the souls around her. She would drop anything to guide a wandering friend or stranger to wherever they needed to be. She would talk with first years for hours just to see the fear fade from their eyes, to be replaced with understanding and comfort. She would find presents or trinkets for her friends to see their faces light up when they received them, safe in the knowledge that she, that anyone, cared enough about them to remember their favorite candy or favorite flower. She would write letters filled with love and affirmation to those she saw were having a rough day, or even those who weren’t having a bad day, just to see them smile.

She did these things because she knew exactly what it felt like to feel lost and alone. She knew what it felt like to have no one to support you. To have nothing but strained silence at home, to try to keep tears at bay at the dinner table, for years.

But, she wasn’t used to touching people.

There was something about it that was too intimate, too vulnerable. She could share her thoughts and her advice immediately as she sensed someone needed them, but to reach out and touch them was a step too far.

She wasn’t sure the reason, either. She never wanted to take time to think about it, scared of the monster hiding behind the why.

Her friends did their best to help her overcome this problem, either with sitting down and talking or testing her with exposure. She liked to think she was getting better, day by day, with their help. Even if her fear of touch wouldn’t completely disappear immediately, it was a step in the right direction. None of her friends were, however, as dedicated to this fear’s eradication as Charlie Weasley.

To say he was affectionate was akin to say Red Caps were ugly and Snape needed to wash his hair. He made her squirm, the way he would stand a hair too close, or the way he would poke her arm and grin after a joke. Where her other friends had given up he persisted. He made her uncomfortable, but it was… different. There was no heaviness sitting in her gut like a ball of dough when he was close to her. He didn’t make her wince. Instead, she tingled in the spots where their skin met; it made the hair on her neck stand on end as if lightning were about to strike.

It was infuriating.

It was infuriating how magnetic he was. How he managed to poke and prod at her without repercussion. How he would grab her hand and pull her along when he was excited. How he hooked his arm around hers when Penny invited them all to her cabin for a weekend late in the summer.

It was infuriating how much she didn’t hate it.

The Gryffindor seeker, the dragon fanatic, the orange-haired freckled Weasley boy with the cheeky grin managed to smirk his way into tapping and touching her without her shirking away. She didn’t understand it. And, even if she didn’t allow herself to fully process it, she was pretty sure she didn’t mind it.

Most of this confusion came to fruition one night at Penny’s cabin. Her entire gaggle of friends were able to make it out to a remote spot down a dirt road, surrounded by a lake, trees, and campfire smoke to celebrate the closing of summer.

It was late enough for the darkness to carry their voices across the water, but still early enough for the creatures and insects to sing with the waves hitting the shore. Most of these friends sat about the fire, talking and joking with each other and fully embracing their last breath of freedom before the new school year began. Three of them, however, were rooted just further beyond the Haywood cabin and campfire smoke.

“Bet you won’t do it,” Andre smirked, folding his arms over his chest.

Andre, (Y/N), and Ben all stood at the edge of the dock, looking over the dark blue lake. Small waves ambled, tagging the rocks and sand at the shore. The stars were speckled across the sky and lake alike, the image separated only by a thin line of trees on the horizon. A few boats hummed across the water, identified only by small yellow lights in the distance.

(Y/N) scoffed. “And what makes you think that? I’ve obliterated curses left and right, you don’t think I can handle a little lake water?”

The boy only rolled his eyes. “Jump fully clothed into a freezing lake? I’ll eat my scarf if you do it.”

“I don’t know, (Y/N),” Ben muttered. “Penny said it was uncharacteristically cold this year, you could get hurt. And there may be lake animals we don’t know about. Or lake plants we don’t know about. Or giant squids we don’t know about. Really there’s a lot we don’t know about,” Ben shuddered, taking a large step back from the dark and misty water.

“I’m surprised you made it this far out, Ben,” Andre stated, patting his shoulder. He turned again to (Y/N) and raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you made it this far out too,”

Her skin started to prick as her fists clenched. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Andre only shrugged again. “You were timid when you tried to broom surf, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be timid jumping into this lake,”

(Y/N) huffed. “You know what, fine. I’ll do it just to make you shut your stupid face,” she fumed, jabbing a finger at Andre’s smirking form.

“(Y/N)…” Ben warned, reaching towards her a bit.

(Y/N) pulled off her shoes in a flurry, tossing them down the dock behind her, and turned to face the lake. It resembled the Black Lake at Hogwarts in surprising detail: black water, unknown depth, and a slight mist hovering over the surface. (Y/N) took in a hesitant breath as the dew started permeating the cotton of her socks.

“Get your scarf ready, Egwu,” (Y/N) barked. Her skin chilled a bit as a breeze started to blow. She heard a faint chuckle from Andre behind her and without another second for indecisiveness, she took her leap.

The black water enveloped her like a blanket of chilling bee stings, her sweater and jeans now saturated with the icy cold. It gripped her and slid beneath her skin, colder than any cursed ice she had faced before. No use of incendio could rescue her from its grasp this time. Time felt as heavy as the water around her, and after what felt like a lifetime beneath the waves, she broke the surface with a gasp. The once warm breeze now angrily pricked her face and she heard Ben give a sigh of relief.

“You really shouldn’t tease her like that…” Ben murmured to the boy next to him as Andre shot up from their placement peering over the edge of the dock.

“It’s not my fault I’m so persuasive,” Andre retorted, brushing off his clothes. Had the nighttime insects not paused in their symphony for a moment, Ben would have missed the small sigh of relief Andre also breathed out.

“It’s n-not even t-that bad,” (Y/N) shot at him from the water. The needles of cold still jabbed at her skin as she swam to the dock steps and reached for the wooden handrail with numb fingers.

They heard footsteps pounding towards them and Penny appeared from the dark. Her hair was backlit with a glowing orange and the scent of campfire smoke continued to waft beyond where she stopped.

“Are you guys okay? What happened?” she asked, looking between the three of them. When her eyes landed on (Y/N) she let out a small gasp.

“Merlin, (Y/N), what happened? Did Andre push you?” she sneered, head whipping to face the black-haired boy.

He held his hands up in defense. “She’s the one that jumped in on her own accord, I did nothing. I’m not the one with something to prove,”

Penny scoffed, then looked to Ben. “Is that true, Ben?”

He only shrugged. “Andre was egging her on a bit,”

Penny huffed, glaring at all of them in turn. She pointed at Andre. “You shouldn’t have teased her like that! You know how prideful and competitive she can be,” She turned to Ben. “You shouldn’t have let her do it,” and finally, she turned to (Y/N). “And you shouldn’t have been daft enough to do it! What were you thinking?”

The three of them hung their heads, no one daring to look at the blazing blonde before them. The only sounds came from the fire crackling in the distance and the muted sound of teeth chattering.

“Whatever,” Penny huffed. “(Y/N), come with me. I told you the lake was freezing this weekend and look how much you’re shaking. I don’t know why you always let him bother you so much,”

“I’m not even c-cold, Penny, really I’m fine,” (Y/N) retorted, folding her arms across each other when Penny tried to reach for her.

“Okay well you’re lying. Even the famous iced vault curse-breaker isn’t invincible to catching a chill. Come on, let’s get you to a shower, that should warm you up.”

(Y/N) followed the Hufflepuff towards the cabin, glaring daggers at Andre as she passed. He stuck out his tongue.

(Y/N) stepped out into the upstairs room, steam billowing from behind her. She glanced around for her friends but met nothing but two empty couches and chair. The floor creaked as she quietly stepped across it, hugging down the shivers that were threatening to erupt throughout her body. She kept them at bay by rubbing her hands over her arms, though many snuck through, overpowering the warmth that her shower had just brought her.

She scolded herself for not packing more clothes. Even though Penny generously offered her shorts and a t-shirt, the thin cloth did little to keep the cold at bay. Although the clothes excelled at covering the necessities, they failed miserably at covering anything beyond upper-thigh and shoulders. Although she was often teased by Charlie by how “cute and small” she was, it didn’t help that Penny was a size even smaller than her. She made a mental note to start jogging again.

“It’s just one night at the cabin,” (Y/N) muttered to herself, mocking her previous ignorance, “you don’t need to pack that much.” She mentally slapped her past self for being so naïve. And her more recent past self for her prideful leap into the lake. And Andre for good measure.

She continued through the room, glancing around for anything remotely resembling a blanket. Or sweater. Or towel. Or tissue. Anything to help her hold off the incessant trembling that was steadily bleeding up her feet and forearms. The one towel Penny offered was sopping wet and hanging on the shower rod in the room behind her, and no other towels were to be found. It didn’t help that the water from her hair trickled down her neck and started seeping into her fresh shirt, either. She would have to talk to Penny about her cabin’s over-powerful air conditioning as well.

She shuffled about the room and noticed a faint pop. (Y/N) lifted her foot and saw a group of playing cards scattered on the floor. She recognized it as ‘codbottle,’ a single-player card game Jacob had showed her many years before. It appeared to be halfway finished. She stepped around the cards and heard the fading murmur of voices coming from downstairs and a door swing shut. After a moment and a couple creaking stairs, orange hair appeared from the stairwell, and (Y/N) suddenly became incredibly conscious of how different these clothes were from her regular long-sleeved sweater and jeans.

“Hey, you’re out,” Charlie smiled, climbing the remainder of the stairs, “How are you feeling? Any warmer?”

(Y/N) attempted to quell the shivers that were growing stronger with a smile,

“J-just f-fine,”

Stuttering. Nice.

“Ah, very convincing,” Charlie smirked. “I can tell how honest you’re being by the number of extra syllables in that sentence.”

Betrayed by her own mouth. Tragic. The blush rushing to her cheeks was warm, at least.

Charlie lifted what was in his arms towards (Y/N).

“I brought this for you,” he motioned.

It was big.

It was rectangular.

It was cashmere.

“A blanket!” (Y/N) exclaimed, rushing to Charlie. She snatched it from his hands and wrapped it around herself like a queen reclaiming her stolen crown. “I don’t know what the Haywood family does to keep warm around here, it’s as barren as Barnaby’s stare in potions.”

Finally, something to quell the quaking in her body. Her fortress of summer warmth could no longer be punctured by the intruding battalion of cold. She scoffed at the retreating shivers, puffing her chest out in victory. They scurried away like a Red Cap, frightened by the most elysian – and cashmere - beauty.

“You’re my hero, Weasley.” she beamed, tucking the blanket firmly around herself.

The boy smirked in response. “Finally, some praise befitting my valiant character. Feel free to continue,”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. Not even her friend’s stupid comments could take from her newfound relief. It was nice, however, to see him smile for the first time since she jumped in the lake. The memory flashed in her mind of how abruptly Charlie stood when she first walked by them at the fire, hair and clothes dripping and her underneath, shaking like a pathetic murtlap. Not that she was worried about him being worried, or anything. She was mostly worried about her bones rattling from cold. Mostly.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, shaking the thought away and looking over the railing that led downstairs. The murmuring had quieted significantly since Charlie arrived with her precious gift.

“They left to get groceries for tonight and tomorrow. Apparently, Barnaby didn’t realize that full boxes of food is not the best way to start a campfire. Cereal does make quite nice kindling though, to be fair.”

“They all went?” (Y/N) asked.

Charlie only shrugged. “Andre said he needed everyone’s opinion on a new scarf he was looking at. Or something. I don’t really know. He said they might take a bit of time,”

(Y/N) nodded and looked towards the stairs. “Yeah he’ll need a new scarf soon since he said he’d eat it if I jumped in the lake.” She said, straightening her back and lifting her chin in silent victory. “Either way, it’s not all Barnaby’s fault about the food I’m sure,” she continued. “Haven’t you discovered how to magically appease hunger? What happened to that valiant character?” (Y/N) joked, raising an eyebrow.

It was Charlie’s turn to roll his eyes. “Maybe, but remember I did discover how to appease a girl’s incessant shivering.” Charlie took one long step and was suddenly looming over (Y/N), his face close enough for her to count the freckles on his nose. Her breath caught in her throat.

“It’d be a shame if I…” he grabbed a fistful of the blanket and tugged so it started to slip off (Y/N)’s shoulder,

“…hadn’t.”

(Y/N) swallowed. She scoured her brain for a witty remark but all she could find was how her senses were overwhelmed with the subtle scent of grass and honeysuckle. That, and how strands of his hair were far enough away to not touch her skin, but close enough for her nerves to tingle. She tried to focus on a clever quip but could only focus on how his body practically shadowed over hers and how a thought dawned then incessantly prodded the back of her mind of how broad his shoulders were in comparison to hers. Yes, they had definitely been about the same height last year and now they were definitely not.

His gaze flitted about her face and finally rested when he looked into her eyes. Did his eyes always have those gold flecks? She never noticed how dark his eyelashes were, either. She seemed to grow warmer just looking at them, until she realized it was Charlie tucking the blanket around her again.

“Better stay warm, (Y/N), before you catch something.”

He left as quickly as he appeared, strolling over to the cards on the floor.

Her mind felt like the static of an unfocused television, buzzing the same way her skin was where Charlie brushed against it. The static remained until the television channel flipped to focus when Charlie called her name again.

“Huh?”

“I said, do you want to sit with me? I was almost done with a game of codbottle,” Charlie said, now seated before the cards.

(Y/N) stared for an extra half second.

“Th-that was you?” (Y/N) asked, remembering to the cards she had stepped on only moments before. “I thought you were downstairs?”

If (Y/N) hadn’t looked away and to the staircase, she would have seen him look down as his cheeks turned a slightly darker shade of pink. “I mean I was, but before that…I…uh…” he paused, still looking down. He covered his cheek with one of his hands. Then, after a brief moment when their eyes locked, he immediately sat back up. “Rowan told me to check up on you! Yeah, she told me to see if you were done. You weren’t so I thought I would start a game,” he grinned, scratching the back of his neck. “Then I heard the shower turn off, so I went downstairs.”

(Y/N) stared at him for a second. She could sense the tension in his shoulders. Why was he sitting so weird? And why were his cheeks so pink? Was he warm? Must be nice…(Y/N) shrugged away the thoughts. “Sounds f-fair.” She sat down across from him and the cards.

When she looked back up the tension in his shoulders seemed to have vanished. His cheeks were still stained with a light pink, however.

“Are you warm?” (Y/N) voiced, mimicking her thoughts. “Your ch-cheeks are pink.”

(Y/N) saw his eyes widen for a split second, pausing his card play midair. Then, after a beat, “I’m always warm,” the boy confessed. “It’s actually quite frustrating in the summer. My brothers call me a human space heater,” he said, placing the card down in its place.

“C-couldn’t be bothered to share it, huh?” (Y/N) joked, failing to chomp down another chill-infused stutter. “I wish Mcgonagall would teach us how to transfigure a slice of cheese into a blanket or something. I swear Penny doesn’t even have an extra pillowcase to cover up with around here, and that shower barely helped,”

“I could,” Charlie said.

(Y/N) looked up at him.

“What?”

“I said I could,” he repeated. “Be bothered, I mean. You could come sit with me. I-if you wanted,” he added, looking back down to the cards.

Again, the television fuzz clouded her thoughts as she looked at him, trying to process what it was he was talking about. She spoke before knowing what she was saying.

“Like, in your lap?”

“No! No, it doesn’t have to be that,” Charlie blurted out, his cheeks growing redder by the second. “Just next to me I think could work.”

It was (Y/N)’s turn to turn pink. Duh. Of course. She slapped her forehead.

“Wow, that’s embarrassing. Yeah, that should probably work.” She huffed, her useless blanket trailing behind her as she stepped closer to him.

“Consider yourself lucky to be seated so close to the great Charles Weasley,” he smirked as she plopped down on his right, their legs still a decent length apart. She tucked the blanket beneath her legs and around her shoulders and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah you’re quite the boy wonder,” she said. She watched his motions for a few moments as he played the cards into different piles. She huffed. “You’re not even playing right,” she reached for the card he just played, and their fingers brushed. Electricity shot through the point of contact, sparking a current in the nerves that were otherwise silent. She jerked her hand away.

“Sorry,” she said.

“(Y/N),” Charlie spoke, ignoring her apology and setting the cards down. “Are you still cold?”

She turned her head to look at him. It was much closer than she anticipated. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were searching hers.

“N-“ she began. He furrowed his brow further. “…yes…” she finished, looking away dejectedly. She had once again been overpowered by the oncoming army of cold. She was not the victorious queen she had once thought.

Charlie sat back and sighed. He pinched his brow and after a moment turned to look at her again.

“Alright. I know you may not like the sound of this, but don’t say no immediately. If you did sit,” he cleared his throat, “with me, our shared body heat could help you warm up.”

She stared at him, trying to comprehend his words.

“Okay, my body heat.”

She still stared. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

“Could help you.”

Still stared. Face getting warmer.

“I’m pretty sure.”

She blinked. Face hot.

“(Y/N), say something! I’m doing my best here,” Charlie exclaimed, exasperated. “Look I’m not trying to be weird, I just want to help. Please?”

“I. Uh.” She blinked again.

This could work, she thought. Look. He’s your friend, right? Friends do things like this for each other. He’s always going on about how he wants to go on adventures with you to help you stay safe. This is just something like that, right? Yeah. I mean, it’s been at least an hour since I jumped in that rubbish lake and I haven’t even remotely stopped shivering. The only warm spot on my body is my face and the part of my hand where I touched Charlie... which is odd…I’ll have to ask Rowan about that later. Either way, he’s just trying to help. It’s not like he hasn’t hugged you before, either. And he offered! It wouldn’t be weird. It’ll be just like a hug. Except…

Prolonged.

She swallowed.

I could handle that. Yeah. This should work.

“Okay.”

Charlie paused. “What?”

“I said okay,” (Y/N) reaffirmed. “I don’t really know any other avenue to remedy this situation, so this should work. Just don’t…go shouting this to all of Hogwarts, boy wonder.”

They looked at one another for a brief second.

“So, should I…” (Y/N) trailed off.

Charlie nearly jumped, reaching for her blanket. “Yeah, yeah, here. I can take that from you,” He reached his arm around her shoulders, and gently picked the blanket off her. The cold enveloped her once again as she moved over to sit in front of Charlie.

She wasn’t used to touching people, but Charlie certainly was. She slid backwards until she felt his chest on her back and it was as if some trigger had switched. Charlie closed the distance between them, practically melting into her. He wrapped his legs around hers, and folded the blanket around the both of them. He reached forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her even closer to him. She thought she could feel his heartbeat against her back, but it may have been hers, she couldn’t tell. It was beating quickly, that much she was sure of. He moved effortlessly, like he had practiced these steps a thousand times. There was no hesitation or caution as he drew her to him.

Charlie’s brothers were correct in stating he was like a human space heater. The warmth from his body enveloped her like the sun on a cloudless day. Her chills, for the first time in hours, began to weaken. When he hugged her against his body the warmth spread from her torso all the way throughout, reaching even the fingertips that had been numb since her leap in the lake.

She tensed and for a moment and it seemed the world had paused. His fluid motions stopped when she did, and the only movement around them came from the tree leaves rustling outside.

No, she certainly wasn’t used to this. She was used to craving this. She was used to flinching away, while unconsciously hoping they would reach further. Unconsciously hoping they would care enough to try again. She had only grown accustomed to the hunger gnawing deep within her gut whenever somebody brushed her skin, and accustomed to its ache when she was too timid to reach back. She was always too scared to satiate that hunger, having become so used to its gnaw. But, as she thought about it, she noticed that Charlie always tried. The way he would consistently brush against her or ask for a hug, and he would always try again. Realizing this, (Y/N) allowed herself, for the first time since she could remember, to relax into his touch. She accepted the hunger and fully rested against Charlie’s chest, placing her arms over his. After a moment, she could feel his smile as he finally rested his head on her shoulder.

The rumbling of a voice by her ear broke her from her thoughts.

“Hey (Y/N),” Charlie whispered, his breath tingling hot against her neck.

“Hm?”

“I’m really proud of you. I know you don’t like touching people that much… this must be really hard for you. I feel like you’ve come a long way,”

(Y/N) thought for a moment, feeling his hair brush against her neck as he played another card.

“I mean…it’s different when it’s with you. I trust you more,” she responded, quietly wondering if he could feel what was fluttering in her stomach, or what was now beating harder in her chest. Whether he did or didn’t, those sensations were magnified as Charlie squeezed her closer, hugging her entire body with his.

“It means so much to hear you say that. You’re one of my best friends, (Y/N),”

(Y/N) smiled. “You’re one of my best friends too, Charlie,”

She didn’t know how long they sat like that, melted into each other, but neither seemed to mind. They played a few rounds of cards with Charlie attempting to play one-handed, as the other never seemed to leave its spot around her waist. As he grew more accustomed to the proper way of playing, (Y/N) sat back, nestling herself further into Charlie’s heat.

She never noticed her eyes were closed until they snapped open when a crack came from downstairs and she heard the familiar voices of her friends trailing in from their journey. Before either of them had time to react, footsteps pounded up the stairs and there appeared a wide-eyed and grinning Andre Egwu.

If Charlie was warm before he was now scorching hot, and (Y/N) unglued herself as quickly as humanly possible.

“W-we were just, uh…” Charlie stuttered, eyes frantically glancing between the boy on the stairwell and the girl sitting next to him.

Andre raised an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. “Mmhmm. You were just, ‘uh,’ what? Might I ask?”

“He was helping me get warm,” (Y/N) blurted, still scooting away from Charlie. “I was still cold,”

Charlie cleared his throat and nodded, his face almost as red as the sparks in the vermillious charm.

“Mhhmmm…” Andre hummed, pulling the sound out of his mouth like a child would a piece of stretchy chewing gum.

They both nodded vigorously, Andre slowly looking between them.

“Right, well, whatever. We need help unloading the groceries. And (Y/N), we’ll need your First Aid skills because Barnaby insisted on carrying all seventeen bags himself. Come down when you’re ready,” he finished with a wink, and disappeared down the stairwell.

After the pounding of his feet faded, neither of them dared to look at each other. It wasn’t until their fingertips brushed again when they finally turned to each other, both opening their mouths to speak. Then, before a word from either could escape, a faint voice trailed up from downstairs.

“Pay up, Haywood! It worked, and you owe me ten chocolate frogs!”

Authors Note:

I’m all ABOUT fluff. And c h a r a c t e r d e v e l o p m e n t. Also apparently I’m so far down into the swamp that is this fandom that this writing piece was inspired by a dream I had about hphm folks snuggling. Cute or Pathetic? I haven’t decided yet either.

Anyway I hope you all like it! This piece took a lot longer than anticipated, whoops. I haven’t really written in a couple years, so please forgive any obvious writing mistakes! Sorry!

also i promise i love Barnaby he’s just easy to pick on

#art #writing #fanfiction #hphm #harry potter #hogwarts mystery #charlie weasley #charliexmc #jacobs sibling #weasley boy wonder

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mandaloriangf · 6 years

Text

the reylo batb au debacle

long post ahead. tw: racism

i. preface

i dont make call out posts. i think a lot of people abuse call outs, like that one reylo who made a post about me that just consisted of screenshots of me venting on my own blog in the proper tags. i dont know if i would call this a call out, per se. most people (antis, reylos, and bystanders) probably already know the gist of this situation. my reason for making this post is primarily because the original post of mine has gotten rather long with me reblogging it and adding on (you can see the most recent version here) and i would like to have more of a masterpost of sorts, since im a petty bitch who can’t let things go.

ii. the story

i was alerted by an anon to a fic, which is an a/b/o beauty and the beast retelling with rey as belle and kylo as the beast. in gaston’s place is finn. i haven’t read the fic word for word nor do i want to, but i searched finn’s name in the fic and this is what came up.

(note: most of these screenshots are from my original post, but i’ve added on with chapters that have been published since then)

“Myself if necessary; somewhere out there is my mate, and I will wait for them.” She said resolutely, holding her breath against the smell of pine and charcoal rolling off him. She had never found Finn’s scent a pleasant one.

“I believe Rey is missing,” Finn said with a scowl. “and I don’t like it when my things go missing.”

“Rey has never been yours.” Obi snapped. “She’s not a piece of property.”

“Details.” Finn smirked. “Now, are you going to tell me where she’s really run off to? Or are you holding fast to your ridiculous story of monsters and secret castles?”

Obi narrowed his eyes, refusing to entertain the brute anymore than he had to. “I think it’s time you were on your way, Finn. Please feel free to head in the opposite direction should you feel the urge to call upon me again.”

Finn shook his head, rolling his eyes heavily. “I’ll be back, Obi. I will find out where Rey is hiding.”

Obi shut the door in his face quickly, eager to be rid of the boorish oaf. He leaned against the wood, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing gently to ease his frustration. He should have been more open to Finn’s help, he could take all of it that he could get. Still, seeking aid in Finn felt like escaping the hounds to land in the fire. Hardly an improvement.

“She’s the only one who’s rejected me. Me. The nerve of her. No. This won’t stand. I’ll track her down if it’s the last thing I do.” Finn snarled.

Finn took a long swig from his freshly filled tankard the server had just finished capping off, a small smile playing at his mouth as his plan gained more and more merit in his mind. Rey would not allude him for much longer. He would find her, and show her exactly who she belonged to.

Charles frowned. “I don’t want Finn anywhere near Rey. I don’t trust him. He’d sooner force her into mating with him as rescue her.”

They crept deeper into the forest, making sure to maintain vigilance as they scanned the forest for anything strange. Finn wondered idly how Rey would have even made it through this woods, a mere woman. When he brought her back home, he would be sure to have a talk with her about what is and isn’t acceptable.

She scrambled backwards then, her back meeting Artoo’s haunches as he pranced away. She felt distress coursing through her, wanting no part of Finn or his strange obsession with her. “You’ll not touch me.”

“Shh.” He whispered. “You’re only confused. All will be well.”

“Leave, Finn. Go back to Jakku. No one wants you here, least of all me.” She spat.

He growled low, yanking her up by her hair. “You’ll learn your place, Rey. Once I bring you back to Jakku. First though, I will take care of the bastard who dared to touch what was mine.”

“I. Am. Not. Yours.” She ground out, her scalp smarting from the grip he still kept on her hair.

“You will be.” He assured darkly.

He didn’t realize he had lost until it was too late. He glanced down, the iron bolt plunged deep into his chest. For a moment he merely stared at it, his breath coming out in heavy pants as he tried to process what he was seeing. A gurgle sounded in his chest, coughing up a spray of blood. His mouth fell open in disbelief, taking a step backwards as his hand went to the bolt.

He gripped it in his fist, tugging it outwards and throwing it to the ground. His hands pawed at the hole in his chest, blood pouring over his fingers as he swayed slightly. His knees trembled, falling to be ground and kneeling. He gave a final shuddering breath, falling forward in a slump and going still. Rey dropped the bow as if it burned her, leaning her back against the tree she’d used to steady herself and gasping for breath. She felt relief and remorse in that moment, the knowledge that she’d taken a life outweighed only by the knowledge that she’d saved one.

(context: the above is rey murdering finn to save kylo)

as you can see, finn, star wars’ first ever black lead, is portrayed as a violent, aggressive, rapey misogynist who threatens rey psychically and sexually. he believes rey, a white woman, is his property and rey must kill him to save her lover, a white man. i mean, this whole thing should be very obvious. i dont care that its fiction, i dont care that its fanfiction. fiction does not exist in a vacuum and if you believe so, biases like this WILL go unchecked.

i was infuriated after reading this and found a note where the author addresses previous accusations of racism

I was more or less labeled as a racist today for my characterization of Finn, and I felt the need to briefly address that. It was never my intention to lead anyone to believe that my dislike of Finn has anything to do with his race. I dislike his character canonically purely for reasons that have nothing to do with the color of his skin. I obviously realize he’s not a villain, and that he’s out of character. I will not apologize for the way that I’ve written him, as I know in my heart I meant no malicious intent, but I will apologize to anyone who has thought even in the slightest that I was being oppressive or insensitive. I know myself and that’s not who I am, and that was never my intention. I want to go ahead and post this because I don’t know when my next will be and I wanted to leave it on a good note. I don’t foresee a long gap, don’t worry, but at this moment I don’t feel good about the story and I need a few days to reassess where it is going.

iii. the comments

while i easily could’ve just moved on since there are a number of reylo fics out there much like this one, knowing that this one had such popularity and such a tone deaf author, i decided to venture into the comments and lo and behold, the amount of hate for finn was blinding.

there are plenty more, but i hope this can give you a taste of what the comments section looks like.

the author’s hate for finn basically boils down to this: he’s indecisive and he lied to rey. that’s it. that’s what the author uses to justify writing finn in a vicious, anti-black stereotype.

at some point, an anonymous commenter called out the racism.

a concerned citizen: So are you ever gonna address how racist your characterization of Finn is or what.

ktf: Oh lord. No because it’s blatantly not true. He is characterized heavily in concordance with the classic Gaston character. Possessive, arrogant, pig headed… Your complaint is reaching and you can take it elsewhere. Jeez Louise. So silly. Have you even seen Beauty and the Beast? I don’t like Finn as a a character in canon for reasons that have nothing to do with his race (because I admittedly love John Boyega irl as well as in Pacific Rim, the only other film I’ve seen him in) and as such I characterize him as an asshole for my own self satisfaction.

a concerned citizen: Look I love Reylo as much as the next guy but if you need explaining why it’s racist to make the black character who is, in canon, nothing but a kind and supportive friend, into a sexually aggressive misogynist then I don’t know what to tell you. It costs zero dollars not to demonize black characters for your own “self satisfaction.”

ktf: So, to be clear, if I had used ANY other character from the film who had been kind and supportive, Poe, Han, Holdo, Leia, Snap, Kaydel, Luke… as long as they hadn’t been a POC it would totally fine? Do you see my confusion? It’s an alternate universe.

a concerned citizen: A: Demonizing black men as sexual aggressors bent on possessing/raping white women is a long-standing trope used by white supremacists. It’s done to dehumanize black men and drum up fear in white folk so that they feel threatened enough to commit acts of violence. This is one of the most basic tactics of antiblack racism.

B: Gaston was never a part of the original fairy tale. He was made up for the Disney adaptation to add tension and to counterbalance the Beast to make the message crystal clear for the little ones watching– don’t fear The Other. Gaston represents the cultural hegemony of masculine behavior in Belle’s culture; the Beast, on the other hand, is The Other, the outsider, the marginalized force. Black people have practically been The Other in Western media for centuries. Now I’m not telling you that you have to make Finn the Beast or else it’s bunk, just that you have to be aware of the characters’ roles and what they fulfill in the narrative. Making Finn the Gaston character was a conscious decision you made– you took a black character and plopped him into a role that was specifically made to be the representation of toxic masculinity, that decision isn’t made in a vacuum.

C: Absolutely no one is holding your feet to the fire to make sure that you follow the plotline of the source material verbatim. Certainly you took liberties with what form of beastliness Kylo had, so you could have similarly chose to alter Gaston’s characterization in some way or you could have made Finn a different character entirely. Like I mentioned before, Gaston was not in the original fairy tale and so the narrative works fine without him. Finn exhibits none of Gaston’s character traits in canon so you chose willingly to sand him down so you could fit a square peg in a round hole– an action that, as mentioned previously, reflects the rhetoric of white supremacy for the past few centuries.

ktf: Okay. You know what? You obviously woke up this morning itching for a soapbox. So, may the force be with you and may your crusade keep you warm at night. This is a fan fiction, not a doctoral thesis, so if you don’t mind I’m just going to continue living my life. I can assure you no thoughts of “demonizing” a race ever crossed my mind while writing this. It’s not who I am. This doesn’t deserve my time because you, A. Know nothing about me. B. Obviously have way too much time on your hands. C. Aren’t worth the stress you’re causing. Have a blessed day!

iv. the aftermath

since my original post, i have been silently blocked by the author. antis who are poc have gotten anon hate, which has often been radicalized while i, a white anti, have not received anything wrt this fic. the author has gotten cocky about the whole situation, she has a bunch of adoring readers who coddle her, and she refuses to listen to any form of criticism.

now that i’m at the end of this post, i’m not really sure what i want to come out of it. i wanted to include more, but there’s so much shit to wade through in the comments and that doesn’t even account for what’s on the author’s tumblr. reylos, this shit has to fucking stop. you need to hold each other accountable, you need to call each other out bc this is exhausting.

#anti reylo #this is basically a summary with all the receipts i have

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2pcontinued · 5 years

Text

Howl

Deep brown eyes stared through a window, with a look of longing held inside of them. Your figure revealed itself through the transparent surface, clad in your plaid pajama set as you walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. The figure yearned to tell you who he was, and what he had become. He moved along from his simple observations, as he didn’t want to seem too creepy and be a stalker; as well as he didn’t wish to get caught staring by you. Moving back into the woods once again, to not be seen by anyone or anything, especially not you, he faded into the darkness, his dark brown fur blending into the trees and dirt of the beautifully eerie atmosphere.

The following day, you sat in a cafe, a cup of your favorite drink in your hand, glancing every now and then outside of the window of the quaint shop. You had always been paranoid, you couldn’t really help that, yet something raised your suspicions more so. Of course, your suspicions were always raised during this time of year, as it was nearing Halloween, and Halloween wasn’t exactly your favorite time of year. Everybody had scared you, you’d never been invited to go trick or treating or to a halloween party with your friends, you’d been harassed multiple times during this time of the year by your classmates with all sorts of tricks and no treats, and so many more bad memories. As you could see, you weren’t exactly very friendly with everyone else, or more like nobody else was very friendly with you. You didn’t know why, but they just didn’t like you. Not like you could blame them, you could see why nobody would like you. Sinking into more depressing thoughts, a familiar teen walked into the cafe.

Long, silky black hair tied into a low ponytail reflected the soft lighting of the warm atmosphere. Deep brown eyes darted between items of the menu, seeming indecisive, but brightening up once he found what he was looking for.

"Hi, how are you?" The cashier was a pretty redhead, with adorable freckles and fair skin. A twinge of jealousy struck you.

"I'm good, how are you? Can I get a green tea, plain with no sugar or honey, with a double chocolate chunk muffin please?"

His voice was soft with a seemingly rough edge to it. It sounded like music to your ears.

"I'm great, thanks for asking. Your total will be $4.00."

"Got it.' He rummaged through his pocket to pull out four crumpled dollar bills. 'Here you go!"

"Thank you, have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too!' He was so sweet. You could feel your cheeks turn red when he shifted his attention to you. 'Oh, hey (Y/n)! What a cool coincidence."

Oh god. Oh fuck. He's walking over. You aren't good with confrontation. Or, talking. Or, human contact. Whoops.

"Oh! Er-Hi, Zao...." you trailed off, looking back to the window in order to avoid eye contact, intentionally and accidentally.

He slightly pouted, then sat himself across from you. "Oh, no need to be so shy, (Y/n). I don't bite. Often." He finished his sentence with a smirk, and you almost melted in your seat.

Is he serious? Really? In front of YOUR Coffee?

"Very funny, Zao."

"I'm joking, joking! Somewhat..." You could've reached over and punched him, but you didn't, as it just wasn't in your nature. Snickering softly, he began to ask you how you've been, what you've been up to, etc. You normally didn't enjoy small talk, yet you found this pleasant, almost serene in a way. The way his warm eyes looked at you with genuine interest, as the coffee cup warmed up your hands, and the soft rays from the autumn sun shone upon you two, sitting together, like this.

"You know... I never understood why."

Your ears perked themselves up slightly at the question. Your head followed suit. "Why what?"

"Why nobody at school likes you. You're so cool, and calm. They always say these things about you, and it's just not true. I'll never understand those jerks."

You sighed, and shook your head slowly while smiling. Looking up at the teen before you with lowered lids, you shrugged unknowingly and laughed softly. "You're asking me, like I know the answer. All I ever knew was that people treated me harshly because of some quality that I have. Whether it's the way I look, talk, act, it just.... repulses them. I'm surprised how you're even talking to me now, Zao."

He suddenly reached across the table and took your hands into his, forcing you to lift your head up and stare into his eyes. There was a golden glare in them that was mesmerizing. His hands felt just like the coffee cup, warm and welcoming. More traits you enjoyed about him.

"Don't you dare ever say that about yourself, (Y/n). Your voice is amazing, you act like an adorable puppy, and you're totally hot. You're the shit. Just don't listen to anyone else who says otherwise."

You nodded slowly, still in shock, at what he said to you. You felt a tear run down your left cheek. Were you crying? You couldn't tell anymore. You were too grateful for the boy before you.

Zao took his hand and wiped the tear off of your cheek, as he smiled gently towards you.

"You know you're too cute when you cry. How about we do this again sometime?" And with that, a new unexpected relationship began between the two of you, and you haven't looked back since. Until now.

Blood splattered across the forest floor as the pale moon resembled a large circular plate. You stared at the stains with wide eyes filled with terror, and screamed as loud as you could have possibly allowed yourself. Growls came from beside you, and you pressed your back more against the tree trunk as the sounds got louder. The beast looked at you with hungry eyes from afar, the large amber hues piercing through your shaking form. Somehow, you knew who it was. Of course your luck was as horrible as it usually was and came back to bite you in the ass, as you thought about how blessed you felt a few weeks beforehand, only to realize that your blessing might be a curse instead. The only friend you had, the only person you cared about, and maybe the only person who had ever cared about you, turned out to be a monster. A large horrifying thing, with teeth as big as your hands, and an insatiable bloodlust that you weren't sure would ever be satisfied. It didn't take much to set him off and get him to notice you, but now here you were. Mortified. Possible prey, and easily accessible due to his superior reflexes, as he could jump and attack you at any moment he so wishes. Back against the wall, you were the victim yet again. You weren't sure whether or not you were going to survive against him, but maybe his humanity could kick in at the last minute and your life could be spared. You always wanted to die, but never like this.

#2p hetalia #2p china #drabbles #halloween event

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