#Idiot didn’t realize he just got the fucking ghost king

[shorkbrian]

Oohh how would shouta and hizashi take their submissive readers virginity?

(What to expect - virginity, NSFW, dubcon, noncon. If you’re wondering the type of piercings Hizashi has, they’re dydoes (or kings head) and a pubic piercing. MxM penetration, anal plugs (Hizashi’s wearing one while he diddles u hehe))

Gently, I imagine.

If their darling is submissive, too afraid to run or fight, then there’s no need for them to be harsh.

They can take their time, be sweet and loving.

"Shhhh, you're getting loud." Hizashi holds a fingers to your lips as you lay there, panicked whimpers, distressed whines tumbling out of you.

Shouta huffs at the irony, his fingers working at the button on your jeans, then the zipper, then hooking into your belt loops, tugging the pants down easily as you begin to hyperventilate.

“Hey, hey, breathe with me, you’re alright.” Hizashi places a a hand against your chest, pressing you back against his warmth as he begin to take deep, steady breaths, encouraging you to do the same.

You can’t calm yourself though, eyes wide and fixed on the man in front of you, drawing your legs up and away from him as he rids you of your jeans, trying to keep your panties from his view.

If your wrists weren’t tied together, lashed to each other with soft, black ribbon, you’d be clutching at Shouta’s fingers as they ghost over your calves, up to your knees.

“P-please-” Is all you can whisper, fear settled so thoroughly in your body that you’re almost frozen.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to be gentle. ‘Zashi’s just holding you so you don’t wiggle too much and hurt yourself.” Shouta’s words are measured, steady even when he slips a hand between your knees and forces them apart.

You want to sob, but you can’t. Shouta breathes out a quiet “fuck” as he looks at your panties, running a finger across the waistband.

“She’s shaking like hell Sho.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s just nerves. Everyone’s nervous their first time.”

It’s nerves, it’s fear, it’s terror and dread. You’re horrified, and scared, and you’re shivering as if the room is freezing, even though it’s warm, cozy.

Hizashi dips down, brushes his lips against your neck, and you flinch, your shoulder rising to push his head away, his mustache tickling your flesh.

“Hah, you ticklish? That’s so cute.” The blonde coos, his arms circling around your stomach as his husband begins to tug down your panties. You’re sitting in Hizashi’s lap as Shouta strips you, the two men working together.

The blonde is already shirtless, pants-less, in nothing but boxers. You can feel his warm flesh through your hoodie, pressed against your back.

“My first time, I came in my pants.” Hizashi chuckled, thumbs rubbing at your sides. “Embarrassed myself to tears. The other dude thought it was hot, dropped right to his knees and pulled out my dick and got to suckin’. It kinda hurt, but he was fingerin’ himself at the same time and well, teenage-me was able to get it up immediately.”

You suppose he’s trying to ease your nerves.

Shouta gets your panties off, tosses them to the side as a hand grips each of your ankles, and then you’re spread wide.

A cry gets caught in your throat at the humiliation, Shouta and Hizashi both pausing to peer at your pussy, Hizashi letting out a low whistle.

“Damn, you’re a fuckin’ snack!”

Shouta lets go of your legs, and you snap them shut, closing your eyes as your cheeks burn.

“When I first had sex, I was a one-pump-chump. The girl I was with at the time said it was fine, but I didn’t know how to get her off. I’ve learned a lot since then.” The dark haired man offered his own story, hand slipping between your legs no matter how you twisted or clenched your thighs.

“Wooo! Imagine that, little ole Sho losin’ it after one stroke!”

“That’s what happens when you lose your virginity when you’re thirteen, ‘Zashi.” But Shouta has a gentle grin on his face, and his words held no malice towards his husband. Just two men in love recounting stories.

The dark-haired man leaned towards you, one of his fingers petting slowly over your folds as he did. Shouta wasn’t shy about kissing you, his lips warm, soft, stubble prickly against your skin.

He pulled back, breathing hotly against your lips. “How do you touch yourself? What feels good? I don’t want to overwhelm you, it’s easy to see that you’re sensitive.”

You trembled even harder, sniffling, closing your eyes as his finger still ran softly over your folds, barely touching.

“Sweetie-pop, can you show us? Show us how you want us to touch you down there.” Hizashi’s hands were playing with the edge of your hoodie, easing it up, his warm digits skimming against your skin.

Both men are waiting on your answer, watching you with lust-filled gazes as they run their hands over your skin. They’re already touching you, burning your skin, and you want to scream. All that comes out is a pathetic whimper.

“How do you masturabate? Do you like touching here-?” Aizawa presses his thumb to your clit, wiggles the digit and you tense, shaking your head. 

“-Here?” His fingers trail down to your entrance, one slowly beginning to push inside. You whimper again desperately, shaking your head side to side while looking at the man in front of you with pleading eyes.

“’K, this is gettin’ old-” Hizashi interjected. “I’ll ask one last time, and then Sho’ and I get to touch you however we want to, got it? How do you want us to touch your cute lil’ pussy?”

“I don’t know!” You wail, tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re so overwhelmed, and scared, and you just want to go home.

Neither man moves for a second, but then Hizashi is letting out a an excited sigh, hunching his back so he can kiss at your shoulder before questioning. “You don’t know?”

“I’ve never-never touched my-myself down there.” You manage to hiccup, and Shouta rubs your knee soothingly, his grey eyes trained on your face. 

“That’s alright, there’s no need to cry.” One of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing away salty tears. “We just want to make you feel good.”

You’d feel good if they took their hands off of you.

The hand that’s been rubbing over your folds becomes bolder, parting the lips of your cunt even as you try to squeeze your thighs shut. All that does is trap Shouta’s hand against you, his fingers sending little jolts of unsteady fire burning through your tummy.

“Mm, wait, please-” You whimper, desperate to escape this sensation.

Aizawa doesn’t wait.

Hizashi slips his nimble fingers underneath your hoodie, rucks it up over your chest and you burn with embarrassment at being exposed like this. You want to hide your face, but with your wrists bound, all you can do is cover your eyes with shaky fingers.

“Look at ‘er, god, you’re delicious. Just wanna eat you up! Sho, after you finger her, think I could eat her out? I wanna taste.”

His lewd words make you cringe, and you can’t even think about how it would feel, the blonde pressed between your thighs, tongue laving against you over and over-

“One thing at a time, she’s already a bit dazed. Maybe another time.” Shouta’s gently stimulating your clit, brushing his knuckles over it, watching you twitch with each pass of his fingers against the sensitive little organ.

“Alright, relax now, okay? Breath out for me.” The man instructs, and you could almost laugh; if the man thinks you could relax, he’s an idiot-

A wet finger pushes inside of you slowly, and you gasp brokenly, mouth falling open. There’s so much pressure, you feel stretched and it almost burns, but he’s not stopping.

There’s a squelch, and cool liquid rushes over your hole, slips inside as the finger slightly retracts, and you shudder at the feeling. It’s weird and you feel like you can’t breath.

The finger inside rubs at your walls, and your muscles clench at the foreign sensation, unsure whether it feels good or bad.

“Calm down, you’re okay. I’m just stretching you out. Tell me if something feels really good, alright?” Shouta is acting as if he’s speaking to a child, a spooked rabbit, a baby. His eyes keep flicking between your flushed face and your pussy, enamored by the way you suck his finger inside, at the feel of your velvety walls, the slick feeling that he can’t wait to experience hugging his cock.

“I can’t, I can’t, please-” 

“You can, doin’ so good for us sweetie.” Hizashi chirps, and you realize his hands are resting against your bare chest, idly squeezing at your breasts. You had been so focused on his partner’s actions that you had missed his coy advancement. 

One finger turns to two, and two fingers turns to three, and you’re quickly reduced to a sweaty, blubbering mess, begging the men to wait, to slow down, writhing in Hizashi’s lap while his husband violates you.

The pressure fades away to a comfortable stretch, and by the time Shouta begins to move his fingers with intent, you’re already close to your limit. Your thighs are still clenched together tightly, but the dark-haired man has plenty of room to maneuver his hand, moving his fingers in and out, letting his thumb tickle your clit.

You can’t stop your legs from shaking, abs clenching in pleasure, little noises that fall from your mouth without your permission. It feels good now, and Aizawa and Hizashi seem to know it, speeding up their movements, manipulating your body as a team.

The orgasm that washes over you is gentle, the build up to it steady and measured. The pleasure is expected, and yet it still hits you like a train, hips jerking against Shouta’s hand as he continues to finger you through it, a smile on his face as you drench his hand, pussy drooling.

“I’m sorry, oh no-oh no I made a-a m-mess.” You sob, mortified at your body, at your reaction, feeling gross and disgusting and a sweaty mess while both men watch you fall apart.

But Shouta just slips his hand from between your thighs, holds it out towards you expectantly. You’re confused, still trying to hide your face behind your bound hands, but then the man behind you is leaning forward, sucking Shouta’s fingers into his mouth, right next to your face.

You can hear him sucking your juices off his husband’s fingers, feel the shame coloring your cheeks deepen and spread. He’s so noisy about it, licking the digits, running his fingers between them, and your pussy clenches when you catch sight of a piercing nestled in the middle of his tongue.

You feel dizzy.

“Mmm, just like I though-” Hizashi purrs as he cleans his husband’s hand. He pulls back, growls in your ear “-Delicious.”

Then the two men are switching positions, Hizashi handing you off to Aizawa who settles you easily onto your back, head in his lap. Hizashi pulls at your hips, lifting them up to stuff a folded pillow underneath them, and you begin to realize what’s happening.

“Wait! Please! Hold on, I-I-just wait, oh god, please wait!” The fear is evident as your voice cracks pathetically, but you aren’t above begging.

“’Zashi’s a bit smaller than I am, figured that he’ll be nicer to ease you into it. If-” He shoots his husband a glare “-He keeps his cool.”

Hizashi was grinning as he shucked of his boxers, completely shameless as he revealed himself to you. “Hey, can’t blame a man for bein’ a bit excited. I mean, look at this little sweetie, all laid out like this.”

You felt exposed, afraid. Hizashi’s length bobbed against his stomach as he moved forward, grabbing your legs and settling them on either side of his hips.

There was a piercing in his cock, several piercings.

He was circumcised, with a prominent mushroom tip that held three prominent barbells along the edge. Another barbell glinted ominously behind the curve of his dick, settled right at the base on the top, blonde pubic hair trimmed neatly to showcase the piercing. 

“No, no please don’t. I’ll do anything, please, just not this! Please, please-”

“The piercings feel really good.” Shouta murmured, one hand cradling your head, the other pressed to your chest underneath your hoodie, keeping you anchored to the bed as you squirmed.

“I got this one ‘specially for you sweetie!” Hizashi took hold of his dick, pointed it down to show off the barbell in his pubic area, displaying it to you proudly. “It’s supposed to hit your cute lil’ clit when we’re going at it.”

The words washed over you, and the severity of your situation hit you. The planning required to get a piercing, have it heal-plus the idea that he expected to be actively using it with you again and again....

You started bawling.

“P-please! Don’t do this, please don’t! No no no no, no, no-” Your words were garbled, practically nonsensical, but that’s what you were trying to say. Whether or not they could understand you was out of your control.

“Hey, shh, shh. You’re okay sweetie.” The blonde placed a hand on your thigh, but that only served to make you sob harder.

“Calm down, we aren’t going to hurt you. It’ll feel good (Y/N).”

“No-oo! ‘M scared!!” You cried, and if your vision wasn’t blurry from tears, you’d have seen Hizashi’s green eyes soften, his lips twitch downward into a concerned frown. 

The married couple looked at each other, Hizashi hesitant and moved by your teary display, but Shouta was firm.

“You’ll be okay. It’s normal to be a bit frightened during your first time. But ‘Zashi and I have a lot of experience, we’re going to take good care of you.”

You don’t have time to protest, Hizashi settling between your thighs again, those long hands of his guiding his cock to your drooling entrance.

Shouta’s kissing you then, insist, his tongue pressing against your lips, distracting you.

Hizashi pushes inside, you gasp, and Shouta plunges his tongue into your mouth. There’s too much sensation, between the warm rod settling into you and the slimy tongue slipping around your own, and you can’t do anything but cry.

You cry when Shouta pulls back, when he places a soft, uncharacteristic kiss to your nose, brushes your tears away with his hand.

You cry when Hizashi groans, finally seating himself balls-deep in your cunt.

You cry when he pulls out, thrust back in with a smooth roll of his hips, swearing underneath his breath.

Shouta leans over you, grabs his husband by the back of the head and pulls him in for a passionate kiss. Long blond hair slips over Hizashi’s shoulders, tickles against your skin but it’s just another sensation that you can barely register, overwhelmed and already too fucked-out to focus.

The piercing at the base of Hizashi’s cock does stimulate your clit, especially when the man presses himself flush against you, circling his hips in a quick grinding motion. The metal rubs against your folds and you feel like screaming, it feels good but you don’t want it to.

The metal through the flared mushroom tip keeps brushing against a spot inside you that has you seeing sparks, but you still feel uncomfortable, too full, too stretched.

Hizashi fucks you slow, his husband petting awkwardly at your face.

Minutes pass, you’re not sure how long, but then Hizashi is going a bit faster, then faster again, Shouta’s telling him to slow down, but the blonde pants out “Can’t Sho’, she feels so damn good-”

The metal keeps grinding across your clit, and then you’re shrieking as an orgasm slams into you full-force out of nowhere.

It had been feeling good, but the combination of the tip of Hizashi’s cock hitting your sweet spot, plus the barbell along his pubic bone rubbing your little nub as he humped your cunt had you spasming, mouth dropping open and your eyes rolling back.

The next few moments are hazy, but you know Hizashi pulls out, lets out a low groan and then there's a bit of warmth striping across your stomach. Aizawa is saying something in that low baritone of his, but you don’t know what.

Your limbs feel like jelly, you feel too hot but chilled at the same time, feverish, sweaty. Shouta pats your cheek “Still with us?”

“Uhnh....” 

Aizawa laughed then, a full, throaty sound that made his stomach quake, and both you and Hizashi looked at him in surprise.

It was rare for the man to make such a noise.

“You good Sho’?” Hizashi asked, a puzzled smile on his face. Aizawa nodded, calming himself down a bit to respond, a broad grin still plastered across his features.

“I’m more than good, this is.... you were perfect.” The last bit is directed at you, and Aizawa leans down to kiss you, even though it’s clumsy and awkward. Still, he persists.

When he breaks away, he reaches for his husband, and pecks him on the lips, before shuffling backwards on the bed, your head sliding off his lap.

“Do’ya wanna lay down sweetie-pop? Or sit in the chair and watch?”

“Wha-?” You blink at the blonde, a hand rubbing at your puffy eyes. You’re thirsty.

“She’s exhausted, have her lay down. Plus, you can kiss her when you start getting too loud.” Aizawa prompts his husband, and Hizashi swats playfully at the dark-haired man, but heeds his advice.

You’re maneuvered up the bed, until your head rests on the pillows. Your wrists stay tied though, and your brows knit in confusion. Are they leaving?

No, Aizawa’s removing his boxers, Hizashi’s on his knees, his face by yours scrunched up as he reaches back to his rear.

A glimpse of Shouta’s cock, and you’re suddenly extremely grateful that you had been under his husband, and not taking the monster Shouta had been hiding behind his boxers.

But your attention is torn away by Hizashi, who’s holding up.... a plug, shiny with lube.

Shouta shuffles behind him, grabs his husband’s hips, and then Hizashi is kissing you, whimpering into your mouth as Shouta enters him.

You can’t find it in yourself to feel sorry for Hizashi. At least he’s going to enjoy himself, sharing that part of himself with someone he loves.

Bitterness rises within you as you realize; you aren’t able to say the same.

[mythiccheroacademia]

Hey!! Could we please get more sugar daddy fics with a black reader ofc 😋 idk if you've done shoto already but that'd be nice or hawks and deku💕

A/N: “wrist on glitter, waist on thinner, imma show you how to bag a eight-figure nigga” 👅💋 I enjoyed this way too much

All characters are 18+

Warnings: it got a lil spicy so imma put the line 

Todoroki Shouto:

this mf has money to burn 

we all know todoroki came out the womb w cash from his hair to his ass 

he’s on some “yes, jeff bezos knows me” type shit so if you’re tryna end up with someone that’s gonna possibly buy you a house, he’s your guy 

he slid into your dms after you posted a pic with your skin moisturized and glistening under golden hour and your body had him wanting to run laps 

he had been plottin on you for a min but never got the motivation to do something about it until then

he’s a no strings attached type of sugar daddy

todoroki is a big name even outside of hero work and he’s well aware of all the people that have tried to use him. so instead of letting that happen, he’s decided to do things on his own terms 

when yall first started talking, he questioned you like this was managerial position at apple 💀 

best believe he ran an in-depth background check and made you sign an NDA 💀💀💀

he was a tough one

but you passed w flying colors and y’all settled on an arrangement

you have a weekly allowance that hits your bank account every saturday with some bonuses that he’ll give you depending on how the week goes

todoroki isnt needy nor is he one to be all up in your business 

it’s actually weird in an endearing kind of way? 

he only wants to have conversations with you 

i mean, dont get me wrong, he’s up for anything you are

todoroki would be a liar if he said he never ended some nights with a picture of you and a hand down his pants 

but that’s not what he’s mainly looking for 

you figure out very quickly that shouto just wants someone to talk to 

he’ll randomly hit up your phone and have a 30 min convo about something like the weather or hero politics, and then he’ll dip

next thing you know, you got $1000 in your cashapp

you kind of panicked bc like...wtf? 

your dumb ass messaged him: “did you mean to send $1000?”

sis, dont put a question mark where God put a period

him: “Yes.”

and that was the end of that

you dont question anymore

he’s not doting in any kind of way, and sometimes you lowkey think he forgets about you, but you still get your allowance 

doesn’t send a lot of gifts unless you explicitly state you want something

he doesnt text back a lot, but he tried to respond when he can

but i do see him liking it when you send him mundane things you do throughout your day, like pics of cookies you baked, or a cool plant you saw at home depot

and he enjoys the times you and him end up just trashing his father for nearly an hour. expect to find flowers, with some expensive ass coats or something at your door the next morning 

he really fucks w your laid back vibe 

sometimes he forgets you guys arent really supposed to be friends 

Takami Kiego (Hawks):

this is not hawks’ first time being a sugar daddy

he’s hot, rich, and one of the most eligible bachelor’s in japan with a life that prevents him from having anything too serious

so, long story short, he’s a veteran at this 

he used to be the type to reach out to instagram baddies but he had a couple bad run-ins and decided to stick with the official sites because it was a lot more secure on both ends 

the funny thing was, you set up your account a long time ago as a joke. though at one point, you did take it seriously, but you came in contact with a lot of super creepy men that sexualized you for your skin and ethnicity. 

you were tired of the “chocolate king/queen” and “amazonian god/dess” comments,so you took a break. you didnt have much activity since

so imagine youre surprise when the #2 hero hit your line talking about some 

“Hey~ I’ll get straight to the point. I think you’re beautiful and I’d like to talk with you about an arrangement” 

you thought this was a fake account, but after he chatting for a little and sending some pictures, you knew he was the real deal 

hawks is your standard tit-for-tat transaction sugar daddy

he’s the type to hit you up at night with a “how ya doing, dove? got any pics for me?”

he’s good about his respect ad won’t do anything out of line

it’s the bare minimum, be he doesnt fetishize you so that’s always nice 

however, he does make you call him daddy, sir, etc. whether it’s through text, call, or when y’all get together for...reasons

ngl his dicc game is fire

he might ghost you for a week or so but he’ll always come back with a nice check to make up for it 

just be careful about catching feelings bc he’s so fucking smooth. he makes you feel like you’ve got his heart, but dont fall for that shit

if you think you can “change him” or fuflfil whatever wattpad romance fantasy lives in your head, he is not your guy. you better get on w your life before you get your heart broken

he’s here to suck, fuck, send pics, do a little phone call here n there, send some money, and go 

if you’re not with all that, you might as well dip 

but if you’re cool with that, rest assured, you’re gonna be living your best mf life with this man in your wallet 

and good news, you might not be his only, but you are his favorite

there’s just something about you that’s got him giving you a few extra thousand than he normally does 

he doesnt take his sugar babies on proper dates bc he’s gotta stay away from media outlets, but he will invite you to his office for a “lunch break”

if you ever surprise him with a cute but sexy hawks cosplay, you won’t have to work for two whole weeks bc you cant walk  

overall, he’s a good sugar daddy. defintely good for your pockets and any other non-romantic desires you want fulfilled

Mirodirya Izuku:  

the way you two met and came to this arrangement was more or less an accident

the life of the number one pro-hero was lonely and stressful 

he’s tried to dip his toes in the water here and there, but it never worked out because not many people could deal with the fact that he’d always put hero work first

he was teetering on the edge of signing up for one of those sugar daddy/baby websites until he met you at some cafe he passed by 

it’s cliche really. you were his server and, honestly? he was hooked on day one 

he watched you intently as you pranced around in your cute uniform. he couldnt stop admiring your brown skin and eyes and how cute your hair was. you spoke with such enthusiasm and cheerfulness that he couldnt help but swoon. and it didn’t hurt that you were very easy on the eyes

he listened to you as you went on a spiel about how college was a fortune and how you stayed up last night for a project bc you had to pick up extra shifts

that’s when he made his decision

by the time the hero is out of the door, you collected the reciept and almost fainted when you realized he left you a $500 tip and his personal number 

“i enjoyed talking to you today and i hope we can continue that...here’s something small to help with your bills. and i hope this isnt too forward but you’re very beautiful. stay safe. deku.”

and what did you do that night?

you called his ass right back

you were nervous as hell bc you still couldnt believe this was real, but after talking on the phone with him for two hours, an arrangement was set

midoriya is the most gentlemen like sugar daddy out there 

you wake up to good morning texts and a few hundred in your bank account almost every two days 

he goes crazy over your insta posts. and if you wear something green? expect a bonus

takes you out shopping unprovoked 

izuku: “are you busy? i saw you were having a rough week and was wondering if you wanted to go to that new outlet mall downtown”

you: 🏃🏾‍♀️💨  

you most certainly had homework due that night but what tf you look like missing out on that offer? 

it’s after so many “dates” that deku realizes that he prefers hanging around you more than he should but he doesnt wanna ruin anything so he keeps that underwraps 

he’s the idiot that goes into this thinking he won’t fall in love

deku defintely has some dirty thoughts about you but he doesnt try to bring it up unless you do first

if you’re comfortable with anything nsfw, you gone see a whole different side to izuku

he’s a giver, giver, giver, but when he recieves, he just about loses it

send him “innocent” pics of yourself matched with a string of filthy texts and he’ll combust 

when you send him pics of yourself in deku-themed lingre, he deadass sends you a whole black card with your name on it as a thank you

you guys get very comfortable with each other very quickly

soon enough, DA’s start turning into y/n stayng over for a week 

you both realize this relatiosnhip runs a lot deeper than an arrangement when he accidentally let it slip that he told his mom about you 

he’s profusely apologizing but you shut him up with a kiss and tell him that you’ve kinda caught feelings yourself 

your next conversation works out well for the both of you 

[ladymischievous]

Here is My Completely Self-indulgent Medivh Essay! OKAY HERE WE GO!

Whenever I think about it, I find that Medivh’s situation was really a fucked up one. Possession by Sargeras aside, his story deals a lot with trauma, neglect, abuse, and the selfishness of a parent. I think it’s really easy to forget about all of that with Blizz’s writing and the fact that Medivh was a really powerful mage.

Medivh didn’t have a choice in things for the majority of his life. Ignoring Chronicle’s softening of Aegwynn (the only thing I actually liked that was added to her lore was her friendship with Moroes), she straight up used Nielas Aran to have a baby and then came back to use him as free childcare because she wasn’t looking to be a mother.

Disclaimer, Aegwynn is a complicated character who I really appreciate. She was a hero and probably the best Guardian, period. Yet, she was a very flawed character and I like that about her. She could be selfish, self righteous, and a smartass. Chronicle having her in love with Nielas and loving Medivh as her son is something I think took a lot away from her and the impact of her eventually bringing Medivh back. Aegwynn didn’t want love or to be a mother, she wanted to pass on the power of the Guardian to someone born from herself to spit in the eye of the Council of Tirisfal. Aegwynn did it because she considered them to be idiots and was petty.

Medivh was born with a future already chosen for him. He was to be the Guardian, he couldn’t be anything else. From the get-go, Medivh had little autonomy and it makes his mischievousness and eventual wilding out post-9-year-coma in the form of partying and living vibrantly make more sense. When you add Sargeras and him possessing Medivh since before he was born, it’s a double whammy. Medivh not only had no future of his own but was set up for failure from the very beginning.

I’ve always pictured Sargeras as being an abuser that gradually broke Medivh down. Whispering things to him throughout his life, making him think they were his own thoughts, gaslighting him, and suddenly stripping things away from him. Medivh had friends in Llane and Lothar, he also had his father. When he was about fourteen, the powers of the Guardian suddenly lashed out and killed Nielas. Medivh then fell into a coma that lasted for almost ten years. Medivh never got a chance to be a teenager and grow into an adult. He woke up and suddenly he was 23-24 years old. Lothar (now the kingdom’s champion) and Llane (now the king of Stormwind) had moved on in their lives, his father was dead, and time left Medivh behind. Physically he was an adult where he was likely still fourteen mentally. Medivh lost a good chunk of his life and likely would have felt horribly alone. I always figured a situation like that would be traumatizing and that would be something Sargeras would capitalize on. The long coma was just another part in his campaign to twist Medivh to his will.

But Medivh is the Guardian, he has to do his job, it was what he was born for. I could see this being the main reason he wilds out during his younger years. Trying to shake the trauma and anxieties, he clings onto things his loves and likes. He wants to make his own personality, his own choices, and his own life. He’s thinking like a teenager because, mentally and emotionally, he is one. This makes it easier for Sargeras to take advantage of him. To play on depression, anxieties, and the crushing weight the mantle of being the Guardian was.

Being the Guardian means you have amazing magical powers at your fingertips. You are Azeroth’s best line of defense, putting your life on the line to fight against threats that could decimate a planet. It’s also a lonely existence, since you have to keep your role a secret from the world at large. You have to forsake the ideas of relationships and being too close to people because you could make yourself vulnerable where you can’t afford to be. It’s a great honor to be the Guardian...if that’s what you wished to be. Again, Medivh never asked to be the Guardian, he was born to take on that role. So I imagine to him, it was more of a burden than anything else.

In Wrath of the Lich King, there’s an item you can fish from the Dalaran fountain called ‘Medivh’s Silver Coin’. It’s flavor text I think says a lot about Medivh and what he was going through. Sargeras and the Guardian were the dominant forces in his life, overshadowing who Medivh himself actually was as a person. It makes some of the new lore for him all the more tragic. Throwing parties, surrounding himself and filling his tower with people and things he liked. Only for it to be taken and destroyed once again by Sargeras. Moroes, who had survived the incident, seemed to legitimately care for Medivh. But having seen the horrors he did that killed so many of the tower’s denizens and party guests broke his mind. Medivh, out of care for the steward, sealed Moroes’ memories of the event away but he was never the same since. Thus put an end to Medivh’s gallas and vibrancy, he shut himself away as he fully realized his situation. Sargeras had taken everything from him.

So, who was Medivh as a person? Not the Guardian, not Sargeras, who is Medivh Aran? I think that when he’s able to make his own choices, Medivh is more inclined to at least try to do good.

In ‘The Last Guardian’, Medivh’s relationship with his mother is a complicated one. Aegwynn did abuse him with her reasons for giving birth to him and then neglecting him. Medivh understandably resented her but also still loved her because she was his mother. (Without going into anything from my personal life, I can understand the conflict of these feelings.) Sargeras at that point in his life had an iron grip hold over him, Medivh was his tool, his property. Using her own son, Sargeras spoke though him and called Aegwynn out on her bullshit. Right there Medivh could have killed her, instead he spared her and sent her away. Even with that anger and resentment he seized what autonomy he could and chose his love for her instead.

When Medivh was resurrected, free of both Sargeras and the Guardian, he chose to try to help Azeroth in what ways he could. Trying to warn them and nudge things into a better direction but events throughout ‘World of Warcraft’ undid a lot of it (the Bombing of Theramore being one example).

While the debate on whether Medivh is actually alive or is a ghost is still up in the air, I headcanon him as being alive. That Aegwynn gave him a new life to finally have for himself. The biggest issue being that Medivh is haunted by the events that happened to him. He’s a survivor, likely living as a hermit (and hating it) in his study, living with the trauma he’s stuck with. With him and Khadgar reuniting and apparently hanging out together in Karazhan, I hope that he can get a chance to heal.

If you read through all this, thank you, I hope that you enjoyed it.

​

[alfredosauce50]

Ghost of jealousy [Possessive! America x reader]

Wordcount: 5,545 Synopsis: Alfred gets upset when he finds you hanging around Mathias during his Halloween party. You tell him he’s your friend, but everything escalates into an argument, so he takes it outside to his car. He regrets everything he’s done, but you refuse to talk to him while he drives off to find some lodging for the night—an old inn. While you avoid him by staying in a separate room, it becomes apparent there’s something very off about this place. Something otherworldly. Will he make it up to you by saving you before something terrible happens? 

(I was inspired by this song by Michael Jackson, “Ghosts”) The reader is referred to as she/her.

It didn’t bother you that Alfred always disappeared during his parties. He was the host, after all, and you were merely another attendee, boyfriend or not. There were guests to interact with, excitement to arouse, and the general gist of event-running. So while he was off doing his business, you loitered around in the kitchen with one of your friends. You were dressed as a mermaid, with a seashell bra and all, while Mathias was in his pirate get-up.

Here away from the incessant pounding of Halloween classics and chatter, you could actually hear him talk. "I think it’s cute that we’re matching! Are you sure you didn’t wear this on purpose just so we could look like a couple?" He grinned, earning a small gasp from you.

"Hey! It’s not my problem you wear the same thing every year, Mathias. I—on the other hand, change it up." You gloated a little at that, giving his hip a light bump. He had been sipping a cup of punch, but spilled some as a result. "Ah! Jeez.” Because it was so dark, with only jack-o-lanterns and fairy lights to illuminate the house, you never even realized.

"What’s wrong?”

"Why don’t you smell my coat to find out?” He hummed mischievously. Cupping a hand around your head, he pulled you in and pressed your face against a mysterious wet patch.

"Ew! What was that?!" You pulled away and rubbed your cheek as he exploded into a fit of laughter.

"... Juice?"

"That’s right, min prinsesse. And it’s all your fault." Leaning in with his hands on his hips, he tapped your nose. A dash of guilt was present in your eyes, so he quickly added this. "Don’t look so stressed, (F/N)! I always forgive what you do to me. Mostly. This time, if you wanna make up for it, you’ll have to go to our after-party for once!"

You blinked. "After-party? You mean with just you and Lukas and everyone?" He nodded excitedly. The question was innocent enough, but really, you had another concern in the back of your mind. Every year, you and Alfred would spend a night together after the festivities. You could only imagine how upset he’d get if that didn’t happen. He always valued the time together with you, even to the point of being a little excessive. "Mm... I don’t know. Alfred and I usually do something afterward. I’ll ask him."

His wide grin faltered a touch. Alfred this, Alfred that. Mathias couldn’t exactly say he was jealous—though he’d joke about it, a lot—but wasn’t he a little controlling sometimes? "Mm, mm. Not good enough. I won’t take no for an answer!" Scooping you up in a bridal style carry, you let out a small yelp and reached out for his neck to stabilize yourself. "Let the King of Scandinavia save you from the evil clutches of American capitalism!"

"Mathias, you idiot!" You hissed through a flustered expression, but you couldn’t deny you were enjoying yourself. While he laughed away, bouncing you in his arms, you bonked him on the head numerous times. "Put. Me. Down!"

"Ow. Ah! Okay, okay, stop hitting me!" The Dane was as big of a goofball as your boyfriend, but just less serious most of the time. That was right. As your relationship with Alfred progressed, he was less easy-going than he initially seemed. More stubborn. Argumentative. And you never imagined how soon you would see this side of him.

"What’s this about saving (F/N) from the evil clutches of American capitalism?"

The chorus of you and Mathias’s laughter came to an abrupt end. Uh oh. Turning to the voice, you found yourself staring at none other than your boyfriend, dressed in a long orange coat with a Jason Vorhee's mask on the side of his head. And his arms were crossed with an unamused expression. Only then did you feel yourself get set down to the floor. Great. "Alfred, hey! We were just talking about his after-party. You know, the one where they have a lego-building contest?"

"Mhm. Sounds fun. But we’re doing something even better." Reaching out to your hand, he pulled you away from your friend, much to your displeasure. Mathias didn’t look all too happy either. Alfred then managed a small smile, but it was a little strained. "So c’mon, babe. Most of the party’s events are ending, anyway. Let’s go to my car." He squeezed you in his grip and turned to leave, all with you in tow.

But you weren’t having it. Couldn’t he at least let you explain yourself a little better, considering how upset he seemed already? You stopped, the action pulling on his arm so he would too. "Wait, Al. He asked if I wanted to go, and I kinda want to. Just this one time, please? Lukas, Berwald, Tino, and Emil are gonna be there too—" The fact that you were listing all these names only made it blatantly obvious who was in right, and who was in the wrong.

All you were asking for was some time with your friends. But he played the jealous boyfriend role all too well.

He turned to you with a frown. It was annoying enough to see Mathias carrying you like that. But going to a sleepover with him? He couldn’t be any less enthusiastic. "No, (F/N). Halloween is our thing. We’re supposed to spend the night together like we always do." Reaching out to your cheek, he caressed it gently. "You can hang out with them any other day of the year. Just not today."

Unlike other times, you didn’t give in. He already showed up with an attitude, so sweet-talking wasn’t going to cut it. Especially when you felt Mathias’s hand on your shoulder. The thought that he was behind you and trying to calm you down only egged you on to stand your ground. "Any other day? You’d have to exclude Valentine’s Day, Christmas, New Year’s, and St. Patty’s as well. I never get to celebrate them with my friends, either, so can’t you let me go this one time?"

The room fell silent. Even with the Dane’s friends present, nobody spoke a word. And nobody had to because they all shared one thought.

Alfred was being way too controlling.

Almost as if he could read their minds, he felt himself crumble under their scrutiny. "I’m not talking about this here with you." Without another word, he pulled you out of the house against your will.

"And why not? Is it because Mathias is here?" You retorted, feeling bile rise in your throat.

Once you and he disappeared out the door, Lukas made a brief comment.

"... He really has to stop doing that." 

“Yep. Man, I wish he’d just step on a lego." The blonde heaved out a sigh. 

"Fair enough."

Once Alfred managed to get you outside his car, he turned to you to finally give you an answer. "And what if it is because he’s there, (F/N)?" He exasperated, already feeling his tongue start slipping now that he was alone with you. And his words only held more impact against the deafening silence of the night. "The reason why I don’t want you hanging out with them on special occasions is cuz’ he’s in the group.”

“Why? Do you hate him or something? But that’s got nothing to do with me!" You ripped your hand from his grip to see his eyes widen with shock. This was the first time you ever lashed out, so he could already feel the inklings of regret well in his chest. He should’ve just shut his trap and let you go.

But something told him he would’ve never let that happen.

"They’re my friends, Alfred! You can’t expect me to pass on every invite they give me just because you don’t like someone!"

He dug his hands through his sandy locks of hair stressfully. 

"That’s the thing! Mathias obviously doesn’t just wanna be friends with you! He likes you, I can tell!" He yelled. 

The cat was finally out of the bag now. What had been plaguing his mind for months was this—competition. And he hoped that admitting it would somehow get you to understand his behavior, no matter how uncalled for it had been.

But you didn’t. You refused to.

Your jaw dropped, but not out of surprise. Instead, it was pure disappointment. "Even if he did, are you saying you don’t trust me with him?" You scoffed, folding your arms at him.

At this point, Alfred knew how bad he fucked up.

"No, that’s not what I—" His brows knitted together, and his cerulean blue eyes welled with moisture. "I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I just..." But it was.

Wasn’t it?

Otherwise, why else was he so possessive of you?

"It’s exactly what you meant. If it wasn’t, you’d be defending yourself by now." A small smile curled up at your lips, and it was from anything but mirth. It was your defense mechanism to keep the waterworks at bay, but even that had failed you. The tears finally came spilling over the rim, streaming down your face as he watched on with guilt.

"Even if you hate him, he’s not what you think he is. It wouldn’t matter if he loved me. He wouldn’t do anything because he respects me." Reaching up to your eyes, you rubbed them, but the effort was in vain as you let out a sob. "If you’re so quick to doubt me, then maybe..." You struggled to string together the words as you continued to cry. "Maybe we shouldn’t..."

Maybe we shouldn’t be together anymore. 

Alfred froze. Anything but that. And yet, you had all the right in the world to think of ending things. But his heart couldn’t take it.

"No, no, no... Don’t you finish that sentence..." You would probably hate him after this, but kissing you was what he first thought of. The connection between his and your lips managed to silence you, and the close proximity let you feel the waves of heat radiating from his face. And he continued to kiss you, gently, for as long as you let him until you decided to shove him away.

"Don’t." You whispered faintly, albeit firmly. Leaving his side to get into the passenger seat of his car, you buckled yourself up and turned to the window.

He breathed out a sigh, but joined you in the driver’s seat. Facing you with remorse so deep, it made his eyes droop. "You know I love you, right?"

You were still crying, and you never spared him so little as a single glance.

He royally screwed up, for sure. 

The engine purred to life. Now, to find a place to stay for the night. Hopefully, he could make up with you before lights out. But his gut told him it wouldn’t be so simple. The car began to move, crushing sticks and leaves under the wheels as he drove on a dirt path deep in the woods. He picked this cabin for the ominous ambiance, but he was beginning to regret his choices. The same could be said for everything he did tonight, hell, the same could be said for how he acted all these months.

He was the jealous, insecure, shitty boyfriend.

And the whole time, he never realized how kind you were to put up with him.

He wanted to tell you he trusted you. To pull you into his arms and apologize a million times. But what could he say to convince you when he’d come off as a liar? Even he didn’t know if he could be honest. Why did Mathias’s presence get him to feel like this, anyway? He boiled it down to how similar he was to him. Like you always said, he and Mathias were two of the same person. Loud, fun, and obnoxious sweethearts. So of course he started comparing himself to him.

And he was doing it right now. He couldn’t imagine Mathias ever having these kinds of problems if he dated you. Fuck. Aside from self-loathing and bitter regret, he was beginning to feel the beginnings of ugly jealousy all over again.

Are you serious right now, Alfred? He thought. 

Narrowing his eyes on the road that seemed to disappear, he slowed to a stop. Was it just him losing concentration over these thoughts, or did he really lose his way? Perhaps. But at least he found something. He peered around his windshield to see a few rooftops resembling an old, vintage villa in the distance. Could that possibly be a motel?

He sped up and drove closer and closer until he reached a clearing. Climbing out of his car with you trailing close behind, he made his way to the entrance of the establishment. There was an open lawn in front of the building, and in one of the gardens stood a wooden sign with "The Aura Inn" inscribed into it. Neither of you thought much of it, let alone read the little sub-paragraph of text below it.

"Let’s go." Looking at you over his shoulder, he held out a hand for you to take. You just brushed past him and kept walking. Right. He forgot for a second that you were mad at him.

The only thing that concerned you was having somewhere to stay the night, so the reception was the first stop. Making up with him could come later.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by nothing but an empty room. There was no furniture besides a wooden counter, and even then, it was lacking quite a few amenities. There was no receptionist here either, and yet, the lights were on. That could only mean one thing. Somebody was here, just not in a way you liked. But you were just overthinking, weren’t you? Needless to say, this inn was starting to feel a little off to you.

Gripping the scales of your mermaid dress, you turned to Alfred with a nervous glance. Immediately, he responded with a reassuring smile.

"You okay, babe?"

Hold on. Did he just call you babe? Your mood went sour when you felt yourself nearly give in to him. What he did couldn’t be forgiven so easily, otherwise, how could he take your feelings seriously? So you forced yourself to lie.

"Yes." You murmured. "I’m perfectly fine."

He knew you were lying, but he couldn’t blame you.

"Okay. I’ll just... Get us a room. I think this is an Airbnb." He pulled out his phone.

The thought of sleeping in the same bed as him irked you, to say the least. After the stunt he pulled today, which effectively stopped you from going to Mathias’s after-party, you needed some space. That was right. How come after all these years, you’ve never been to one of his infamous after-parties? Even though you were a close friend of his? It was simple. Because Alfred never let you go. God, thinking about it just made you relive the anger all over again. 

So before he finished the booking, you reached out for his arm.

"Wait. I don’t want to be in the same room as you."

He paused, and you saw sadness flash in his eyes. And once again, you found yourself tempted to cave. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

"... Oh. Sure." Alfred finished with the online forms and walked you to your room. The halls were long, winding, and dimly-lit. You would’ve thanked him for accompanying you in this unsettling place, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Once you managed to open the door, which wasn’t locked, he gave you a reluctant goodbye. Resting his arms against the doorframe, he gazed down at you with a bittersweet smile. "Night, babe. I’ll see you in the morning—"

The door slammed in his face and he cringed.

"... Love you too." He murmured, clenching his fists against the door. This was by far the worst argument he’s ever had with you, and it was all his fault.

Pressing your back against the door, you felt blood rush up to your face after hearing what he said. He nearly had you. But you managed to seal yourself away in the safety of your room. It hurt to push him away, but you had to. He couldn’t keep having his way. Alfred needed to accept the consequences of his actions, and you needed to be strong enough for that to happen. 

And plus, he needed to get used to not having you around him all the time. But the boy was excessively clingy, and you let this carry on for far too long. 

Unpacking your things on the bed, you got your things ready for a shower. As you melted into the hot embrace of the water, your concerns of this inn melted away too. It was just Halloween jitters, wasn’t it? Turning off the faucet, you dried yourself off with a towel before getting dressed. When you exited the bathroom, your room was plunged into almost pitch-black darkness. But you never turned off the lights.

Perhaps this was an energy-saving function. 

Well, it saved you from the effort of going to the light switch, anyhow. 

Before you moved from your spot, you shuddered at the feeling of a cold draft blowing against your body. Looking over to the source, you were shocked to see that the door was wide open, letting the dim halls stare back at you. 

There was probably a little wind tonight, and somehow, you didn’t shut the door properly. Making your way to close it again, you made sure you heard a little click. When you did, you didn’t feel any wind from outside at all, not even a gentle breeze. 

Weird. 

Setting your things down on the bedside table, you climbed into bed and tucked yourself in. While you made yourself comfortable, you faced the entirety of the room, which had a small wall-mounted TV, rocking chair, and desk. Of course there was a rocking chair. And you somehow couldn’t tear your gaze away from its faint outline in the dark. 

Then, it began to rock. 

Forwards and backward as if an invisible entity was sitting in it. 

“!” Your blood ran cold and you buried your head underneath the blanket. Something was in the room with you. Unlike before, you couldn’t blame it on the wind because you just closed the door. As you came to terms with that reality, the icy hands of fear gripped around your heart. Your breathing grew ragged and uneven. There was something behind you. Someone behind you. 

You could practically feel their presence creeping towards you. Closer and closer to your bed as the carpet compressed under its footsteps. Your chest constricted when you felt the bed dip under a weight. 

Then, it began to crawl. 

But you were too terrified to scream, let alone move. 

In that moment, you never regretted your decisions this much in your life. And you never wished more for Alfred to be with you.  

Unbeknownst to him as he finished up with his own shower in his room, you were left paralyzed in bed. If he’d known what was happening, he would have run to you as fast as he could. But he didn’t. He only assumed you were busy brooding over him, and maybe even second-guessing your relationship with him. The thought was reasonable, and that upset him to no end. Throwing his towel to a random spot in the room, he fell on his back onto the bed. 

Reaching out to the ceiling to stare at his arm, he sighed. 

“I’m so sorry...” He murmured, lowering his hands to cover his face with them.

If he was lucky, he’d be able to make up with you by the end of tomorrow. But for now, he was burdened with uncertainty. But his attention was quickly diverted to something else. A laugh. Your laugh. Sitting up with visible confusion, he listened in to the muffled sounds of your voice down the hall. 

The walls here were thin, so it didn’t surprise him he could hear you so clearly. 

But what did was what he heard next. Another voice talking, and it belonged to a boy. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he registered it as someone he knew. Mathias. Wait a second, what the hell was he doing here? But there was no way he could be, right? Didn’t he have an after-party to be at? The longer he eavesdropped on the conversation, the more obvious it became that it was Mathias. And they were talking about him. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come this year. Again. But you know how Alfred gets.”

“Yeah... Don’t worry about it. This can be our own little after-party. Just as long as he doesn’t find out, you’ll be fine!” 

Wait, what? 

From what he heard, it sounded like you really had moved on. But you never had the decency to tell him, and that was what filled him to the brim with betrayal--it broke his heart. Was this why you wanted to be in a separate room tonight? Sliding himself off the bed, he stormed out the door to find you. His glasses were already fogging up, but he never bothered to clear them as he marched down the empty halls. 

Your voices grew louder and louder, all until he came to a stop outside a room he never booked. That was right. He applied for one with a single bed. He could only imagine what you were doing with Mathias in a room with a double bed. 

The laughing continued behind the door. 

“You know these walls are thin, right?” He began lowly. Swinging open the door, the noises disappeared along with the people inside. The room was completely dark, and when he flicked on the lights, you and Mathias were nowhere in sight. Not a soul was in here. 

“... What the fuck.” He grumbled.

He swore he heard you both giggling away like school children. Did you two hear him coming and hide somewhere? He was skeptical, but he checked around nonetheless. In the wardrobe, then under the bed. There was no sign of either of you. The shower, maybe? Stepping into the bathroom and pulling open the curtains, he was prepared to catch you red-handed. But there was nothing there except for a porcelain white tub.  A defeated sigh fell from his lips. What the hell was going on? Alfred was completely sober, a miracle considering he usually drank at his parties. So he had a terrible feeling he wasn’t just hearing things. That only pointed towards one explanation. 

This inn was totally haunted. 

And whoever, or whatever that haunted it was toying with him.

He swallowed thickly and turned to the mirror, only to jump at what he saw. The reflection revealed a figure standing behind him. 

It was Mathias, except his face was twisted in a sick smile. 

“Holy shit--!” Alfred paled as he stared face to face with the entity. As he lost himself in its soulless, blue eyes, he was overcome with dread, almost as if the spirit was forcing fear into him. Reminding him of his failures, insecurities, and the uncertainty of his relationship. All of his faults flashed in his mind again and again so incessantly, he thought he would break down on the spot. 

Where is (F/N)? 

She doesn’t want you anymore. 

You should just give up. 

And the deeper in he spiraled into these self-destructive thoughts, the wider the entity smiled, its lips stretching to impossible lengths it became grotesque. Darting his wide eyes around the reflection in his bout of panic, he saw its hand reach out to his shoulder in the mirror. He didn’t know how he managed to do this, but he spun around quickly to defend himself. And there was nobody there.

In his brief moment of disorientation, the spirit shot out two arms, breaking the barrier of the glass. Tightening its hands around his neck, Alfred was pulled back against the mirror and choked. “Gh--!” His airway was completely constricted by the iron grip, and he was forced to struggle a few inches above the ground. 

Digging his fingernails into the hands, he never felt them loosen. 

So he did the unthinkable--he started to smash his fist against the mirror. It hurt like hell and left his knuckles bruised and raw, but the thought of you in danger kept him going. That was right. There was no saying if you weren’t being choked, attacked, or worst. Punching the glass again and again, it finally shattered, and the grip around his neck loosened. 

The mirror was reduced to shards and fell into the sink.

Falling to the ground in a loud thump, he stood up while coughing violently. 

The arms disappeared, and so did the entity. 

And Alfred had a feeling it had to do with the mirror it was in. 

Leaving the bathroom with heavy breaths, he ran back to his room and picked up his chainsaw. Halloween had the perks of carrying around dangerous tools, and he was never this glad that he took it with him instead of leaving it in his car unattended. Too bad he was out of costume, though. But a white tank and boxers would do. Holding it above his chest, he revved his chainsaw and ran out the door. 

It was time to fuck shit up. 

You were still stuck in bed, but the spirit managed to remove your blanket. A soft whimper fell from your lips as your only form of protection was stripped away. If you thought you were terrified, then you would prove yourself wrong with a whole new level of fear as two arms wrapped around your neck from behind. No way. Was it going to choke you? One of its legs was thrown over yours, so you were completely enveloped by its limbs. 

As you trembled away in the dark, you let out a soft cry when you felt its warm breath tickle your ear. 

“I missed you. Why didn’t you wanna stay in a room with me?” It cooed, the voice sending shivers down your spine. It sounded strangely similar to Alfred’s, and what he said was exactly what he would’ve said too, except it wasn’t him. You never saw him come in, and the last time you checked, he wasn’t invisible. 

“... W-What... What are you?” You stammered, feeling a hand glide down your bare thigh. “Stop--” 

“I’m his desire, sweetheart.” It began in a low and alluring voice. “Every feeling in the Aura inn festers into a semi-physical form. That’s why I’m here right now. Because he wants you.” 

You screwed your eyes shut. Just what the hell kind of place was this inn? A magical hut that personified emotions? “... Can you please let me go? I don’t like the way how you’re... Hugging me.” You pleaded, only to feel the entity tighten itself around you. 

“But I don’t want to. He doesn’t want to.” It responded with a hum. “I reflect everything he wants. And currently, he wants to see you more than anything. Especially when he’s dealing with jealousy... And having a hard time at that.” 

“Jealousy?” It wasn’t shocking, per se, but he had you curious. If desire festered into a sultry form of someone and hugged their object of affections, what did jealousy turn into?  “... I knew he was jealous of Mathias. But that’s not the problem here. We’ll sort it out later. If you’re desire, then what’s jealousy like?” 

It let out a deep, foreboding laugh. “Depends. If it’s only a little bit of envy, he’ll start hearing things that hit his nerves. Nothing but... Harmless fun.” You felt yourself get rolled onto your back, and you were caught off guard by what loomed over you. It was Alfred himself, or more accurately put, his personified desire, but this time, you could see him. “But if his jealousy gets mixed in with insecurity, that’s when things get pretty ugly...” 

You furrowed your brows with concern. “Ugly? How so? Is he gonna be okay?” 

It craned his head from side to side. “Who knows.” 

“But I’ll tell you a few things that I do know. Jealousy tends to be pretty sneaky. It’ll snoop around in mirrors and attack him.” You tensed up all over. “So Alfred will have to smash every mirror in the inn to get it to come out. And when it does, all he needs to do is be with you to send it away.”

Loud chainsaw noises were heard down the halls, silencing both you and the entity. Following that was the shattering of glass. 

“... Hm. Looks like he already figured it out.” 

Joy filled you to the brim and you smiled wide. “He really did! I’m so glad!” Reaching out to hug the entity around its chest, you pulled away and slid yourself off the bed. 

“Thank you, um, Alfred’s desire! I’m gonna go find him now!” 

He laid on his side and watched you run off. “You can just call me Alfred.” 

“Okay, Alfred!” 

While you exited the room to stand in the halls, you found yourself staring at a number of doors that were wide open, and the lights on inside. You assumed those were the rooms he already cleared, which meant he still had quite a bit to do. But he was fast. Appearing out of one room, he continued tearing down door after door to smash every single mirror and window in the inn. And soon, he managed to reduce every piece of glass present into shards. 

Once the chainsaw revs came to a stop, you called out his name. 

“Alfred!” 

He jerked up at the sound, then glanced around. “(F/N)!?” While he was on the first floor in the courtyard, you were on the second in the mezzanine, so he had to glance up to see you. “Oh God, I was so worried! Are you okay?” He shouted. 

“Yes!” You called back. “This place is... Super haunted. Let’s get out of here!”

“You called it. I nearly got murdered!” 

Running down the stairs to meet with him, you practically jumped onto him after he dropped his chainsaw to the ground. Embracing you with his strong arms, he pressed kiss after kiss all over your face. While he did, you spotted another figure standing by the stairs. Was that Mathias? You couldn’t take a better look at him before he disappeared into thin air. “Oh my fucking god. I missed you so much.” He exasperated, setting you down on your feet. “You won’t believe what happened. I’ll explain everything in the car.”

As he led you out of the Godforsaken inn, he gripped you tight with his hand. And you squeezed right back. “Let me guess. You were attacked by something in the mirror so you shattered every single one here. I know.” 

At this point, you and him had arrived outside his car.

Turning to you with shock, he placed his hands on his hips. 

“And how the hell did you know? I thought it was original enough that you wouldn’t be able to guess!” He exclaimed, much to your amusement. 

“Mm... Not really. With how many horror movies you’ve watched, I wouldn’t put it past you to come up with a solution like that.” Giving him an affectionate pinch on the cheek, he rubbed the spot with a light pout. You considered telling him the truth, but you already wanted to forget tonight. If he didn’t know about it, then moving on yourself would be so much easier. 

“Now, I think you have some apologizing to do.” 

He softened his gaze. “Yeah... I really do. Sorry for everything. Sorry for being a dick. And not just... For today.” Pulling you into another hug, he nestled his chin into your shoulder. God, did it feel good to have you in his arms again. “I’m gonna be real. I never hated Mathias. He’s my friend. But seeing him with you gets me... Really jealous. And it’s not cuz’ I don’t trust you, it’s because I’m...” His cheeks grew rosy. “I don’t know. I just feel...”

You knew he’d get stuck at this part, so you helped him. 

“Because you feel insecure?” 

“... Yeah.” 

“You idiot...” A soft, content sigh was heard from your end. “It doesn’t matter how similar you are to him. You don’t have to try to make any changes or keep him away from me for me to choose you.” 

His heart fluttered as he released you with a sheepish smile. 

“I really needed to hear that. So, thanks.” Alfred murmured, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Kinda lame of me to put you through that. I should’ve just talked it out with you.” 

“Yeah, you dumbass.” You grumbled, but it was on an affectionate note. 

“So, do you think we’ll make it in time to the party for me to carpool with Mathias back to his place? I wanna see what they’re building this year!”

He frowned, but his expression was short-lived as a smile began creeping onto his lips. “Are you serious right now?” 

“I’m kidding!” 

🎶 Tell me, are you the ghost of jealousy?

This is a request. Thank you for requesting.

[chalkrevelations]

So, Word of Honor Ep 23, and LISTEN. This is going to be another long one. We are in it, now.

(Clearly, spoilers, so if you’re thinking you might want to start watching and don’t want to know everything up front, scroll away and come back after you watch the ep.)

Look, I’m just gonna talk about this first because I can’t even process anything else, or function, until I get this out of the way: I came for the bl and the pretty boys, but at this point, I have to reiterate what I said after Ep 22, that I am so grateful Zhou Ye got her fingers into Gu Xiang and absolutely refused to let go of this role, through everything. She’s going on my actors-to-follow list, and I’ll also be following scriptwriter Xiao Chu into whatever she writes from now on. A little bit, I’ve come out of Ep 23 thinking, did anything else even happen, other than That Scene with A-Xiang and Wen Kexing? (Oh, yeah, That Other Scene with Wen Kexing and Cao Weining about Gu Xiang.) The show is going to have to work to top That Scene for me. The first time watching, I couldn’t even really focus on how the Gu Xiang/Cao Weining and Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu relationships continue to reflect each other and how everything A-Xiang expresses during this conversation is exactly what Wen Kexing feels/fears about himself but cannot say out loud. All of that was there, and I mentally picked through it and unpacked it some more on a re-watch of the scene, but the first time through, I was too busy being legit distressed about Gu Xiang’s fear and pain and how desperately she wants this new thing and how afraid she is, not only of fucking it up or having it fucked up for her, but of getting it. Last night at dinner I compared this storyline to a kind of reverse Persephone story, where she’s being pulled by her lover OUT of the land of death, but is nevertheless having to leave behind everything and everyone she knows and is familiar with, including her beloved brother/parent figure. And all this after being told for essentially her whole life that what she’s doing is forbidden and unworkable, that the human world and the world of Ghost Valley do not mix. (We just saw Wen Kexing have his own little mental stall over this, just so the show can make sure we don’t forget.) And Gu Xiang is so unprepared for all of this and so terrified by it, despite the fact she wants it so badly, that she literally cannot do anything - this shining, clever, fierce girl who will stab you if you look at her the wrong way because she’s been taught to survive above all else - she can’t do anything other than sit down with her arms wrapped around her knees pulled to her chest so that she’s the smallest target possible, protecting all the tenderest, most vulnerable places, and weep. Y’all, it is killing me even thinking about it. I might have to take a minute.

So, then they come at me with the second hit of the one-two punch, which is the scene between Wen Kexing and Cao Weining, where Wen Kexing talks about how this little girl not only saved him, but he calls her meimei, and at that point, I’m done. I’m just. There’s nothing else I need right now from this show. I realize this is supposed to be a story about Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu, and up until now, my ride-or-die has been Zhou Zishu, but whatever. Fine. I WANT TO LIVE HERE AT LI MANOR FOREVER, SHOW, WHY MUST A-XIANG AND CAO-XIONG GO BACK TO HIS SECT? Listen, I think it is a far, far better idea if Cao Weining marries in to Four Seasons Manor, and Gu Xiang’s paternal figure is the ... lol, I almost just called him the Ghost General ... he is who he is, so frankly, I don’t know why he should be so concerned about following social conventions, like having daughters of the house marry out. (I know you think you’re protecting her, Lao Wen, but YOU ARE BREAKING UP THE FAMILY. I need them to stay with the rest of you forever. I need Zhou Zishu to continue to call A-Xiang a “good girl,” because I suspect that hasn’t happened very often in her life, and she needs more of it.) Then, as a last kick in the ribs, once I’m down, the show has WKX tell A-Xiang that she’s not a wild girl because she’s his girl. Thanks, show, I didn’t need my heart for anything like pumping blood to oxygenate my brain or any of my body parts. It’s OK. I can do without it.

Anyway, going back and looking at multiple story-telling levels of all this, there’s the additional issue that during That Scene, A-Xiang is also a proxy for Wen Kexing, saying things that he can’t. (For emotional and psychological reasons within the show, and for practical reasons because they probably wouldn’t pass censorship.) Maybe some things that he can’t even let himself think, at this point. So every time, from here on out, when Zhou Zishu asks Wen Kexing about his past and Wen Kexing momentarily freezes with that trapped look on his face, we can think back to this conversation with A-Xiang and realize that Wen Kexing is terrified by his relationship with Zhou Zishu, despite how desperately he wants this new thing. He is so afraid of fucking it up, but he’s also so afraid of getting it, and he’s so unprepared for it that he literally cannot do anything - this fierce survivor, this ghost king, who will crawl over corpses and skin a guy alive and kill you if you look at him the wrong way because almost (almost) all he’s known is to survive above all else - he cannot do anything except mentally and emotionally curl up so that he’s the smallest target possible, protecting all the tenderest, most vulnerable places. So thanks, show, for what promises to be a repeated exercise of stabbing me in the heart.

Just a little bit more about these scenes: I also think we’re getting at least one, maybe two other foils in the story-telling, which are more about the Wen Kexing-Gu Xiang relationship. Maybe less supported but nevertheless intriguing, I have to wonder if, when he took on that little girl despite (or maybe because of) still being essentially a child himself, Wen Kexing was trying to re-create - even subconsciously - something of the shixiong-shidi relationship he experienced for that brief time with Zhou Zishu as a child. Yes, she saved him by making him keep his heart, because he had this actual nurturing relationship to at least try to model their relationship on. I also think that we’re maybe supposed to be seeing them as a foil to Xie Wang and his AWFUL yifu, who appears to have taken on a kid and turned him into a murder weapon not in any effort to help him survive, but to use him as a tool in his quest for power. Both Wen Kexing and Zhao Jing have produced Poorly Socialized Murder Babies Who Love Them Very Much, but I think Wen Kexing actually had his kid’s best interests at heart, as he understood them, and tried to do the best he could with the extremely broken tool box he had to hand. Also, he loves her back. All that doesn’t mean she’s not fucked up or necessarily any better prepared for the “human” world than Xie Wang, but it may have made the difference between an amoral murder baby who can learn better and an actual sociopath.

In other comparisons, that first convo of the ep between Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing - when ZZS says that he doesn’t want to see more sins on WKX’s hands - is essentially the same convo that Cao Weining had with Gu Xiang in the previous ep, when he tells her that he wants her to be more careful because he knows she actually will feel bad for killing innocent people. This is the same conversation because these two relationships are the same relationship. (Note, I don’t think they started out like this, or that their beginnings were all that similar. Cao Weining was much more of a pursuer and initiator than Zhou Zishu was, in the beginning. But I think the courses of the two relationships have converged, at this point, with Cao Weining and Zhou Zishu knowing what they want and being all in, while Gu Xiang and Wen Kexing also want it but are too fucking scared of it for practically the same reasons.)

Meanwhile, speaking of Xie Wang - what are you up to Xie’er? Do you want the Water of Lethe so you can drink it and get over your awful yifu? Are you finally at the point that you’re doing some critical thinking about this relationship? Or do you want the Water of Lethe so you can slip it to your awful yifu, so that he’ll forget about his obsessions with power that prevent him from focusing on YOU? You call Beauty Ghost an idiot, but I think you may be empathizing (though not sympathizing) a bit much with the women of the Department of the Unfaithful.

Finally, that brief little moment of Zhou Zishu’s face when Wen Kexing spits out his wine after stealing it from him ... Oh, god. You didn’t realize how bad it tasted, did you? Your sense of taste is going.

[devnicolee]

Into the Light (1)

Warnings: none yet! 

Summary: Wesley Parker is a smart, political genius with years of policy experience. After working at the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland for over a year, Erik Stevens, Wesley’s longtime friend, offers her the opportunity of a lifetime: move to Wakanda and serve as an international policy advisor to King T’Challa alongside him. For reasons even Erik doesn’t know, she jumps at the chance and immediately leaves her Oakland life behind for a new one in the elusive, secretive nation. Like her friend Erik, she is a recluse and a loner, determined to focus on rebuilding her life and keeping her secrets her own. However, when she meets a certain Mountain king, she realizes that her life in the darkness doesn’t always have to be so. But is stepping into her light that easy? Or will the fear of trusting others keep her stuck? 

Word count: 4,509

Enjoy!

***

Wesley took a tentative step down the ramp of the Royal Talon, the smoldering African heat immediately hitting her in the face. 

“Parker!”

Her face immediately lit up when she saw him, standing separate from the rest of the Royal Family. She hadn’t expected all of them to be waiting to greet her. 

“Stevens.” 

It came out as almost a quiet sigh of relief instead of the upbeat, jovial tone she usually had. After days on edge, the reality of seeing him, stepping her feet on Wakandan soil was like stepping under the warmth of a thousand suns. She couldn’t even hide how relieved she was. It certainly felt better than her impromptu move back to Oakland a year ago. She quickly fixed her face to mask her relief and put on a neutral smile, more of an expression he would expect. 

As soon as she was in arm’s length, his strong arms wrapped around her midsection to pull her into a tight hug. She hesitated for a moment, surprised at his greeting, before her arms rested on his broad shoulders to return it. Even after rekindling their friendship over the past year, she still wasn’t used to this new version of him. He was more inviting… more warm than he used to be. Wakanda had changed him, just not in the ways he originally intended. 

He pulled back, eyeing her up and down as if she had managed to acquire some injury in the last week without his watchful eye. 

“You good?”

“Yea, the flight was great… you know, I just slept through most of it.” 

Her eyes tried to take in everything: the silent planes whizzing above her head, the guards lining the landing pad around them, the grandiose palace towering above them, the sounds of bustling city streets outside the palace gates. Wesley had done a decent bit of traveling in her time and this was truly unlike any city she had ever seen. 

“Aight. Good, good. Come inside, sis… get you situated.” 

After a quick introduction to the Queen Mother and hellos to the rest of the family, all of whom she had met and worked with at the Outreach Center, Erik ushered her inside to show her the room she would be staying in. She knew the accommodations were only temporary, until she got settled and could find her own place. But she certainly was not complaining. 

She tried to listen to Shuri as she rattled off information about the different areas of the Palace, what her new bracelet did. But Wesley knew she would retain none of it. She was too excited, too anxious, too nervous.  

Her professors and old colleagues called her a budding prodigy. Everyone knew Wesley Parker was going places. But she knew what they all also called her now: a waste of talent. After graduating from Harvard, she spent years working her way from government office to government office, trying to work her way up to the upper echelons of the political sphere. She was poised to be a leading voice in foreign policy, one of the few young Black women in the field. And then, over two years ago, Wesley just walked away. From her cushy life in D.C., her high-paying position, a new job offer with the U.N. She abandoned her dream, leaving it stranded in the road for an unexpected detour. And she always looked back, always wished she could get back there. 

And here she was, as she walked down the opulent halls of this palace tucked away in Africa. This was the break in the trees illuminating her path back to her dream. This was her chance, her shot to rebuild what she lost… and this was the only place in the world she could do it. She couldn’t mess it up. She wouldn’t. 

****

“You like it?” 

Wesley laughed, rolling her eyes, “Yea nigga… this is bigger than my whole apartment.” 

Her feet sunk into soft taupe carpet blanketing her bedroom floor. She shuffled her feet, feeling the plushness between her toes. She flopped down on her bed, which felt sinfully good and soft. She propped herself up on her forearms to look at Erik, who looked amused by her childish antics. 

“Good. How you feeling?” 

Wesley sighed, rolling her eyes as she pushed herself back to her feet. The question was vague, as many from Erik were, but she knew exactly what he was referring to. She walked toward him, arms folded in annoyance at his overprotective and overbearing nature. 

“Stevens… you gotta stop asking me that. I am fine. That was, what? A week ago? I’ve been through worse, I’ve seen worse. I am good - I’ve moved on.” Her beautiful face scrunched up in a frown, “I am honestly sorry I even brought you into all that. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyes widened slightly, “The fuck? Wes. That was a big fucking deal. And lying to me about it don’t change that. You need to talk someone… you need to talk about it. And you need to tell me what ha-” 

“Erik. I am begging you… drop this. Leave it alone. Please.” 

She knew he could hear the exasperation in her words, the pleads. She didn’t like thinking about it, one of the many things from her past she flew halfway around the world to escape. The thin fraying ropes holding her up were starting to unravel again, and it took all her power not to collapse, fall right here in front of him. 

He nodded, raising his hands in surrender, knowing that she was serious if she chose to use his first name. 

“Fine. I’ll let you keep your secrets… for now. We all got ‘em. When you’re ready, I’m here. You know, I’d kill for you. I gotchu always, Wes.” 

And that’s the problem. 

“I know… you’ve killed for less.” 

Wesley was one of the few people, outside of his new family, that knew about his past, knew the road littered with blood and bodies he traveled to reach his paradise… his home. 

After her parents died in a tragic accident, 15-year-old Wesley was sent from her home in Charlotte to live with her aging grandmother who had little time or interest in raising a rambunctious teenager. However, she did have time for her friends, Ms. Louise and Mr. Franklin, the old couple in their building who had been fostering a 17-year-old boy, Erik. 

She and Erik became fast friends, developing a close brother/sister bond. Already exhibiting a penchant for violence, Erik was a good friend to have around as a young girl. He was always there to fight for her, protect her. Even when he left for MIT, everyone in the neighborhood knew she was the wrong girl to mess with. 

He looked after her when she joined him in Cambridge during his last two years at MIT. Harvard and MIT were demanding for the pair but they still spent as much time together as they could, studying their respective disciplines. As she kept her nose to the ground and worked on the Hill in D.C. after graduating and Erik started his career in the Navy, they still remained close, talking or seeing each other anytime Erik was available. For every high and every low, Erik was the one constant in her life. 

However, when Erik decided to fall deeper into the life of espionage and violence, the calls came less frequently and, eventually, stopped all together. And there was no one to call, no one to check in with to see if he was ok. And so, Wesley lost the remaining family she had in this world, the only family she thought she would ever have. 

When their paths fatefully crossed 12 months ago outside a black-owned coffee shop near the Center, both thought they had seen a ghost. They hardly recognized each other, mere shadows of the teenagers that ran through the streets together. Part of her wanted to be angry with him, but she couldn’t. One brief conversation reminded her what it was like to have family… someone who cared. And she jumped at the opportunity to have him back in her life - with the promise that he would never leave her again. And it was clear how much his life had changed. He had found home and safety while she was still fumbling in the dark, desperately searching for both. 

It didn’t take long for him to “convince” her to take a position as a consultant at the Outreach Center, lending her policy experience to help them bridge the gap between them and local policymakers in the state. It was better than what she was doing before, preparing to apply to a bookstore to pay her bills.

“Fair enough. See you for dinner? I’ll come by and scoop you… you’ll be lost in this place for days tryin’ find it yourself.” 

“Yea, yea. That’s cool. Thanks. See you then.” 

Wesley chewed her bottom lip as she watched his back retreat out her door. She hated how overprotective he was… how much he actually cared. Most people heard “I am fine,” and accept it as fact. Not Erik… he wanted the truth. 

She flopped back down on the bed, this time out of frustration and guilt, not childlike amusement. Her hand covered her face as tears stung the back of her eyes. 

“You are not fine,” she whispered out loud. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that… or the real reason why. 

****

“Does this look ok?” She smoothed the front of her dress. 

Erik told her dinner was casual and she tried to follow that but she also refused to look like an idiot in front of the Royal Family. This was casual enough but still stylish and cute. And purple, paired with gold jewelry, as Erik told her those were the colors of the Panther Tribe. While her relationships with Erik, Shuri, and Nakia extended beyond professional pleasantries, she could not say the same about King T’Challa, who she had only really spoken to a handful of times. She couldn’t show up to dinner looking any type of way. 

“Yea… I told you it was casual tho?” 

And he looked casual and comfy, sporting a pair of black joggers and a t-shirt. 

“This is as casual as I am gonna get. Some of us aren’t royalty, Stevens… Or should I call you Prince N’Jadaka?” 

He rolled his eyes.

“Nah you shouldn’t if you wanna know where dinner is.” 

“Stevens or Erik, it is,” she vowed quickly, not wanting to smart mouth her way out of a meal. 

“The tribal leader of Jabariland gon’ join us to by the way. Name’s M’Baku.” 

Wesley tilted her head, racking her brain for the bit of knowledge about Wakanda she learned from Shuri, Erik, and Nakia during their long sessions at the outreach center.  

“Jabariland, Jabariland… Jabari… Oh, that’s the group in the mountains right? Gorilla god, snow, just started talking to y’all again like last week?” 

“Tribe,” he corrected. “But yea, that’s the one. He is cool people tho. The only council member I like.” 

Wesley didn’t really understand why she was so nervous. After a year helping them launch the Outreach Center, she was, at least, friendly with everyone at varying degrees. But here? She was a stranger, feeling an intense desire to prove herself and fit in.

“Ms. Parker!” T’Challa stood as she entered the dining hall. It was set for seven, four of the people already seated and waiting. 

“King T’Challa,” she rose her arms in the X she had seen others do around him for a year. He smiled brightly, an encouraging sign on her end. “And you can just call me Wesley or Wes.” 

“Of course, of course. And just T’Challa will do as well. Please sit. We are just waiting on Lord M’Baku.” He gestured toward one of three empty seats available, the one with a mysterious small gift box sitting on the chair. 

“You all did not need to get me anything,” she muttered as she picked up the box. It felt heavy as she fiddled with the edge of the wrapping paper. 

“Nonsense. We are so excited to have you here. N’Jadaka and Nakia believe you will be a great asset as we determine how to situate ourselves on the world stage and I concur. This is just a token of our appreciation for your willingness to join us here and we hope it makes your job a bit easier.” 

“Thank you. And believe me, I am so appreciative of the opportunity.” She prayed no one could see the light tremble in her hands as she started to tear the paper off. However, before she could, the double doors to the hall burst open. 

“Apologies for my tardiness, my king! Issue in the mountains.” 

Wesley looked up to find a giant walking toward her, that was the only way she could think to describe him. She almost wondered if he was an enhanced person, like T’Challa. For she had never seen a “regular” man quite his size. 

You’ve never seen a man as gorgeous as him either. 

If she could have, she would have rolled her eyes at herself. It was true, he was a sight to behold. He entered the room with an aura of power and strength that would have, once upon a time, had her lusting after him. But that was hardly what she was there for. 

“No worries, M’Baku. We were just welcoming our guest, Wesley Parker. This is Lord M’Baku, tribal leader of the Jabari.” 

Wesley smiled brightly, offering him a polite wave. Her smile wilted slightly under his unreadable gaze. She watched as his eyes traveled up and down her frame, lingering on her for a few moments before he seemed to catch himself and the awkward silence filling the room.

“The American… Welcome to Wakanda, Ms. Parker.” 

Wesley bristled slightly at his words as if being called an American was an insult to her, and in many ways - it was. She turned her head to her right where Erik sat, rolling her eyes and mouthing “the American?” sharing her disdain with the only person in the room who would understand. To which he just chuckled lowly and shook his head. She fixed her face to hide her annoyance before turning back toward him as he sat down in the seat left of her. She supposed she should ready herself for that reaction.

“Uh.. thanks? I guess.” Her voice trailed off a bit as she spoke. Turning her attention back to the half opened gift sitting in her lap, she ripped the rest of the wrapping paper off. 

She gasped as she pulled a shiny, state-of-the-art tablet out of a box. 

“Oh… I can’t accept this! Thank you but I can’t.” 

It was sleek and beautiful, she had seen them all with it over the last year. And she knew no amount of money would afford her something as high tech as this. But she didn’t feel right accepting it.  

“Really, it is nothing.” Shuri waved her hand dismissively, completely ignoring the woman’s protests. “And it will work better with our tech here. It syncs to your beads, the easiest file transfers you have ever seen. You will love it.” 

“It’s a losing battle, Parker. Just say thank you,” Erik whispered out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you,” she responded meekly. 

T’Challa motioned for a servant to take it from the dinner table, letting Wesley know it would be brought to her room. 

“Thank you! It’s too much, really. But I appreciate it. I am sure it will work better than mine.” She thought back to the broken and beaten iPad tucked in her bag, the screen partially shattered and many years past its prime. 

Small conversations commenced throughout the group as Wesley sat watching. Shuri and M’Baku were engaging in a lively debate about the merits of vibranium vs. Jabari wood? Whatever that was. Hushed whispers past between T’Challa and Nakia on the other end of the table. And Erik listened, albeit reluctantly given the look on his face, to the Queen Mother chastise him for missing yet another council meeting.  

Wesley sat, eating her second course of only God knew how many, just listening to all of them laugh, bicker, and poke fun at each other. 

This is nice, Wesley thought. She knew they weren’t her family. But even being in their presence lifted her spirits more than she could have known. More than sad for what she didn’t have, she was filled with joy for what Erik found. She was curious how they found a way to accept him, forgive him… love him after all he did. But she was glad they had. He deserved it. He deserved happiness after losing so much for so long.

And you don’t. 

She shook her head lightly, as if she could shake the negative orator out of her mind. But she knew she couldn’t. That voice was always there, always reminding her to never get attached. Everyone leaves, everyone hurts you. Because nobody wanted her. 

“Wes. Wes!” 

At the sound of her name, Wesley pulled herself out of her thoughts, directing her attention at Shuri. It was clear the young girl had tried and failed to get her attention multiple times. 

“S-sorry, princess. I-I got lost in my own thoughts there. What did you say?” 

“No problem. I just asked how the date with Jason went?”

Wesley blinked a few times in confusion before it hit her. Fuck. Jason was a gorgeous and accomplished volunteer at the Outreach Center who taught engineering to the students with Shuri. He had his eye on Wes since the day she literally ran into him in the staff lounge but Wes never really paid him much attention. Shuri had tried incessantly to play matchmaker with the pair. Wesley had almost forgot she lied and told Shuri she had agreed to go on a date with him. She had no intention of doing such a thing; she just didn’t want to be asked about it again. 

“O-oh we ended up not being able to get it scheduled before I moved. Y-you know, it all happened so suddenly.” 

Shuri seemed crestfallen for a moment but immediately perked up. 

“Oh, well good thing there are soooooo many eligible men here. And cute too! Nakia and I will find you someone, don’t worry.” 

She wasn’t worried or interested. But she appreciated Shuri’s enthusiasm and good intentions so she just nodded and smiled. 

“It must have been hard, moving away from home so quickly,” the Queen Mother interjected, thankfully moving the conversation away from Wesley’s nonexistent love life. “We were surprised you wanted to move so soon.” 

“I-I hadn’t been in Oakland long. Just a year so I hadn’t put down too many roots. Wasn’t too difficult to make the move.” 

“Still, your friends and family. It must have been hard to say goodbye so fast?” Shuri asked. 

“Yes, it was.”

She picked up her wine glass, taking a long sip, which confirmed the finality in her clipped and short response. This conversation was over. 

Everyone returned to their separate conversations and their food. Awkwardness slowly seeping into her as she questioned whether she should have just lied to keep the conversation going and be polite. 

“Do not feel awkward. Shuri and the tribal leaders in Jabariland have been trying to play matchmaker with me for the last year. I just ignore them.” 

Wesley laughed, directing her attention to the owner of that deep baritone voice. “And they haven’t caught on yet?”  

M’Baku brought his glass of wine to his lips. “Of course, not.” 

“Well, I could use some of your tips then. The Princess is quite persistent. But I suppose that is what makes her the genius she is,” Wesley mused. 

“Happy to share my insights anytime.” 

“You live in the mountains, right? I didn’t even know it could snow here.” 

M’Baku smirked, “I imagine there is quite a lot you do not know about Wakanda yet.” 

Wesley took the bait, he was not wrong. There was so much she didn’t know about this country she was now meant to help lead. 

“Well, tell me something about Wakanda you think I should know.” 

And his answer to that question carried them through the main course and on to dessert. She mostly listened as he talked about his home, Jabariland, and the people there. It was very surface level, but it made her want to learn more, as much as she could. He explained the differences between the Jabari and the rest of the country. As he spoke, Wesley felt at ease for the first time since she sat down at the table, felt glimmer of her old eager and passionate self peaking through the thick walls she had stacked up. Talking to him felt like talking to an old friend, someone she had known all her life. 

“So you come down here often?” 

“A few times a month. T’Challa and N’Jadaka lean on my counsel often.” 

Wesley nodded, “So we will be seeing quite a lot of each other then, I suppose?” 

“Oh, I am counting on that.” 

The flirtatious tone in his voice was not lost on Wesley, even if no one else at the table was paying them any attention. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, seeing him wink at her before smiling. If her deep, warm brown skin could, her cheeks would have turned a rosy pink. There was a lot about this face that was gorgeous beyond belief. But his smile drew her eye, pulled her in. She could tell he frowned a lot, his resting face throughout dinner had looked generally disgruntled. However, his smile lit his whole face up, made him look even more beautiful - as if that were possible - and more youthful.

“All, I must retire for the evening. Attend to some tribal business. I will see you all in the Council meeting in the morning. My king.”

He saluted T’Challa who returned it and offered him a head nod. He offered Wesley a lingering glance and and a small smile before leaving.

What the fuck was that? She imagined he did that with a lot of women. Harmless flirting that meant nothing at the end of the day. She knew a man like that would never go for someone like her. 

“U-uh I should head to bed as well. I have quite a bit of reading I wanted to do before bed, actually. Thank you for dinner. It was amazing.” Wesley wiped the corners of her mouth before folding her napkin and placing it by her dirty plate. 

“Let me walk you,” Nakia offered. “I am headed in that direction anyway. T’Challa and Erik have some business to discuss.” 

A sense of longing washed over Wesley as she watched the intimate, subtle touches that passed between the pair as T’Challa kissed her hand and squeezed it before letting her go. Once again, she shook her head, internally stamping down the emotions that did not serve her cause. 

She offered them all thanks again and said good night before following Nakia. There was silence for the first minute or two as the events of dinner tumbled through her head. 

Was he actually flirting with me? 

Does it really matter? She debated with herself. Even if he was, which seemed highly unlikely, there were about 1,000 reasons she couldn’t pursue him. Wesley pushed that aside quickly, deciding that he was simply a flirt and she was simply a fool so starved for love that she would fall for his flirtatious nature so easily. 

And then that awkward moment with Shuri and the Queen Mother. Wesley hated questions about her personal life. Not because she found them intrusive, but because she did not have the standard cookie cutter answers people actually expected when they asked those questions. She couldn’t tell the truth and all that left her with was lies and she had enough lies… enough secrets for one person. 

“I can almost hear you overthinking, Wesley.” 

Nakia broke their silence, stopping in front of a large bay window that looked out into the palace gardens. The moonlight illuminated Nakia’s face, which carried a concerned expression on it. 

“Dinner went well. Everyone is excited to have you here, truly. Don’t stress over tomorrow. The Council will like you.” 

The tension building in her chest dissipated almost immediately, thankful that this was the path the conversation was taking. 

“Y-yea I’m sure you’re right. I’m good, really. Just need to get some of the nervous energy out I guess.” 

Nakia nodded before turning to resume their trek back to her quarters. More turns and long hallways than Wesley could count later, they were standing outside her bedroom. 

“You and M’Baku seemed to have hit it off.” Nakia’s face was filled with interest and excitement. “And that is saying something… there are few in Wakanda as cold as Lord M’Baku. Pun intended.” 

Wesley chuckled, tucking a stray black hair behind her ear. Her small frame leaned against her closed, deep mahogany doors as they talked. 

“He was nice! Well… everyone here is nice. But I am sure he is like that with all the ladies, just a charmer.” 

“Oh I can assure you, he is not. He likes you.” 

Wesley’s face must have been a lens into her inner skepticism for Nakia immediately started to laugh. 

“I am serious!” 

Wesley’s hand fumbled for the door knob, slowly opening it before saying, “I doubt it but it doesn’t really matter. I am here to work, I don’t have time for much else.” 

Nakia tilted her head, almost examining her. She imagined it was from all the spy training but Nakia was almost impossible to read, which frustrated Wesley to no end. Half of being good at politics was simply being able to read people. Nakia always made her question that skill. 

“I find that people only make drastic moves like you have for two reasons. They want to start over or they are running from something. I don’t know which one brought you here, Wesley. But you won’t find your escape or new start behind a mountain of paperwork. It is out there.” Her hand pointed behind her at the stained window across across from her door. 

“What are you saying?” 

“I am saying is that Wakanda is more than its political agenda. Wakanda is its people, its culture. To succeed here,” she gestured around her, “You have to know what’s out there. You have to experience what is out there. You have to live, Wesley.” 

Silence. 

“Just something to think about. Good night, Wesley.” 

***

Tag list: @muse-of-mbaku​ @allinhishands​ @ms-reader​

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 

[casualotptrash]

Fixes to the Persona Series- Social Links

This was originally going to be the whole point 6 in my Fixes to the Persona Series post, but it was basically the same length as points 1-5 combined so I didn’t want to make the post mega-huge.

Link to the whole post about this topic.

(Spoilers for a lot of P3 things, including the plot and second awakenings) 

I’ll start off with this point, something that needs to be fixed for all of the games is that you shouldn’t only get social link points for saying what the person wants to hear. I get the train of thought that if you say what they want to hear they will like you more, but that’s not how real friendships work? Obviously you shouldn’t be saying something that offends them and think it will raise your points, but sometimes people just need to hear things?

I can think of three standout examples: Nozomi in P3 (Gourmet King), Mishima in P5, and Shinya in P5. Nozomi’s link is a hot mess in of itself, but it was very frustrating to at one point just be like “Hey can you chill?” when he’s trying to induct you into a scam/cult or whatever, and it reverses the social link. Like ok buddy fuck you too, I was just trying to say no and that you need to stop scamming people?? For Mishima in P5 (I’ll go more in depth on him in a later post), it’s just kind of strange that you can clearly see him starting to obsess about the PT’s but you can’t really tell him he needs to stop until the social link demands it. Even then, the only way to get points is pretty much to go “Wow Mishima, you’re the best! You’re the reason we exist! We love you!!!” and it just feels kind of wrong. Shinya’s is very much along the same line as that, except you basically have to do something even worse and encourage him to keep being a bully? Thankfully P5 doesn’t reverse confidants, but I probably would have done so with Shinya because I kept telling him he shouldn’t bully others until I realized how to get points with him. It just feels wrong to encourage such behavior until the character suddenly realizes they’ve been acting wrong. No shit, I’ve been trying to say that.

I think social links need quite the fix to them, but this is definitely one of them. Strong, real relationships are not just built upon telling the other person what they want to hear. 

Now I’m going to go into the structure of how social links are made and how they affect the characters. I have so much to say about this it’s not even funny. There are two major parts to this, but the second heavily ties into the first, so I’ll just go through them one at a time while trying to make sense.

The first part is that, simply put, integral character growth should not be tied to social links. The completion/tipping point of a character’s growth seems to be signified by their second awakening taking place. For example, in P3, all of the cast members awaken after a big event happens in game which causes them to grow. Most of this is them learning how to move on past the deaths of their loved ones, but still the idea remains the same. The game still has some pretty significant social links with party members too, so it’s not like the social links really suffered from this. In fact, I would say it made the social links even better, and it did this by fleshing out the characters further.

For this example, I’m going to use Akihiko’s growth from the story and social link in P3P because I feel like I know it quite well and it’s one of the best examples of this.

In the main story, it’s clear that Akihiko has a couple of problems. He’s quick to fight, reckless with his own health, and cant let go of the past. Along with these traits, he also cares very much about his friends. He considers Tartarus to be a training ground, is actually injured for the first few months of the game, scolds the MC, Junpei, and Yukari a bit for going out to the alleyway (where Shinji saved them) because it was dangerous, and desparately wants Shinji to rejoin SEES. Him and Shinji, on multiple occasions, talk about the incident where Shinji killed Ken’s mother. Akihiko says that Shinji needs to let go of the past, and Shinji echoes the same sentiment back at him.

What all of these problems step from is the death of his sister, Miki. They were both young and orphans, along with Shinji, and one day during a fire Shinji held Akihiko back from running back into the burning building. Inside the burning building was Miki, who Akihiko was trying to get to, and sadly she died in the fire (I’m pretty sure all of this isn’t revealed until P3P with his social link, but in any version of the game we find out that Miki is dead). Because of this, he felt powerless and from then on strived to be powerful enough to save those around him, which is why he’s obsessed with training to such a degree that he doesn’t care about personal harm to himself.

All of this eventually comes to a head when Shinji dies in the story, and Akihiko isn’t able to save him. At a memorial for his death, Akihiko says this:

“I was too obsessed with power. Ever since I lost Miki, that's all I've cared about. I thought that if I was strong enough, I could protect anyone. But I was wrong... And now You're gone too... I'm such an idiot. In battle, there's always a chance of dying... I knew that! But I was so focused on fighting that I didn't notice anything else! It didn't matter how tough I was! Look what happened!”

He cries for his friend, and then is reminded that this is not what Shinji would want. He would want him to keep living his life, and finally let go of the ghosts of his past. So, this is what he does. At that point, his character growth basically reaches its climax and he awakens to Caesar. This all happens in the main story of the game.

Now, how did they decide to do his social link in P3P? Personally, I think it was genius. Due to all of that growth being integral to the main story, they could not just take it out and shove it into a social link. They had to find another thing to make the social link about, and instead of making it about something pointless they connect it to the main growth in the game. (Note, this social link is only available in the FeMC route)

In general, what his social link is about mirrors his growth in the main story a lot. In the beginning, he treats the MC with an overwhelming sense of care, almost to a condescending degree. You’re always going out to eat, him saying how much you need to eat to grow strong, and jogging/running with him. Taking out the more romantic parts of the social link (although they are *chefs kiss*), eventually it progresses to the point where he asks you if you can stop being the field leader of SEES. Of course, he immediately takes this back and laments that you couldn’t just do that. You have the option to question if he thinks you arent good enough for the job, and he quickly says that the MC is capable, and he didn’t mean to imply that you werent, but he doesn’t want you to be in danger. The social link is frozen after this, as Akihiko doesn’t know how to balance his overwhelming worry and concern about the MC being hurt.  

After Shinji’s death, the social link continues and he reveals the event of Miki’s death. At one point even says he feels like he doesn’t deserve to live because she died. It’s a very sad event, but because of his resolution from the main story with Shinji’s death he is able to open up to the MC. In the end, he comes to the conclusion that he’ll never get over the anger and sadness he feels for his sister’s death, and he accepts that she is dead, but he feels guilty because he wanted to ask you to bear this burden with him. He also starts to wonder what his feelings toward the MC mean, because he is very conflicted, and admits he might be seeing Miki in you (hence the overwhelming protecting nature he has for you in the link, and slightly condescending big-brother tendencies).

In his rank 9, he admits that he was tired of losing what was important to him. He thought that it would be better not to let things get too important, rather than risk losing them. He realizes this is wrong, and says he now knows he needs to work to protect everything precious from him. If the romance route was taken then he sees you as a precious loved one, while if the romance route is not taken he likens you to the status of Miki, aka a precious sister to him.

As you can see from the synopsis, a lot of what was in the social link is directly tied into his main growth in the story, however it is also not integral to his main growth. It stems off of it, not the other way around. Whoever made the extra social links in P3P did an amazing job at doing this exact thing, perhaps because they couldn’t change the growth in the main story. Either way, it’s a perfect example of how social links should be done.

If you’re interested in watching the growth from the social link directly, here is the link: Akihiko social link rank 1-10

You might be thinking, how is this issue really that big of a problem? Akihiko was a great character before his P3P social link, so if the growth is there either way (in story or social link) then it should be fine. My answer to this is in short, as the series progressed from P3 this problem got worse to the point where it negatively impacts the characters. The reason this got worse and impacts the characters so much, especially with the ones from P5, is because of the nature of how social links are set up. Obviously, social links are optional. They have to be, because not everyone is going to finish all of them in one run. This presents the unique issue of needing to make social links meaningful, but also not necessary. I would think anyone who reads that sentence would immediately understand how those two things do not mix well, especially when almost all of the important character growth is pushed into the social link. I’ll be using the social links (party members specifically) in P5 as my example to illustrate this because they’re the best for this.

At the very best, party member confidants in P5 feel like they contribute a good bit of character development alongside the story (on the surface). At the very worst, confidants in P5 feel like they actively contradict the story. Ann is probably the best example of this, but it happens to the rest of the main cast too, to varying degrees. I’m not as familiar with Ann’s confidant as Akihiko’s, but I’m going to try and do my best.

Essentially, Ann’s confidant is about finding her passion, becoming a stronger person, and overcoming her guilt. Outside of the occasional discussions about Shiho, how strong she is, and Ann discussing how she needs to become strong for her, one of the main things you do in the confidant is help Ann use various methods to be a better model (because she comes to the conclusion that she wants to be serious about modeling, her hobby, since Shiho is trying so hard to get back to her normal life). I have played Persona 5 vanilla twice, and Royal twice, and every time I have completed Ann’s confidant. That being said, it’s kind of sad that I could do it four times and barely remember the “becoming a stronger person” and “overcoming her guilt” part of it (outside of Ann saying Shiho is strong, and Ann asking us to insult her to make her stronger). She does have a very good conclusion with Shiho, and it’s is really sweet to see them hug on the roof and everything, but other than that the main outcome of the confidant is that Ann is going to really try for her modeling career and needs to change her habits because of this. Some of those habits she changes is by eating less junk food, exercising, etc.

Here’s where the issue comes in. You go through this whole confidant and have Ann come to that conclusion, and then throughout multiple scenes (and the rest of the story) Ann adheres to none of it. It’s the most whiplash I’ve ever experienced when one day Ann says she’s going to cut the sweets, and then the next something happens in game and she’s just chowing down on all of the food. To be clear, I do not care if Ann is eating a lot of a little in the grand scheme of things. Like I said, this is just an example that illustrates the total tonal dissonance present from the social link to the main story.

The whole reason this occurs is because, like I said earlier, the confidant has to be meaningful but not necessary to the plot. This is a major problem when pretty much the whole reason for her character growth, the plot with Shiho, is in the confidant. No matter if you do the confidant or not, in the story the characters will always act as if the confidant plot has not happened at all...because they physically cannot write it into the main story as it is optional. The reason this worked with Akihiko was because he had his main growth outside of the social link, and the social link tied into his growth, and the reason this doesn’t work for the P5 cast is because their growth is set up in the opposite way. Instead of tying their main growth in the story to the confidant, the story acts as a stepping stone for their main growth in story of the confidant.

I predict some people might read what I just said and counter with the point “You cant just expect their whole personalities to change,” and they would be right, if that was what I was explaining. It’s not. Obviously base personality traits are always going to be present, but the reason for having character growth is for the characters to grow. Futaba can always be more shy and timid around others, but if you go through her whole confidant where she learns to be more independent and then later on have her go somewhere and completely shut down? That is not growth. Her change can manifest in her being shy about going somewhere new, but adapting to it a lot quicker than she did before the confidant was completed. But, like I said, because of how the confidants are set up this is just not possible.

It took this long to get here, but we finally arrive at how the second point ties in. The second point is that, because of this issue with tying in integral growth with the social link, the characters end up being very one-note in the story (if you take out the inclusion of the social link). In my opinion, P3 doesn’t really suffer from this (although there still are bland characters in that game. Sometimes the writing is just not that exciting. Sorry Fuuka, you’re better in the spinoffs), P4 suffers from it a little (Teddie talking about girls 90% of the time, Yukiko laughing at everything, Meat Chie, etc.), and P5 has the most rampant cases of this.

This doesn’t mean that the characters are not well written, it just means that the game is going to be way more enjoyable if you are able to max everyone’s social link in comparison to only maxing a few. Putting aside the gameplay benefits, I usually love my NG+ runs more than my first run because it allows me to see all of the characters so much more.

I know that all of the characters could be shoved into stereotypical boxes if we had to, but we basically don’t need to for P5. If you do not do any confidants with party members in P5, tell me how many times Ryuji shows his remorseful and caring side for the trouble he has caused the track team in the main story. Oh wait, you can’t! He’s pushed around as the proverbial butt-monkey for almost the entire game, and at least Junpei and Yosuke got some deeper interaction with the story when they were in this role. If you only experience Ryuji from the main plot, you’d probably want to throttle him with how many times he ogles at Ann, argues with Morgana, tries to pick up girls, and shouts about being a Phantom Thief and wanting fame.

I will admit, they do have some deep moments here and there, when the main story calls for it, but other than that (again, without doing the social link) the PT’s kind of have as much characterization as a piece of cardboard. This is a big problem, especially when the cast is full of great characters! I played P5 4 times, and it still isn’t my favorite cast. There are some really good characters in there, but they just could not compare to the P3 cast for me (even though P3 was filled with a lot of highs and a lot of lows). Yukari was kind of a bitch and I didn’t like her for a long time, but at least I felt something! Poor Haru is just shoved off into a corner and characterized as the “team mom but would kill you, sad her father died, also has a crush on you” for the whole game unless you do her confidant.

Jury is still out on the P4 cast, because I see a little bit of what P3 had going on and what P5 does in them. Every time Yosuke is talking about something serious or profound I get really excited, only for it to be followed up with some dumb (usually homophobic) joke. I like the extra interactions the P4 cast has in comparison to P5, but even in those situations it feels like each member is kind of cast into their stereotypical role (Teddie want pussy, Yukiko laugh, Chie meat, etc.). I imagine once I do finish P4G and get to do my NG+ I will like the cast a lot more, but only because I will be able to do all of their social links.

Despite all of this, whether a character from the game has great growth or not, you can always count on Atlus to flanderize each character into their one “defining” (aka memed) trait to hell and back in any spinoff.

Sorry, don’t mind me crying in the corner with how Akihiko was massacred from a deep character into a protein junkie.

[iridescent-petrichor]

100 bad days

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Steve gets into a fight

Words: 1.2K

A/N: holy SHIT I haven’t written anything in so long. I’ve been swamped with schoolwork but this is very very loosely based off 100 bad days by AJR because every AJR song gives me Steve Harrington vibes // also if this is bad i apologize it’s really late and i wrote this all in one without proof reading

“Remember last year when you invited Tommy and Carol over and we all got super drunk?”

Steve let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back against the bathroom wall. “God, and I broke both of my thumbs!”

You shifted your spot on the floor so you could face him better. “I still don’t know how you managed to do that, I mean Carol and I left so she could throw up and I was gone for five minutes!”

He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my god, I felt so dumb.”

When the laughter died down the only sound around you was the bass from the music playing at the party outside the room. Steve looked up from his hands, smile still wide on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just like hanging out with you.” He muttered. “I’m glad we went to this party.”

“We’ve barely been out there.” Steve laughed, and you took the opportunity to admire him. It was no secret that Steve Harrington was attractive. “I like hanging out with you too. And I’m glad we dropped Tommy and Carol.”

“God, yeah. A lot less drinking too much.” He nodded.

“A lot less throwing up in your bathroom.”

“Yeah, that’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me in a bathroom.” Steve laughed dryly, and you sucked in a breath.

Right. Nancy.

It had been about four months since they’d broken up, and you still didn’t know if he was even over her.

After a short pause, Steve stood up, holding his hand out to you.

“Wanna get back out there?” He asked, hoping to relieve the sudden tension in the room.

With a nod, you took his hand and followed him out of the bathroom. Your hands lingered for a moment once you left the cramped bathroom, before they both fell to your sides. You held back a frown at the lack of warmth in your hand, smiling up at Steve as you moved through the crowd to get to the punch.

You grabbed two cups, filling them and handing one off to Steve before moving towards the makeshift dancefloor in the living room of Stacy Thompson’s house.

“Y/N-”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” You had to raise your voice over the music, not caring to turn to see if Steve was following you. You knew he was.

By the time you reached the dancefloor, the song changed to a song you knew. Excitedly, you turned to Steve, grabbing his free hand in yours. He jumped back, raising his drink in an attempt to keep it from spilling on the expensive carpet.

“Whoa!” He says, a smile growing on his face.

“Dance with me, Steve!” You pull him towards the middle of the room, haphazardly taking a sip of your punch.

Reluctantly, he set his drink down on a nearby table and began to sway along to the music with you. You downed the rest of the punch and tossed it behind you with a grin. Steve sighed, mimicking the smile on your face as he took your other hand.

The moment was nice, and you prayed to anyone listening that nothing would ruin it.

Evidently no one was listening, because it wasn’t long before you felt cold liquid spill down the back of your shirt followed by all too familiar laughter.

“Fucking- shit!” You shrieked, reeling back and nearly falling into Steve’s arms.

“Oh, whoops. I think you got a little something-” Tommy’s smug face made you want to scream, but you stood stock still as the punch seeped into your shirt.

“Tommy, what the hell?” You don’t hear Steve get angry often, so the sternness in his voice makes your gaze snap from Tommy to him.

“It was an accident, Stevie-boy!” Tommy sneered, and you couldn’t help but notice that a couple people were staring. You suddenly regretted wanting to be in the middle of the dancefloor, sinking closer to Steve.

“I’m sure.” He muttered, placing a protective hand on your arm before stepping forward.

“What’re you gonna do Stevie, hit me? You couldn’t even take the Byers freak.” His voice was low, and you felt Steve’s grip tighten on your arm.

When he didn’t react, Tommy laughed loudly, turning to the kids around you that were paying attention.

“Would you look at that, King Steve really has turned bitch! Next thing you know your little girlfriend over here won’t be able to stand you either-” Steve’s fist connected with his face before he could say another word. You jumped back, eyes wide, barely registering that Tommy called you his girlfriend.

The world felt like it was in slow motion as you watched Tommy stumble to the ground, hand clutching his cheek. He was quick to recover, jumping back up and throwing a punch Steve’s way. You cringed, reaching out and grabbing Steve’s shirt gently to try to pull him from the fight. Tommy looked your way, his smile turning into more of a grimace.

“What, do you need your little pet to protect you from the big bad bullies of Hawkins High?” He reached for your arm, and before you could react Steve had Tommy on the ground.

“Don’t fucking call her that.” You heard before Steve threw another punch.

It didn’t take an idiot to realize Steve was clearly winning the fight, keeping Tommy on the ground as he hurled insults you didn’t care to listen to. While he wasn’t actively hurting Tommy anymore, you didn’t know how long it would be before someone like Billy would come along and decided to defend the shitbag.

“Steve!” He finally looked up when you spoke. You grabbed his arm, pulling him up onto his feet and towards the exit. He let you drag him outside of the house, only stopping in front of his car. “Jesus, Steve.” You muttered, folding your arms and sighing.

“Sorry, I uh, think I got a bit carried away there.” He kept his gaze on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets now.

“Well, thank you for defending my honor I guess.” Despite how worried you were about the growing bruise on Steve’s cheek, you cracked a smile.

“Yeah.” A ghost of a smile made its way onto Steve’s face before he fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocking his car.

When Steve started to drive back to your place, you glanced at his fist. A sigh escaped your lips as you realized you’d have to clean Steve up after recklessly getting into a fight again.

At least he won this time. You thought, remembering all too well the day Jonathan rightfully kicked his ass.

Steve put the car in park, and you looked outside to see that you were already at your house.

“Come on.” You said, getting out of the car. He gave you a strange look before complying.

“Why?” He asked as he followed you up the driveway and into your home.

“Well, someone’s gotta clean you up.” You grabbed his uninjured hand, pulling him up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Funny how we always end up here.” Steve smiles, taking a seat on the ground

“Funny how you keep getting into trouble.” You retort, grabbing the first aid kit under the sink and getting to work.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Winter prompt fill 67 for sternclay? Doesn’t have to be a wedding I just love the 2nd half of this prompt. nsfw would be great

Here you go! It is indeed NSFW

67. you were supposed to have a beautiful winter wedding but you were ditched during the vows and my idiot sibling/best friend just cracked a joke about how maybe I’d finally tell you how I feel about you and you h e a r d

“She’s not coming.” Joseph whispers over his shoulder. 

“Joe, for all we know she got hung up in a dress emergency or something?” Lily, the best woman and Joseph’s sister, squeezes his shoulder.

When the groom turns his blue eyes on Barclay, the groomsman does his best impression of someone who thinks things will be fine.

“It’s only been five minutes.”

“Her entire wedding party is here without her. And they look as confused as we do.”

Barclay spots a member of the event staff slip in a side door and hand a piece of paper to Indrid, their friend who’s acting as an usher. 

“I, ah, have some bad news.” The pale-haired man joins them at the front of the church, “it seems the bride has had a serious change of mind and will not be joining us.”

Joseph grabs the paper, reading it over as the bridal party crowds around him. The upshot of all the commotion, and the arguing that follows the commotion, is that the bride has indeed called off the wedding and is en route to an airport. 

As the family confirms she’s alright, Joseph picks up the microphone.

“Obviously this is a, um, unexpected turn of events. It’s safe to say no one is getting married today, but everything is still in order for the reception and we’re all dressed up so, um, if people want to stay and take advantage of that, you’re welcome to. You’re also welcome to leave if you want.”

Several groups break off towards the reception hall, and Barclay pulls Joseph aside. 

“Joe,  are you sure? I mean, yeah, we’re all here, but I don’t think anyone is gonna hold it against you if you want to send everyone home.”

“It’s important to be flexible.” Joseph replies blithely. Barclay knows his best friend hates when plans change and is unlikely to suddenly lose that piece of his personality at the same moment he lost his fiancee. 

“Besides, I’d hate for that menu you helped us pick out to go to waste.” There it is, the Joseph Stern Professional smile ™, a sign that Barclay’s hunch is right.

“Screw the menu, man, I’m worried about you.” Barclay sets a hand on either of his shoulders. Joseph’s gaze snaps all the way onto him, and he knows he is losing this argument. 

“It’s still my wedding, Barclay. That means I get to run it in whatever way I think best.”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” He steps back, brushes lint from his arm, “you go on ahead. I join you in a sec.”

Joseph nods, turning to stride though the room in his dark suit, while Barclay watches the love of his life walk away.

-------------------------------------

“Uh, hi, I’m Barclay. You must be Joseph?” Barclay stands in the door of the dorm room, his backpack in his arms. 

“Yes. Um, nice to meet you.” The other guy stands, black hair and well-fitting X-Files shirt making him look like Agent Mulder on his day off.

“I didn’t choose a side yet, it seemed fair to wait until we were both here. I’m partial to the left but that’s more habit than anything else.”

“I’m cool with that. I, uh, I don’t have a ton of stuff to unpack so, uh if you need help let me know.”

“Thank you.” Joseph smiles, taking his face from cute to heart-stoppingly handsome, and Barclay decides he hit the roommate jackpot.

Barclay didn’t fall for Joe so much as cliffdive, throwing himself after the feeling he got whenever Joe laughed at a joke or told him a secret or talked for fifteen minutes about the methodology flaws in Ghost Hunters. Yes, Joe was hotter than convection oven and Barclay wanted to fuck him on the floor of every space they ever lived in, but more than that Barclay was so happy with him, and his friend felt the same way. 

The problem was, Barclay had a shy streak and was far from the only person to see Joe as a catch. And so they dated other people, sometimes happily and sometimes not, but never each other. By the time Joe met Iris, Barclay’s unrequited love had been thrumming in him so long it was no more than background noise. So when Joe ran proposal ideas by him, announced the weddings, asked Barclay to stand up with him, Barclay felt genuine happiness for him and the woman he loved. There’s no rule that says one cannot feel joy and knife-in-the-gut sorrow at the same time.

He’s only gotten better with age he thinks as Joe works the room, fielding condolences with ease. Barclay helped him choose the suit, black with blue lines in the stitching, because it flattered  but did not flaunt the well-maintained figure beneath. The last time Barclay saw him in just his underwear was when they lived together after college, and he fumbled his phone when he saw him at the beach last summer. He can picture it so clearly, what that body looks like under those clothes, and it makes him want to scream

“This whole day has been full of surprises.” Indrid sits down next to him, glass of soda in hand. 

“Kinda figured you and Duck would head home.”

“Most of  our friends are here, and the food looks good. Not to mention we’re both worried about-” Indrid nods towards Joseph.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I admire his holding it together but, like, what if Duck had left you at the altar?”

“I’d have turned into a hideous red-eyed monster and flapped screeching into the night.”

“......”

“That was a joke.” Indrid grins. 

“Right. Man, hard to tell with you sometimes.”

“While this is an upsetting situation, there is a bright side; maybe now you will finally tell Joseph how you feel.”

A crash makes them both turn in their seats; Joseph is wiping his dropped (plastic) cup up with a nearby napkin, well within earshot. 

“Indrid I swear if he heard-”

“Oh, I am certain he did.”

“Dude” Barclay hisses as Joseph steals an unreadable glance at him. 

“For goodness sake, you two are a good pair. A pair you’ve been dreaming about for years. Tell him.” With that the other man stands, leaving Barclay alone with his thoughts. His thoughts are no help, so he joins Indrid, Duck, Aubrey, and Dani for some cake.

As the venue finally empties, he realizes he hasn’t seen Joe in an hour and panics until he finds him standing (swaying, really) in the staging room. 

“You, hic, know, hic, this explains, hic, why she didn’t want to move until hic, after the wedding.”

“Seems like it’s for the best, going home to a place where all her stuff is would fucking suck.” Barclay puts an arm around him only for the shorter man to slump most of his weight into his chest.

“The hotel’s paid for, and I have a week hic of vacation and a packed car.”

“You’re not driving anywhere. I can and will lock you in a closet if you try.”

“Or you could, hic, come with me.”

“On your honeymoon?” Thank god Joe is too drunk to notice his voice creeping up.

“On my it’s this or be miserable t home trip. Please, Barclay? We can hic, swing by your place to get your stuff.”

Barclay says yes. Purely to help a friend in need and not because of how said friend feels pressed up against him.

They’re an hour out of the city when Joseph fumbles with his phone, “Change of plans, were going here instead of the hotel?”

“I thought the whole point was the hotel was paid for?”

“It is, by her family, so fuck it. I’ve always wanted to go here and it’s the kind of place she’d never let us stay.”

They take the next exit and find the highway North rather than East. By the time they reach the massive pink building with an airplane in the field out front, snow is falling and Joe is half-asleep, mumbling “okay” when Barclay says he’ll go get them a room. The clerk welcomes him, shows him a list of available rooms, and he notices a high number of them have heart-shaped bed, “tubs for two,” and the word “fantasy” in the name. 

Just as he’s wondering what the fuck Joe’s gotten them into, he spots the perfect room at the bottom of the list. 

“Got a surprise for you.” He helps Joe from the car and unlocks the door. His friend takes in the silver and green decor, the posters, and the UFO-shaped bed. 

“This is the exact one I was hoping for.”

“I know, you giant nerd.”

“Be nice, big guy, or you’re sleeping on the couch.” Joe stumbles to the bed and starts stripping, at which point Barclay zips back outside to get their bags. By the time he’s back, Joe is under the covers and out cold. The king bed does look comfy…

Barclay sleeps on the couch. 

-------------------------------------------------

Joe remains dead to the world until almost noon the next day, so Barclay works on his cookbook edits and sends yet another thank-you email to Mama for letting him take his vacation with such little notice. He grabs breakfast, including a sandwich for when Joe wakes up and some aspirin to go with his coffee. 

“I hate myself.”

“Good morning to you too.”

Joe rolls over, dragging the pillow atop his head, “I didn’t mean to get so drunk, it’s just the only way I could get through all those conversations yesterday was to take a drink every time I felt like crumbling.”

Barclay sits on the bed, petting his head, “It’s okay, man, getting me to drive you to a weird sex hotel is not the worst thing you’ve done drunk.”

“I threw up in a mixer one time.”

“And I’ll never forgive you for it.” He laughs when Joe whacks him with a pillow. In the silence that follows, he remembers Indrid’s comment, and wonders if Joe does too. 

“...Is this really a sex hotel? I just thought it was kitsch aimed at couples”

“Go look at the tub.”

Joe groans, stepping out of bed in just his--god help him--silk boxer briefs. They must have been under the suit. 

“Are these...they are, there are handcuffs hanging by the tub. Well, weird as that is, I’m taking a bath.”

The day goes in an oddly non-awkward direction after that. They’ve lived together often enough that getting dressed and clean in close quarters is nothing new. Joe votes for hiding from the world  bit longer, so they settle in on the very squishy bed and watch a silver plated T.V, Joe laughing whenever Barclay yells at cooking shows they way other people yell at football games. 

He still sleeps on the couch that night. 

The next day Joe is up bright and early, suggesting they drive to a nearby tourist trap, using his phone to pick out a breakfast place that serves Barclays favorite local coffee blend. They follow that same process the next two days; find some strange roadside attraction or nearby bookstore, eat, and return back to the motel to lay side by side on the bed and to read or watch T.V.

It’s as they’re wandering around a strange, knock-off Carhenge that Joe sighs, “I sort of saw it coming, you know? Iris leaving. I proposed because I cared about her, but she was the one who brought it up, and every time we were visiting her family or she got off the phone with them, she’d bring it up more forcefully. I think she was under more pressure to settle down than I grasped. If our places were switched, I might have run too. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to marry me.”

Barclay crunches to a stop in the snow “Why the fuck not?” 

“Because I’m exactly the kind of guy you’d want to bring home to your family but not spend your life with. My job has weird hours and travel, my non-work clothes have cryptids on them, I can be too particular, and I’m not that exciting for someone whose job is special agent-”

“No, fuck that, you’re a catch.”

“You’re just used to me, big guy. Your objectivity is in question.”

“Yeah, well, you’re even more used to you, so I’m really the more objective one here.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” Joe stares at his footprints, then elbows the cook, “come on, lets go get lunch.”

Barclay is still full and happy, having warmed up via a soak in the tub (where he thought of four different ways to use the cuffs and then had to calm down his cock enough to get out), when he comes into the main room and finds Joe staring at his phone. 

“Oh shit, did she get in touch?”

“Yes. Iris, um, is on a cruise ship. As a yoga instructor. She says it’s something she’s dreamed of for years, that she’s sorry for hurting me, but that marrying me would have been a step in a life she did not want to lead. So. That’s that.” He puts the phone face down, cards his fingers through his hair, “Lord almighty I wish she’d just said no when I asked.”

“Me too.” Barclay imagines a different past, where Joe asked him instead, where he said yes because it’s what he’s been dreaming of since he was twenty-two. Where Joe is sitting in front of him, not sad-eyed and tired, but happy as can be. 

---------------------------------------------

This hangover is somehow worse than the one the morning after his non-wedding. Then again, he drank more in a shorter period, hoping to drown out the memory of the words on the screen. 

Or the words he overheard at the reception.

“Tell him how you really feel”

He’s had his suspicions about Barclay from time to time, most frequently when they were younger and he felt those deep brown eyes on his ass every time he turned around. But Barclay never took a chance; there were times after break-ups when Joe is certain anyone who was interested would have taken advantage of him being vulnerable and available, but instead Barclay cheered him up, the same way Joe did when Barclay’s relationships ended. Stern concluded neither of them wanted more. 

He would have taken more in an instant. His love for Barclay walked the line between romantic and platonic, and he would have crossed it the moment Barclay asked him to.

Now, he’s bathing with his eyes shut because any light is murder on his skull, his best friend waking up on the couch where he’s insisted on staying because clearly Joe’s lost his appeal. Who’d want to sleep with someone who got roaring drunk and needed babysitting?

He pops aspirin, drinks water, and lays down with his sleep mask over his eyes. Barclay moves around the room, talking softly in that gentle baritone that, not for the first time, makes Stern wonder what he sounds like when he cums. 

“You want me to run and grab breakfast?”

“No, I can get it for both of us. Lord knows you’ve done enough for me this week.”

“You gonna go downstairs blindfolded?”

“For you, I’ll risk a headache OW, owow.” His back locks up just as he tries to sit upright.

The bed sags, “Holy shit man, you’ve got a huge knot right here.”

“My back always does that when I’m stressed, it’ll be fine.”

“Nuhuh, lay down and let me see if I can get it out.” Barclay nudges him onto his stomach and he flops willingly, mask still on. 

“You don’t need to Ohhhhhhhhhnnn, I forget about those bakers hands.”

“Gonna knead you like dough, babe.”

Stern blushes at the name; he was always a little jealous when his friend called his boyfriends that. 

When thumbs pass below his shoulder-blades he moans, arches at the second of pain, “That’s it, that’s the epicenter.”

He can’t stop sighing as Barclay runs his hands over him, can’t stop wiggling his hips at every burst of relief. He pushes his ass up without meaning too, and a bitten-back whine reaches him. 

Fuck it. Even if he’s about to make a huge mistake, he wont have to look Barclay in the eyes.

“What did Indrid mean? At the reception.”

“Uh.” Barclay’s hands still, “uh. That I was worried about you.”

“Try again.” He grinds his ass back deliberately. 

“Joe, please, I’m hanging on by a fucking thread here. You’re underneath me shirtless and I am not gonna do this a dumb way.”

“Do what?”

“Tell you that, that I, no nope, I’m gonna do this back home, at the Lodge or something, make you dinner first and be all romantic so that you don’t think I’m talking with my dick when I say I love you.”

Barclay’s whole body tenses. Joe flips onto his back, regrets the sudden movement, and lifts his sleep mask. He takes one of his frozen hands from the air.

“I love you too.”

“Really?” Barclay sounds like a teenager whose crush just said yes to prom.

“Really. And I don’t think it’s just your dick talking. Although if you wanted to bring it into the equation I wouldn’t mind.” He sends a pointed stare at the half-hard shape under worn denim.

Barclay’s breathing is picking up, his posture trapped between movements. 

“Do you, um, do you want to kiss?”

His friend drops down in reply, smashing their lips together and parting his own imploringly until Stern slips his tongue between them. His big hands cup Stern’s face and his hips grind like he thinks his parents will be home any minute. 

“I love you, I love you so fucking much, Joe, ohgod, babe, please, please let me be good to you” the kisses on his face and neck are messy and the sweetest sensation he’s ever felt. 

“Barclay, you’ve always been good to me.”

“I meant this” he drags their dicks together, “kind of good.”

“Ohlord, yes okay, good point. Get your clothes off and bring me the purple bag that’s in my suitcase.”

Barclay grabs the bag, upends it and sends several sex toys, his strap-on underwear, and lots of condoms onto the bed, undresses as Stern sets one of the toys into the harness. 

“I need to put this back on.” He lowers the mask and hears a soft whine.

“I like seeing your eyes.”

“You’ll see them plenty, big guy, I promise. Now, open yourself up, please.”

“Oh hell yes.” A rip of foil, a pop of lube, and then Barclay straddles him, grunting delightfully. 

“Tell me when you get to three, that should be enough for this toy.”

Pre-cum drips just above the waistband of the underwear, and he gets a thrill remembering the few times he’d caught an accidental glimpse of Barclay’s dick. It’s big, that much he knows, and he’s going to have a lot of fun with it once he’s done reducing the man above him to tears. 

“T-three, babe.”

“Get my dick wet and then get to it.”

When he gets the gasp that tells him the toy is in, he smile and reaches to the underside of the base, “Remember that new dick I was excited about?”

“The vibrating one? OHFUCK, fuckyeahbabe” Barclay jerks and moans, his movements erratic even as he sinks all the way down. Stern echoes him, the pressure of the other man’s body makes the vibrations hit all the right spots. 

“Here’s how this is going to work, big guy; I’m going to get off while I fuck you, and if you can hold off on coming until I’m done, I’ll let you fuck me.”

“God yeah, Joe, fuck me, please.” 

He thrusts up and there’s a thud of Barclay’s hands hitting the headboard. The movement is rough on his stomach but he doesn’t care, grabs hold of thick thighs and fucks him, the other man working his hips in an attempt at rhythm.

The mask catches on a pillow, letting him see Barclay from the neck down. Lord, he looks good like this, big (Stern’s always loved how big he is), letting out the most appealing grunts and growls, dark hair covering most of his softly muscled body…

Wait a minute. 

He claps a hand over his mouth, laughing. 

“Whats, aAAhnnn, what’s so funny babe?”

“Remember when you found that Sasquatch dildo and bigfoot romance novel in my stuff?”

“Hard to forget.”

“I just discovered the source of the fantasy.”

“Are, are you saying I look like bigfoot when I fuck?” Barclay is shaking with laughter. 

“Kind of?”

“I’m putting that on a sign in my den.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late AHHhhnnnfuck, fuck, baby, pleasepleaseplease say you’re close.”

“Why? In a hurry to fuck me?”

“After ten fucking years? Yes.”

He focuses on rubbing off on the toy, holding Barclay in place to keep it at the right angle, orgasm building sudden and swift when he works his hips just right and Barclay starts whimpering.

“Shit” he bites out as it ripples through him, aftershocks jerking his hips and making them both groan. 

Barclay climbs off and he wiggles the underwear off and kicks them off the bed. 

“Okay, big guy, now you can fuck meSHIT, lordalmighty you  feel good.”

“Fucking knew it would, knew you were fucking made for me Joe, fuck you’re incredible.” The hand that’s not balancing him on the mattress is shoving Sterns left out and up so he can drive deeper, shaking the walls on each thrust. Stern wonders if there’s a way recreate ten years of pent up desire so that Barclay will fuck him with this same furious affection every night of his life.

He’s limp post-orgasm, happy to let Barclay manhandle him to his hearts content. When the other man sits up, dragging his hips into his lap, he moans louder than he had in years. 

“That’s it babe, lemme hear how good it is, fuck, no one’s ever looked this good taking my dick, c’mon, take it all the way, take me all the way while I cum in you.”

“Ohlord.” his toes curl weakly as bucks into him faster and faster.

“Fucking years, years I’ve wanted cum in whatever hole you’d give me, now I’m gonna and you’re gonna feel it for weeks, fuck, babe, that’s it, ohhhnn Joe, Joe” there’s a final growl as Barclay holds his legs open, the last jolts of his orgasm making his fingers dig into his skin. 

As he’s coming down and pulling out, Stern slips off the mask, blinking at the sight before him. Barclay, flushed and slick with sweat, staring at him like he’s a prize he’d never thought he’d see.

“Barclay?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you be my boyfriend?” He winces at how childish it sounds. A week ago he had a fiancee, for gods sake. 

“Yeah, hell yes, wait, Joe, you just got out of an engagement. You, you sure you don’t want some time alone or to, like, explore other options?”

Stern crawls over to him, beard scratching his palm when he turns his cheek, “Barclay, I’ve always been one step away from falling in love with you, and it turns out this was the step. I trust you, I get along better with you than anyone else, and apparently we work well in bed. If, um, if you don’t want this, if it’s too late, I understand. But if you want to be together, I want that too.”

Barclay blinks. Then he blinks again. And then he’s crying and Stern pulls him into the hug.

“Oh lord, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Joe, don’t apologize. I’m so fucking happy, I’ve wanted to hear this for so long it’s just” a shaky breath, “just didn’t expect it to hit so hard. I love you, Joseph, and nothing would make me happier than being your boyfriend.”

They stay like that for awhile, talking in confessions and professions of feelings. Then Joe kisses him, and pulls him towards the bathroom to clean up (and maybe use those cuffs) before heading out to lunch.

----------------------------------------

Indrid opens the message on his phone, smiles, and texts four words in reply. 

I told you so

[raleighcarrera]

lonely

ride or die | colt kaneko x mc (ellie wheeler)

he never expected to have to do any of this by himself. 

for @choicesoctoberchallenge2020 day 18 (lost)

tags: @choicesarehard ; @lovehugsandcandy ; @pixeljazzy ; @beccadavenport ; @zigtheeortega

~3.5k words | T

the reality is that being king of los angeles isn’t easy. it’s hard work -- late hours and long nights spent doing things he isn’t proud of and things he is kind of proud of but knows he shouldn’t be.

for as long as he could remember, colt knew he’d take over the operation, one day. kaneko autobody had been in his family for generations and the job was in his blood; he expected to step into the legacy his father left behind and have it fit like a glove.

he never thought it would feel like it actually does, exhausting and unfamiliar and weighty all at once. 

he never thought it’d all fall into his lap so suddenly. and as things started to shift around him, falling apart and reforming into strange pieces with jagged edges -- things he’d always wanted but presented in a way he never thought he’d have to receive them -- colt had started to assume that he wouldn’t have to handle it all alone.

but that was his mistake. he probably should have known better than to ever get his hopes up.

maybe his dad was right, and he wasn’t cut out for this. no matter how hard he tried to be as ruthless as possible, he couldn’t stop that soft spot he tried to repress from aching whenever he thought about her. he couldn’t help but to feel lonely -- to want.

as dumb as it probably was, he’d expected her to be by his side. and maybe it hurt so badly not to have ellie there because he knew better -- she was a tourist, after all. she was never going to hang back with the crew and let him ruin her life. whatever was going on between them had always had an expiration date.

but that part of him he couldn’t switch off had grown hopeful that things would be different.

not that he’d ever said as much to ellie. and she’d left, anyway, so it wasn’t like it mattered, anymore. 

she hadn’t even hesitated. she never looked back.

if it had been anyone else, he would have written them off instantly. there were plenty of people that were completely dead to colt for a variety of reasons, some minor and some catastrophic. he’d taken revenge more times than he could count on people who’d done a lot less than what ellie had.

so why couldn’t he force himself to forget about her?

why couldn’t he stop himself from thinking -- wondering -- hoping? when was it going to end?

it should have been easy to turn on her. they barely knew each other. he was a fucking idiot for thinking he loved her after spending a couple of months working together, he knew that much. the dumbest part of it all was how he thought she’d meant it when she’d said those three ridiculous words back to him.

none of it mattered, in the end -- the cars they’d stolen, everything they’d pulled off together, the magic they’d made. she’d still turned right around and left. 

maybe it would be easier to let her go if she didn’t insist on worming her way back into his life whenever she got the chance.

ellie’s freshman year flew by in a blink. she didn’t come home for thanksgiving, or christmas, and he put his head down and worked until he was exhausted -- until he’d fulfilled his promise to his dad’s memory and channeled his unbridled anger into the destruction he’d rightfully assumed would feel so satisfying to finally have.

the only hollow note was not being able to share it with her, for all she’d been through, too.

but she probably didn’t care about any of it as much as he did. she’d probably long forgotten her wild senior year in favor of an exciting new place to be and interesting new people to meet, people who had shit in common with her -- not real shit, like he did, but stupid, make-believe shit that she pretended to care about because she thought she had to, like her class rank or independent films. 

still -- she came home for the summer. and the shop was the first place she went when she got back.

he knew because he saw her car approach from the window, the backseat packed with her things. they’d had a screaming match that practically shook the block, that day, and an even more explosive fuck in the new break room, and then...

radio silence. for an entire summer.

and just when he’d started to have a prayer of forgetting about her, there she was again: winter break, sophomore year. no text to warn him ahead of time -- just ellie, at two o’clock in the morning on the wrong side of town, fresh off a delayed flight from the east coast and so tired she fell asleep as soon as he brought her up to the loft, before either of them could get their clothes off.

he still remembers the way she’d looked in his bed, her cheek mashed into his pillow with only the light from the city illuminating her beautiful face through the windows. 

and the way she snuck out in the morning, while he kept his eyes closed and pretended to sleep through it.

then there was spring break, and the night before she’d flown back to new york, when they’d stayed up all night talking about everything and nothing. he’d been an even bigger idiot, then, letting her so far in -- just a little bit more every time she came back.

the summer after her sophomore year he’d even told her he loved her again.

the answer she gave will never not be permanently seared into his brain.

i love you, too.

but that doesn’t change anything.

probably the most annoying part of it all is that she was right. it didn’t change anything.

the summer still ended, and ellie still left. 

pretty soon it’ll be time for winter break again, but for now she’s back at school and he’s home in LA and doing everything he possibly can to distract himself or take his mind off of her, but it doesn’t work and he’s alone when he never fucking expected to be and while there’s a lot of good that comes with suddenly wielding so much power, most of the time he just feels lost.

without her visits to tell the seasons by he knows he’d be drifting. work can only do so much to anchor him, and while he feels markedly better and more comfortable when he’s barking orders or fleshing out the finer details of a plan that’s going to make him a lot of money and even more notoriety, ellie’s always there, in the back of his mind.

okay, sometimes she’s in the forefront.

fine, most of the time she’s his every fucking thought. is that such a crime?

sometimes he hears her voice so clearly he’d swear she was there with him, another ghost haunting the shop he’ll never be able to knock out of his own head.

in between trying to forget about her, there’s alcohol and other girls and a lot of disregard for his own safety -- a lot of big risks, plans that are so dangerous and tough to pull off she’d never green light them, if she were here.

but she’s not. so there’s no one to stop him.

and he starts to resent her, just a little bit. it’s one of those things he isn’t exactly proud of, but it’s pretty much impossible not to, with the way she won’t just leave him alone and disappear completely so he can act like he never met her in the first place.

doesn’t she owe him that much, after everything? 

evidently not, as far as ellie’s concerned. 

she drops by the shop on a random tuesday and really rattles him -- it’s october, so there’s no reason for her to be on the west coast at all. he hasn’t prepared for this, like he has every december for the last few years, every mid-march and late may. 

just seeing her is equal parts exhausting, exhilarating and infuriating. his chest does something funny as his body tries to decide whether he’s annoyed or thrilled. 

he stares off after her as she breezes past him, dropping her bag by the door.

she offers up no explanation for her visit, but that’s par for the course, with ellie. ever since she started coming around again, she seems to just assume he knows what she’s doing here, like he can read her fucking mind or something.

well, he can’t. he shuts the door behind her just as his body settles on one reaction. annoyed it is, then. “why are you here?”

ellie purses her lips, like just the question’s bothering her. “um, i wanted to see you?” the way her voice lifts at the end implies she thinks it should be obvious.

well, it isn’t. “shouldn’t you be at school?”

she twists the cap back on the gatorade she’s stolen out of the break room fridge and shrugs at him. “probably.” straight, white teeth bite at her full bottom lip. “can we go upstairs?”

“no.” the word’s past his lips before he even realizes that’s how he planned on answering. colt blinks, ellie’s look of surprise surely mirrored on his own face. 

“what?” she asks, and something about how stunned she seems emboldens him to double down.

“no,” colt repeats, folding his arms over his chest. there was once a time where noticing the way ellie’s eyes tracked the shifting of his shirt was exciting -- something that made him smug. now it just feels wrong, like another thing he wanted that life is giving to him in the worst way possible. “we can’t. you should go home.”

that really throws her for a loop. she stands up a little straighter. “home? why?”

she has some nerve, acting like she hasn’t been scrambling his brain for the last two and a half years. how can she not know? “because i’m sick of this, ellie. i’m not doing it anymore.”

he watches her eyes narrow with a sick sense of excitement. this is the part that’s familiar -- the argument. they’ve always been good at this. “and what exactly is it that you think we’re doing?”

“we’re not doing anything, anymore. i’m the one who’s been letting you jerk me around, but it’s over. go back to school. get your degree. lose my number. stop fucking bothering me.”

“so now i’m bothering you?” she asks, her glare so bright it’s a struggle not to avert his eyes. but he doesn’t; colt squares his shoulders and holds her gaze, keeping the expression on his face even.

“not only now,” he answers, feeling a little more like himself with every minute that ticks by. this is where she should be -- at an arm’s length, on the outside of his attitude. he should’ve never let her get close enough to force her way past it in the first place. “pretty much all year.”

it’s not like he hasn’t been dodging her text messages; he has. ellie doesn’t reach out often, but every time she does it’s another punch to the gut, something he has to physically force himself not to respond to. no amount of work can distract from the magnetic pull of his cell phone when there’s an unread text from her waiting.

it’s never what he wants to hear, though. it’s always something inconsequential, a stupid hiiiii or a worthless photo of new york. 

he fantasizes often about the text he’d actually enjoy opening, reading and responding to, but it never comes. so he makes more work for himself and keeps his head down and tries, so fucking hard, not to think about her.

he tries and tries and it’s all for nothing, because she shows up and effortlessly sets his progress back without any effort at all.

“well if that’s how you feel, then don’t do me any favors,” she snaps, but makes no move to storm off back to the front of the shop where her bag and the door are waiting. 

“fine,” he answers, sweeping his arm out wide as if to say be my fucking guest, “get out of my hair, ellie. go waste someone else’s time.”

“god, will you get over yourself? like you don’t know how much i hate being away from you --”

“stop it.” colt blinks, surprised by the way his own voice sounds. even through all he’s done -- the stuff he’s proud of and the stuff he knows he shouldn’t be proud of but still is -- he’s never heard himself sound like this, before. “don’t start that shit with me.”

“why? too afraid you might feel something?” she turns her cheek on him, shaking her head. “i don’t know why i even bother.”

“what the fuck are you talking about? you’re the one who’s always hot and cold.” the one who won’t stick around. the one who runs from him like he’s contagious.

“because i hate hurting you,” ellie answers, so passionately it startles him quiet. “i know that saying -- that all of it just makes it worse when i go back. i know that, okay? but i can’t -- i have to finish school, colt.”

“then go to school.” something about finally saying it feels so freeing, lifting a heavy weight off his shoulders -- one he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying around. “you made your choice, so make it. leave me alone.”

ellie’s eyes start to shine; he forces his gaze away. that’s not fucking fair. she doesn’t get to cry -- not now. not after everything. she can’t just come in here and make that upset face and make him feel so fucking bad it’s nauseating -- she doesn’t get to do this to him.

“it’s not easy for me.” her voice is quiet, each word tight with emotion. he glares at the wall behind her. she’s not going to start crying and get him to relent. this argument is long overdue.

...that soft spot he has for her aches like a bruise.

damnit.

“colt?”

the hesitation in her tone pokes at it relentlessly. his stomach turns over as he realizes how unsure she sounds; she really thinks she isn’t welcome here, anymore.

“please don’t --” god fucking damnit. her voice is wavering, thick with tears he can see even without looking at her. “don’t be mad at me. i’m sorry, okay? i don’t mean to -- to hurt your feelings, and -- i’ve tried to avoid you, but. it’s not easy, colt. it’s so hard and i miss you so much and this is the only place i feel like myself and it’s like -- you’re the only person i know how to talk to and i want to be able to get over you, i do, and i know you want that too, but -- but --”

“ellie.” he sighs heavily, pressing his fingers into his eyes until he’s seeing stars, “don’t --”

too late. she lets out an audible sob that’s so loud it makes him wince, and then look around for an escape route, and then it ultimately weakens the last of his resolve until his feet propel him forward, shuffling against the cement floor to close the distance between them. “jesus christ, just stop it. come here.”

she falls heavily against his chest, and the part of him that’s been mentally counting down the days to her winter break seizes up happily despite himself; colt tucks his chin over her head and wraps his arms around her and forgets, for a moment, why this is such an awful idea.

he forgets about everything, actually, except for her.

then ellie’s sniffles taper off and the moment ends and he realizes what a gigantic fucking idiot he is for letting her snot up his shirt when he’s the one who’s constantly having his life ruined, who’s rightfully annoyed. colt pulls her back gently with his hands at her shoulders, holding her at both a literal and emotional arm’s length.

“what’re you even doing here? it’s the middle of the semester.”

her eyes are still glassy, the expression on her face pained. “i wanted to see you.”

something in his brain short circuits, giving up on trying to process her answer entirely. 

out of all the million-and-one reasons she could have to be back in los angeles in the middle of the semester -- her dad had a heart attack, langston decided to close its campus, she worked so hard she was graduating a year early -- there was never a single part of him that had anticipated that answer.

and he has no idea what he’s supposed to say back.

especially not with her so close it’s taking everything he has not to pull her back into his arms and drag her upstairs.

that’s what she does to him. she makes it so he doesn’t know which way is up, so that he’s so confused and torn up his stomach is in knots all day, so that he’s so lost he isn’t even sure what he wants anymore when he finally has everything he’d ever planned for and can’t even fucking enjoy it because it turns out there’s no point in being king of anything without her in the seat she was made for.

“you flew all the way back here for what?” he asks, an edge to his voice that’s familiar but that he’s never used on her before. “an argument?”

ellie shakes her head. his annoyance worsens.

“a fuck?”

“no.” one delicate, charm-bracelet adorned wrist lifts to rub at her eyes. “i just wanted to see you. that’s all.” he stares at the line of her throat when she swallows. “i used my airline miles.”

christ. it’d be helpful if his brain would finish rebooting and finally come back online. “how long are you in town for?”

she sniffs. “two days.”

and then, the elephant in the room: “does your dad know?”

her hesitation would be enough of an answer on its own, but she still says, “no. just you.”

just you. his brain feels like swiss cheese.

colt stares at her for so long she starts fidgeting. there’s a lot they could talk about in two days. forget talking, actually -- a lot they could do. a lot of ways he could convince her to rethink this east coast thing, one more time...

but he knows he’s getting carried away again. he knows he shouldn’t be so hopeful, when ellie’s only ever disappointed him. just because she’s as lonely as he is doesn’t mean anything is going to change. 

“this is the last time,” he lies, as the silence stretching between them starts to grow awkward. his own heavy swallow doesn’t stop his voice from shaking. “i mean it.”

“okay.” ellie’s voice is so small. it feels wrong.

but there’s nothing wrong about having her all to himself for the next forty-eight hours. that -- this -- ellie showing up on his doorstep after a spontaneous flight home just to see him -- feels like a fantasy made reality, a dream he shouldn’t be allowed to indulge in.

there’s nothing wrong about the way his hand links through hers to lead her upstairs, where she belongs. 

it all seems perfect when she unpacks her duffel and mixes her t-shirts in with his on the loft floor. 

every minute of mental torture he’s experienced over the last three years is worth it, just to be able to fall asleep with her two nights in a row. 

it’s a beautiful lie. of course he’s not going to turn it down.

he knows it’ll be worse when she leaves this time than it ever has been -- that he’ll have to watch her disappear down the block and find a way to work on something for six hours straight to keep his mind off her flight back, that he’ll do his best not to keep his phone nearby all night in the hopes that he’ll hear from her but ultimately fail, that the stupid soft spot he’s cultivating for her that won’t go away will spread and worsen in the immediate aftermath of having her here and getting to play house, even if only for a few days.

on monday, he’s going to feel more lost than ever. this alternate reality will fade back into one of his too-hopeful dreams, so he might as well enjoy the quiet that being with ellie brings, for now -- the way having her voice with him in real life silences the ellie he hears in his head, and eclipses some of his longing loneliness with pure warmth and purpose, making a few days spent with her the most worthwhile thing he can think of to put his time into.

even if it doesn’t change anything.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die

TITLE: Many More To Die

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: For over a thousand years, necromancy has been forbidden in the Kingdoms, the Necromata--its practitioners--feared, reviled, and punished for a power they never asked to wield. Those Necromata who are not killed in the cradle are taken from their families, stripped of their Name--the core of identity and memory--and imprisoned for the rest of their lives.

Logan was twelve when he entered the palace dungeons. Prince Roman was fourteen when he witnessed the young necromancer being brutalized, imprisoned, and left to suffer.

Roman only wanted to offer the other boy comfort, and perhaps a scrap of dignity. He didn't realize his kindness would follow both of them into adulthood--or that Logan would one day become the only person in all the realms that Roman would be able to trust with his life, his heart, and his very soul.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more...hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1023, A.A.

Necromata.

Sitting in the middle of his cell, twelve year old Logan...Logan choked on tears as his shoulder screamed, his bones ached, and the flickering lights of his cell let his imagination run wild with all manner of monsters and omens of doom lurking within every shadow.

He knew he was lucky—many necromancers were caught in the cradle and killed. Very few survived as long as he had. He could be grateful to his family for that much, that he'd lived long enough to escape a death sentence.

He did have a family. He knew that much—remembered that much. Everything else, they had taken before throwing him into his cell. The prison mage's hand was still a ghost of cold fire against his forehead, worms of icy coal burning through his brain to wipe out every trace of the things that would make him what he was, allow him to be more safely contained.

The name spoken with fear and loathing was all that he had left.

Necromata. The legions of the Animator...the necromancers.

“Psst!”

The hiss echoed off the stone in the corridor, made his heart leap into his chest as he looked around for the source of it.

“Psst! Over here!”

Logan tried to scramble back from the door of his cell, and screamed when he forgot about his dislocated shoulder, collapsing as it gave way under his weight.

“No, don't—please, it's okay. I don't want to hurt you.”

Blinking, Logan squinted into the low light beyond the torches that barely lit his new home. Something bright green flickered there, an outline visible that was vaguely person-shaped.

“Who...who are you?” he asked, curling his injured arm as close to his body as he could so he wouldn't forget again as he got to his feet.

“I...I'm not supposed to say.”

Logan shuffled a little closer to the bars of his cell. “Then how do I know you don't want to hurt me?”

“The prison mage took your Name—you won't understand if I tell you. Just...”

The person-shape on the other side of the bars moved forward, an arm protruding through to set a bowl on the dirt floor of Logan's cell. Inside there was water, and sitting across the rim was a heavy piece of leather.

“I saw what the guard did when you came in. Your shoulder...it happened to me once when I snuck out to hunt for the Lazari.”

“The Lazari don't exist.” Logan replied, reaching up with his good hand to try and wipe some of the tears and snot off his face. “They're a fairy tale, like the Animata.”

“How do you know?”

Logan opened his mouth...then closed it after long moments.

“I...I don't know.” he admitted. “I must have lost it when the prison mage took my Name.”

“Then you could be wrong.” the person-shape insisted, those emerald flecks in the near shadow sparkling with determination. “I'll find a Lazari one day. Just you wait.”

“What does that have to do with my dislocated shoulder?”

“Oh! Sorry—uhm, I did it once. When I snuck out, I fell from a tree and mine popped out. My brother showed me how to use the bars on our window to pop it back in! I threw up, though—and he made me bite a belt so I wouldn't scream.”

The hand appeared between the bars again, nudging the bowl and the leather strap forward a little further.

“I can tell you how to do it.”

Logan shuffled forward a couple more steps, then shifted to kneel in front of the bowl of water.

“I...might know.” He replied, staring at the bowl for a long moment before he peered back into the dark, into the green spark that was his benefactor's eyes. “Thank you.”

The person-shape said nothing for a long moment...

“Berry.”

“What?”

“Berry! The guards called you Logan, right? They took your Name—maybe Berry can be your new one.”

Before Logan could comment, the person-shape grew less distinct, and the flicker of green was gone with the clatter of footsteps scurrying away into the dark.

It was a silly idea—a Name taken could not be restored so easily. Still, the word rattled around in his head along with the one that made his bones ache again.

Necromata. Berry. Necromata. Berry. Berry.

Logan Berry.

Something stirred in the middle of Logan's mind, in his marrow—in the place that magic had scoured out and rubbed raw within the pathways of his brain. Something stirred, settled...

Something slid into place, and all of a sudden the shadows were far less frightening.

Popping his shoulder back into the socket hurt far more than dislocating it had—and yet while he'd sobbed his soul out after being injured, after being robbed of all that made him a person, he shed not a single tear as he put the leather between his teeth, wrenched his joint back into place, and used the fresh water to clean up after he'd emptied his stomach into the corner of his cell.

He even managed to sleep on his pallet of straw, and dreamed of green embers in the dark, drifting into the shadows in his cell and transforming every monster into a friend.

**********

1033, A.A.

“I had the dream again.”

“A kinky one?”

“Sweet leaping gods, Remus!”

The high, strident cackle of his twin brother echoed through Prince Roman's bedchamber, making him wonder yet again why he thought he could talk to the crazy idiot about anything remotely meaningful. Yes, Remus was trustworthy—he gave Roman all manner of hell for the secrets he shared, but had suffered his fair share of indignities to keep his mouth shut—but sometimes he wondered if it was worth the teasing and the laughter to have such a steadfast confidant.

Remus had secrets of his own, after all—the numerous Anima that shared his bed, for one. Like Roman, Remus was fascinated by the Necromata, the true necromancers that all citizens of the Kingdoms were taught to hate and fear. The Anima were little more than pretenders, mages of other disciplines that toyed with the death magic that had been outlawed for over a thousand years.

Still, they had a lot to teach—and made good company, from the way Remus spoke of his dalliances.

“Oh, I'm just yanking your chain, big brother!” Remus assured him, crossing over to drape himself over Roman's back, chin settling on Roman's shoulder to read what his twin was writing as he hunched over his desk. “C'mon now—tell me about the dream, and I'll tell you about the Necromata I fucked last night.”

Roman straightened abruptly at that, unceremoniously sending Remus sprawling to the floor. Turning his chair, he gaped down at his brother and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“You did not sleep with a real necromancer, you lying sack of horse dung!” he hissed. “Why would you even say that in the palace of all places?!?”

“Because the sex was unbelievably good?” Remus offered, shrugging from his place on the floor, flat on his back. “Believe me, Ro Bro, a guy that can't actually feel human contact can keep it up for a nice, long, slow roll in the hay. It's pretty remarkable!”

Roman just huffed, standing from his seat—and promptly sinking to the floor to sprawl out right beside Remus.

“You're lying.” he said simply.

Remus was quiet a long time...then sighed.

“Of course I am. He was just another Animata.”

“Anima. The Animata are a myth, like the Lazari.”

“Since when did you turn into such a brainiac, Roro? We both know I've always been the smart one.”

Roman rolled his eyes with a grin, stretching his leg to kick Remus's ankle—but the truth of the matter was, Remus was right. Between the pair of them, Remus was smarter by leaps and bounds. He was studying the collegiate sciences when he was seventeen, and began his magic training before he'd even reached puberty. The fact that the only part of the sciences he enjoyed were anatomy and mortuary study were entirely besides the point, as was the fact that Remus wasn't actually capable of using magic at all.

He was, as their father lovingly put it, a rogue genius: in possession of an intellect so massive that the rules couldn't restrain him. He either knew too well how to circumnavigate them, or he simply didn't care enough to bother and did what he wanted—what he thought was right, no matter the consequence.

Roman might have been the elder of the twins—by one hour, eleven o'clock of one night where Remus came at midnight the next morning—but he aspired, every single day, to be the maverick that Remus was. He simply lacked the brains...and the courage.

Which was why today, it was Roman their father would be naming as his successor, and not Remus. Roman would be king, would rule by the law and the will of the gods, and Remus would...get to be Remus for the rest of his life, a crown prince without a care in the world.

“Tell me about the dream, Roro.”

Remus's voice was gentle this time, his fingers walking their way along Roman's arm until he could find his hand and weave it into his own.

Roman sighed, staring up at the mural on the ceiling of his bedchamber—a beautifully wrought depiction of the Fall of Death, the final battle between the Animator, the first of the Necromata, and their ancestor, King Thomas Andres, that had saved the Kingdoms over a thousand years ago.

“He was in it.”

“The boy from the dungeons?”

Roman nodded. He could feel Remus watching him...

Just like he could feel the boy from the dungeons watching him every time he had the dream... ********** “He was here again.”

“Jumpin' Jiminy, Lo—are you sure?”

Logan nodded, mostly to himself. Patton couldn't see him, not from the bathtub behind the partition that separated it from the rest of the room, but it hardly mattered—after eight years as cell mates, the two of them had become as close as brothers, as close as twins according to some of the guards that had met the king's identical twin sons.

They had grown so naturally into the relationship, it made Logan wonder sometimes if he'd had a brother before his Name had been taken.

Well...it made him wonder in the early days, at any rate. Logan had stopped wondering many years ago.

Suffice to say, Patton didn't need to see him nod to know that Logan had.

“Well? What'd he do?”

Logan let his mind wander back to the night before—the dream space that he so often occupied, the boy that had come to him in the dark ten years before with a bowl of water, a leather strap, and a name.

The boy he'd come to think of as the Green Man, with those eyes that the dark couldn't fully hide.

“The same thing he always does.” Logan managed to reply, setting down the pen he'd been using in favor of resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers to press against his lips. Among those Necromata imprisoned in the palace dungeons, Logan was quite fortunate: he was allowed a cell mate, access to books and writing implements, even a small window sill garden consisting of plants that couldn't be used for magical purposes.

He was very lucky. Ten years of good behavior had given him an incredible amount of leeway and granted him creature comforts like access to regular bathing privileges. The guards even referred to him by his chosen name.

He was, for all intents and purposes, treated like he was truly human. A prisoner, always, but one the guards and prison mages shared a basic blood connection to, unlike the other Necromata.

“...Lo?...Logan!”

Shaking himself, Logan cleared his throat and tried to beat back the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks, having been caught wool gathering.

“Apologies, I didn't catch that.” he called over his shoulder.

“I said, did he say anything this time?”

Logan shook his head, knowing once again that his actions would be understood rather than seen. Patton asked the same thing every time Logan mentioned the visits, and every time it was the same.

If Patton really knew the content of the Green Man's visitations...

Pressing his fingertips to his mouth again, Logan shut his eyes and let himself remember.

The visits were always in a dream space—for years, before the visitations became more regular, Logan had assumed the Green Man was a guard's son, or the child of some member of the palace staff. Later, when the Green Man came to Logan in his sleep, he figured he was the son of a prison or court mage—who else could manage to dream walk in the mind of even a crippled necromancer like him?

Then again...Logan was different from many prisoners like himself.

In the dream, Logan still cannot see his face. Like those ephemeral dreams from his first few nights in the dungeons, he's little more than shadows with burning points of light the color of fresh shoots just springing from the soil. Over the years, he's become more distinct, but still nothing Logan can give any real definition.

He is a man made of darkness, his eyes reflecting what spark of magic lives within him. They never speak to each other—Logan never dares, secretly apprehensive that disturbing the quiet will somehow end this irregular communion they share.

All the Green Man does is extend a hand, the only part of him Logan can truly see. What was once small and slim fingered has changed over the years into a large hand, broad but lean, tendons standing out below each knuckle and tanned by exposure to the sun. Every time, he reaches out, and every time, Logan takes his hand and just...holds on.

In the dream space, Logan can feel his touch. It's likely a projection, something imagined, but there's strength and warmth in that hand—the pressure of fingers meshing with his own, the heat of palm sealed to palm. There's something under the skin, itchy and trembling, and it makes Logan want to pull away because it's just too much...

The Green Man never lets him. Gradually, the feeling passes, and Logan clings until the feeling returns, crashing over him and sliding back in waves beating the shore of his nervous system.

Logan is always the first to let go. The Green Man makes sure of it—and then he leaves.

“Are you okay, kiddo?”

Logan looked up sharply, twisting to see Patton over his shoulder. His mop of tawny curls is swept back from his face, still dark and wet from his bath, the chill of the cell raising gooseflesh on his bare torso.

He has one hand holding the towel around his waist, and the other resting on Logan's shoulder.

The pressure is barely there, that buzzing awareness of contact easily missed if not expected.

Patton hastily lifts his hand, face screwed up in silent apology. Logan dislikes physical contact, even if he cannot feel it—just like any of the Necromata, so divorced from the living, human populous that they cannot even connect to them through touch.

“Didn't mean to spook you, Lo. Just...you're real quiet. Usually, you got more to say after a visit from You Know Who.”

Logan nodded, then made a point of reaching out to squeeze Patton's hand briefly before letting it go just as quickly.

“Apologies. I suppose I'm just...distracted by today.”

“Yeah—hey, you think the prince'll come down here?” Patton asked hopefully, drawing back to go and find some clothes. “I mean, if he's gonna learn to be king after the ceremony...”

Logan let Patton continue to chatter about the potential for this new ruler to somehow see their plight, somehow be their salvation. He let the words, the hope, wash over him without making contact.

Patton could have hope, because he had no Name. No history, no memory, no past and therefore no future. He was a blank slate, for all intents and purposes, unable to access the power of the Necromata with no life of his own to bind it to.

Unlike Logan. Logan, who no longer wondered if he'd had a brother in his family.

Logan, who could share a dream space, something only mages were capable of.

Logan, who had been given a new name by his benefactor so many years ago, a name that others used daily.

Logan Berry, who even now could feel the essence of every rat behind the dungeon walls, every guard on patrol, every prisoner languishing beneath the lowest floors of the palace...and every noble, every royal, every peasant up above.

Logan Berry, who could not remember his family, but could remember that he once had a brother.

Because, despite the fact that a Name taken could not be restored so easily, Logan had taken a name freely given and made it his own.

A Name, freely given. A life, restored.

Logan could not have hope, because he had the power of the Necromata at his fingertips—and it was only a matter of time before good behavior would no longer be enough to earn him the leeway to stay alive.

[rchtoziers]

favorite reddie fic(s)?

i’ve been sitting on this ask for so long bc answering things is Not My Forte i’m SO SORRY but let’s get some recommendations going shall we!!!! i’m gonna include like so many fics but there are BANGERS in my bookmarks and i think they deserve to be screamed about so lets go

Eurydice; The Original Comeback Kid by Vulcanodon — y’all this fic fucked me up. the imagery in this one is So Intense and so good i could read it a thousand more times. i know i’ve returned to it more than once. great horror writing (stephen king who i only know vulcanodon) but god GOD the conclusion!! i thought i was gonna pass out it was so well done

keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theappleppielifestyle — i’m not kidding when i say this fic took my breath away. i don’t think i breathed for the entirety that i was reading it. i LOST it. the angst was Just Enough and the happy ending felt realistic in a way they deserved and god. god i’m crying again just thinking about it!!!

you’re already gone by ameliepoulain — just thinking about this fic makes me feral. i will be unreachable until everyone has read this. anything that combines hozier and reddie is automatically an a+ in my book. they’re dumb IDIOTS and this fic is perfect and i will not be accepting criticism at this time!

pretty much everything ever written by ShowMeAHero but in particular: as the ghost begins to bleed has been fucking me up since i first read it. the characterization of this series is so splendid and every time there’s an update i pterodactyl screech and stop literally everything i’m doing to read it. i just don’t have enough words but i’m pretty much always screaming internally abt this series. read it and then come scream with me

you never cried to them, just to your soul by dgalerab — i’m the most emotional person on the face of the planet so i cry at literally everything but i can’t think about this fic for too long without bursting into tears. it’s perfect. a great balance of the heavy stuff and a happy ending. absolutely losing it right now just thinking about this fic

go west by ssstrychnine — this is probably one of the most emotional written works of art i’ve ever read. to this day when i think about it i get choked up. this fic hurts in all the right ways and heals you in every way you need, too. this fic immediately activated my need to flee my smalltown and cross the country with the love of my life which was such a specific need i didn’t realize it was even there lol. also go look at this stunning art because i cry over it constantly

nor rivers drown it by theparadigmshifts — this is technically a stanpat fic that’s reddie adjacent but it’s the most perfect fic i’ve ever read legitimately 100% seriously, plus kit is writing a reddie sequel right now and the bits and pieces i’ve been collecting like a greedy little gremlin are actually perfection so prepare yourself by reading this first, which is also perfection

the mind’s a funny fruit by joldiego — EDDIE WAKES UP WITH AMNESIA AND DOESN’T KNOW HIS OWN NAME SO HE STARTS GOING BY RICHIE AND GETS ADOPTED BY THE PUREST GAY AUNTS IN THE WORLD AND SLOWLY TRIES TO FIND HIMSELF, dj if you see this you’ve written an actually perfect fic and i cry every time i think about it. also there’s a TWIST at the end that made me literally scream out loud

Broken Record by spunknbite — this one is adequately named because it a) broke me and 2) turned me into a broken record with how much i talk about it. i love timeloop fics because i’m a sucker for angst and i love being sad :) but this one PUNCHED ME IN THE GUT. i have text messages to multiple people that i spammed with my feelings as i read this one. amazing

we’ve been here before by hyruling — if i ever stop talking about we’ve been here before assume i have died. this fic fucked me UP. it fucked me up. such a unique concept and so brilliantly executed that i was breathless the entire time that i was reading. a really realistic portrayal of grief and trying to move on and then elation when the good things come. god i could talk about this fic for hours and i have, before, so

first love / late spring by vowelinthug — i have screenshots of huge chunks of text from this fic that punched me in the chest so hard i had to put my phone down and walk away. this is so good. i YEARNED. i laughed out loud multiple times. they’re idiots but they’re in love and it’s perfect. makes me want to start a podcast because it will solve all my problems. ICONIC

The Great Unsnappening of Derry, Maine, circa 2016 by iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid — TAGGED AS FICS THAT MADE ME GO ABSOLUTE BATSHIT FERAL. THIS FIC. OH MY GOD. i was screaming the entire time that i was reading it. such a good concept SO GOOD and i was LOSING MY SHIT. it’s perfect. everyone is so in character and so realistic and i felt like i was actually in the middle of this and i think about this fic at least daily probably

WELL. this got way longer than i intended but i’ve read some phenomenal fics in this fandom and i have a lot to say about all of them lmao. ANYWAY. enjoy xx

[lookimtryingmybest]

“How to accidentally die, meet a shady ghost and become a half demon” A story by Logan Freud.

Part 1 Part 2

CW for discussions of blood, needles and digging up someone's death body and using it for weird magic stuff. Also a few graphic descriptions of injuries (Janus's) and a brief scene where Remus almost cuts himself that might be considered self-harm. And casual conversations of murder because yes. This is the weirdest shit I've written so far.

Janus waved his hand over the TV. He just had to get it right enough, and he could turn it on to watch something. It’s not like he had something better to do.

“You’re running out of time.” A husk voice reminded him.

Janus rolled his eyes, not bothering to turn to the voice. He could see its silhouette reflected on the TV’s screen.

“I know.” He said. “I won’t take much longer.”

“You know what will happen to you if you fail.” The voice warned him.

Janus waved it off. “Yeah, yeah, I know, now fuck off, I wanna watch Buffy.”

“I will come by the next full moon. If you haven’t finished by then, I’ll take both of you with me.” The voice said.

“Wait.” Janus frowned. He turned to face those orange eyes he hated. “Both?”

“You.” It said, smiling at Janus. “And your new friend.”

“Logan.” Janus realized. “Leave him out of this, I’m the one who made the deal.”

The demon smiled. “Someone’s coming home. See you around, Deceit.” It said, before dimming out in the shadows.

“Bastard.” Janus said. He turned back to the TV. A month. He had a month. He could get everything right before the month ended, right?

He heard the front door opening.

Logan entered the living room, followed by Virgil. He smiled at Janus.

“I thought you’d be here.” He said.

“Yeah, wow, congratulations. You have braincells.” Janus said, floating above his level. He noticed Virgil holding the wooden triangle to his eye. “What’s he doing? Apart from looking like an idiot?”

“Rude.” Virgil said.

“He can see us.” Logan said. “And hear us.”

“You could’ve warned me about the face” Virgil said.

Janus rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry my face upsets you, I died in a fire what the fuck did you expect?”

“Sorry.” Virgil muttered. “Anyways I’ll, eh… be in the kitchen for a while.” He said putting the triangle in his pocket. “I’ll talk to you two later.”

Janus waited for Logan to speak. Logan just looked uncomfortably around for a while, before speaking.

“I… apologize for snapping earlier.” He said. “It was out of place.”

“Damn right it was.” Janus said. “What are you going to do, hug me over it?” He asked, floating near him. “Good luck touching me.”

“I did not mean what I said.” Logan said. “Do you want to go back with the others and talk to them for yourself?”

Janus contemplated his options. He didn’t have many. A month was so little time.

“Fine.” He said. “I’ll go get Virgil.”

He floated through the walls into the kitchen. Virgil was unashamedly eating ice cream out of the container. Janus looked around for something to knock over.

He pushed Virgil’s phone. It barely moved. He tried again, and again, and again until it fell to the ground.

Virgil cursed and grabbed it, placing it back on the table.

Goddamnit, he was an idiot.

Janus took another five minutes to push it over the edge again. This time, Virgil grabbed it midair.

He grumbled, leaving the ice cream on the table and pulling the triangle out of his pocket.

He stared at Janus. “Asshole.” He said.

Janus shrugged. “I want to speak to the others as well. Grab a notebook or something, I’ll need you to make a list.”

“A list for what?” Asked Logan appearing through a wall. “Wow. That was so weird.”

“You get used to it.” Janus said. “A list to get shit going, I’ll explain once we’re there.”

Virgil placed the ice cream back in the fridge. “Let’s go. They’re probably waiting.”

“Got any kings?” Patton asked.

“Apart from myself? No. Go fish” Roman said. He was holding three kings, and he refused to let them go.

Something pulled the king of hearts out of his hands, throwing it to the cards pile.

Patton gasped. “You were Lying!”

“Pat, the game is called ‘go fish but we lie about it’” Remus said. “Got any threes?”

Patton grabbed the king as Roman grumbled, grabbing another card from the pile.

“Nope! Go fish” Patton said. A card flew from the pile and hit Remus in the face.

“Rude.” Remus mumbled, grabbing the card.

Virgil entered the room, holding the triangle to his face. “Janus, stop messing with the game.” He said. He received a card to the face seconds later, when he had already sat down at his pillow. “I applaud your determination to hit me with a card.” He turned to the others. “He had to try five times until he managed to lift the card.”

“So he can touch physical objects” Roman said. “That’s creepy.”

“He can, but he has to try over and over cause most time his hand just passes right through.” Virgil said. “Wanna see him yourself?”

“Sure.” Roman said. He left his cards down and moved to sit next to Virgil.

“Here ya go.” Virgil said, giving him the wooden triangle.

Roman inspected it. Something in the back of his mind told him he’d look stupid with the triangle in his face, but he pushed those thoughts away.

He looked through the hole, and nearly screamed.

The ghost, Janus, it was horrible. Skin falling off his face and blood splattered on his clothes. Roman had to hold a gag back.

Virgil looked at him and gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah, maybe I should’ve warned you…”

“That would’ve been ideal.” Logan said, appearing in Roman’s field of vision. He looked the exact same as he had in the funeral. “Hi, Roman.”

“Hi, Lo.” Roman said, feeling a bit sick. “Hi, erm… Janus?”

“Yep.” Janus said, floating to his level. “You ok there, princey?”

Roman nodded. “Yeah, perfectly fine…”

“Ro, you ass, let me see as well.” Remus said, nudging his brother.

Roman passed him the wooden triangle. “All yours. I need a, fuck, a bin, please.”

Patton stood up to the corner of the room and brought the bin to Roman. Roman didn’t have time to thank him, as he double over it and emptied his stomach. Patton grimaced and rubbed his back.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Virgil said, offering Roman water once he had finished.

“Jeez, is he that bad?” Remus asked, before putting the triangle to his eye. “Oh… He is!”

A pause. “It’s not rude if it’s the truth. Also, you’re that kid from the house fire fifty years ago?”

Another pause. “How does he know about this stuff?” Patton whispered to Roman.

“Look, I’m not one to judge Remus’s weird hyper fixations.” Roman whispered back. “He likes crimes and death.”

“So… what’s your plan to get back from the dead?” Remus asked. He listened for a few seconds before turning to Roman. “Get the pen and paper, I’m making a list.”

“A list?” Virgil asked. “For what?”

“For the ritual, duh.” Remus said. “We’re bringing these two idiots back.”

“Ok, ok, we got the incense and the bowl and Virgil and Patton are getting the candles.” Remus said, ticking the things off the list. “Can you get the salt?”

“Yeah, we have to mix it with something else, right?” Roman asked, opening the cupboard.

“No, that’s the weird mix of sulphur and other shit.” Remus said, ticking off the box next to ‘salt’.

“What do we have to mix it with?” Roman said, leaving the salt next to the bowl. He looked over his brother’s shoulder.

“Eh… ivy’s leaves, honeysuckle petals, although those have to be added after burning the other stuff, the incense and…” Remus squinted to read his messy handwriting “virgin’s blood.”

“Wait, blood?” Roman asked. “I thought you said the stuff was easy to get!”

“Well, Janus spoke fast and I copied fast, I didn’t remember the blood part. Nor the virgin.” Remus said. “Besides, the other stuff like a chalk and blackboard are pretty easy to get. We already have one.” He pointed at the blackboard and chalk he had left lying against the wall. He ticked the box next to those items.

“Ok, does it have to be a female virgin? A dead virgin? Cause I’m pretty sure all of us are virgins.” Roman said, taking the list from Remus. “It just says virgin’s blood, didn’t Janus give more details?”

“Not that I remember, let me ask again.” Remus said, taking the wooden triangle again.

“Hey, J-anus.” He said, looking at the space above Roman. Roman shot that space a death glare and hoped it got to Janus. “Yeah, you heard? Anyone’s? What about masturbation, does that count? Good, ok, I can do that. How much do we need? Oh, I thought it was more. Well, I mean, the human body can lose to up six litres of blood. Although you pass out after three or four.”

“Remus, not that I want to interrupt your lovely conversation,” Roman said, taking the triangle from Remus “but we have to keep going. How much did Janus say we needed?”

“Just enough for the bottom of the bowl. Not even a tenth of a litre.” Remus said, moving to one of the drawers and pulling out a knife. “We should put it in the fridge so it doesn’t form clots. Those are nasty.”

“Wait wait wait.” Roman said, practically yanking the knife out of Remus hands. “The fuck you think you’re doing?”

“Getting the blood.” Remus said, trying to get the knife back. “Duh.”

“Not like that!” Roman said. “You’ll need stitches and none of us know how to do them.”

“Well, then, how?” Remus asked.

Then his phone started ringing.

Patton pushed the shopping cart down the aisle. He looked at his phone, at the picture he had taken of Remus’s list.

“Ok, so candles first. Then there’s another few plants needed, which I think we can take from the Twins’s garden.” Patton said “or maybe we have o go to the botanic garden…”

Virgil pulled the cart towards him. “I think the candles are over here.” He said. “Let’s deal with those first. Does it specify how many they need to be?”

Patton read the list. It said ’12 fucking candles’. Of course Remus would be too lazy to write twelve, but would still write ‘fucking’ as if it was necessary.

“We need twelve, but it doesn’t tell me which kind.” Patton said. He grabbed a random candle and smelled it. Lavender. “Will Janus mind if they’re scented?”

Virgil grabbed a black candle. It smelled like chocolate. “I think it doesn’t matter, didn’t it say we also needed sulphur and incense? That should block anything else.”

“You sure?” Patton asked.

“No, but I’m not even sure this isn’t a wild fever dream, so…” Virgil said, getting more black candles.

Virgil’s phone got out of his phone and fell to the ground. Virgil cursed.

“Really Logan?” He grunted as he picked it up. “What are you trying to say?”

“Maybe he wants us to call Remus and ask?” Patton guessed.

“Maybe.” Virgil said. “I’ll do so. Don’t put back the black candles, those are mines for my aesthetic.”

Patton snorted at that, as he watched Virgil dial Remus’s number.

“Hey, asshole, it’s me.” Virgil said. “Yeah, quick question, do the candles need to be scentless?” A pause. “Oh, ok, great, that was all. Thanks.” Another pause. “Why do you need that? Virgin’s what? Never mind, why am I surprised? I should’ve seen this coming. Sure, yeah, I’ll get that as well. Anything else? No? Great, tell Janus he owes me money for this.”

Having said so, he hung up.

Virgil looked at Patton. “He says scentless just in case. They’re probably cheaper anyways.” He took a dozen of candles in his arms and dumped them in the shopping cart. “Now, we need a syringe.”

Patton frowned. “What do we need that for?”

“For the blood.” Virgil said. “Now, where do we get a syringe?”

Patton blinked confused. “In the pharmacy…?”

Virgil nodded and started pushing the cart.

Remus was in the garden grabbing the ivy’s leaves, wearing gloves just in case they were poisonous. He wasn’t sure if they were, but he didn’t want to deal with the consequences in case they were.

Roman was in the kitchen still, making sure they had everything else. And waiting for the other two to arrive.

Remus shiver when he felt something going through him. “Janus?” He asked, barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

He took off his gloves and grabbed the wooden triangle in his pocket. He placed it to his face and stared at Janus. He was going through the plant in front of him.

“What do you want?” He asked.

Janus floated above his head. “There’s something else I need. It’s right over here.”

“Over where?” Remus asked, pushing his gloves and the bag of ivy’s leaves into his bag pack. He stood up to follow Janus.

“In Virgil’s backyard.” Janus said. “Just follow me, I know a shortcut.”

“That’s not right over here.” Remus complained. “I’ll go get the others.”

“No!” Janus exclaimed, reaching out and passing right through Remus. Remus shivered. “Not for this.”

“…Ok…” Remus said. “If I get murdered I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me, now follow me.” Janus said.

And so Remus did. Janus led him through the garden, surrounded two houses and crossed the road, right to Virgil’s garden.

Virgil’s garden wasn’t as pretty as Remus’s. His parents didn’t care as much, and just left it to grow as it pleased, only mowing the grass once per month. The grass itself was yellowish and half dead.

Remus liked Virgil’s garden. You could always find cool fungi in it.

“Right over…” Janus said looking at the ground. He pointed at one spot with less grass than the others. “Here. Dig here.”

“I don’t have a shovel.” Remus said.

“There’s one in the shed.” Janus said, pointing at the small wooden house in the corner of the garden. “And they never lock the shed, so…”

“Fine.” Remus said. He pushed the wooden triangle to his pocket for a moment and went to the shed. It was indeed unlocked, but the door was heavy and Remus had to push with his whole body just to open it a few centimeters. He sticked his hand inside and grabbed the shovel that was conveniently near the door.

He went back to the place where Janus had been floating and started digging. It was harder than he anticipated.

At one point, when he had dug a meter, the wooden triangle fell from his pocket and floated in front of him. He grabbed it to stare at Janus.

“Did I dig enough? I still don’t know what we’re searching for.” He asked.

“Ditch the shovel.” Janus said. Remus threw the shovel away. “And grab a handful of dirt. The one at the bottom best.”

Remus sighted and grabbed another plastic bag from his backpack. “Why are we doing this again?”

“I need these, ok?” Janus said. “Now continue digging. With your hands. If you keep using the shovel you will break them.”

“Break what?” Remus asked, as he struggled to open the plastic bag with just one hand.

“My bones.” Janus said.

Remus stopped to stare at Janus. “Your bones.”

“Yes, my bones, can you hurry up?” Janus said, crossing his arms.

“Why the fuck are we digging up your bones?” Remus asked.

“I need something from them.” Janus said. “And I need you to trust me, ok?”

“You’re literally a ghost, how the fuck am I supposed to trust you?” Remus said. “What do you want to do with them? Tell me or I’ll fucking leave.”

Janus grit his teeth. “I’ll only tell you if you promise not to tell.”

Remus sighted. “Fine. Tell.”

Logan followed Virgil to the Twins house again.

He passed through the wall into the kitchen, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn’t like looking at the insides of the walls.

In the kitchen, Roman was placing everything in order as he made sure he hadn’t missed a thing. Remus entered through the door and unceremoniously dumped a bag of ivy’s leaves and honeysuckle petals in the counter. Roman gave him a death glare and colocated them in order.

“Hi Lo.” Remus said. He had taped the wooden triangle to his face. Roman looked at him weird and ignored him.

Janus appeared behind Remus. “So, did they get everything?”

“Yes. Although, may I ask, blood?” Logan said.

Janus raised his hands defensively “hey, I don’t make the rules about rituals, I just follow them.”

Logan rolled his eyes just as Virgil and Patton entered the kitchen.

“Hey, crackheads,” Virgil said “why the fuck do we need blood?”

“Ask Remus.” Roman said, taking the shopping bags from Virgil and dumping the candles on the table. “Why are there extra candles?”

Virgil didn’t reply, only taking the candles and shoving them back to the bag.

Patton laughed at that and pulled out the syringe. “So… blood, huh?”

“Yep!” Remus said. “Janus said it doesn’t matter who the virgin is. Like. We’re all virgins, right?”

“Yeah…” Roman said, looking away and blushing. “Right…”

“Do I want to know?” Logan said, mostly at himself.

“No.” Janus said. “You really don’t want to know the things I’ve seen.”

“You’re just saying that to make me second guess things I’ve done.” Logan said.

Janus tsked. “Touché.”

“…I did not ask for this information.” Remus said, staring at both ghosts. He looked at his brother disgusted and Roman only blushed harder. “Nope, didn’t need to know. I’m gonna go get the final details with J-Anus. You three see if there’s any virgin left among us. Horny fuckers.”

He ignored Roman’s offended noises and went upstairs, grabbing the chalkboard on the way. Janus waved Logan goodbye and followed.

Virgil and Patton looked at each other and erupted in laughter. Roman groaned and hid his blushing face with his face.

“I hate you all.” He said.

“Ok, ok, but I must know, which guy was it?” Virgil asked. “Cause you’re hella gay and can’t deny that.”

“I’m not… look, it doesn’t matter.” Roman said, grabbing the syringe and the cup. “Who’s gonna donate their blood to the cause?”

“I’m not… a big fan of syringes.” Patton said. “Do we even know how to draw blood without fucking up?”

Roman showed him his phone, with a YouTube tutorial on it. “There’s a tutorial for everything.”

“So we need something from you because of your connection to the demon.” Remus guessed. “What about Logan? Do I need to go grave robbing?”

“No. He’s connected to me.” Janus said. “If I succeed, so does he.”

“Why si he connected again?” Remus asked. “Last time I checked, he didn’t even believe in ghosts, nor deal making demons.”

“Yeah, well, now he’s a ghost.” Janus said. “I can’t say for sure, but he saw me before dying, and now he can’t move on, so he must be connected to me, or to someone else from this plane of existence.”

“Oh. Cool, I guess.” Remus said. “And you’re connected to…? Apart from the demon.”

“The demon. And my murderer.” Janus said.

“Wait you were murdered?!” Remus said. “You said you died in a fire.”

“I did. I was murdered. In a fire.” Janus said. He ran a hand through his hair. “Blow to the head, a lot faster than burning alive.”

“You know who it was?” Remus asked.

“Yep.” Janus said. “Not gonna talk about it, cause they died ten years ago.”

“Understandable, have a great day.” Remus said.

“Talk about what?” Logan asked, entering through the wall and shivering for a second. “It’s still weird.”

“It took me a year.” Janus said. “And talk about the ritual. We’re almost finishing reviewing it.”

Remus grabbed the chalkboard where he had written the instructions and showed it to Logan. “See? Resurrection in five easy steps!”

Logan scoffed. “Should I tell the others to go carrying the utilities to the basement?”

“Yes.” Janus said. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

Remus watched as Logan disappeared through the wall again, before turning to Janus. “So… anything else we need?”

“A knife.” Janus said. “That should do.”

“Are you going to leave it there like the shady bitch you are, or are you going to elaborate?” Remus asked.

Janus rolled his eyes. “Hide the knife and hand it to me when I ask you to. Quickly. Also, drop the mixture into the fire at the same time, or the knife won’t do a thing.”

“Ok.” Remus said. He got up and grabbed the chalkboard and his notebook. “Also, I find it disturbing that you watched my brother shag.”

“I didn’t do that.” Janus said. “And about everything related to the situation, that’s what’s disturbing? Not the whole digging my bones out and grinding them to dust?”

“That was… weird, but hey, it was a very educational experience.” Remus said, as he made his way downstairs. “Come on, we have a demon to slain.”

Remus had taken off the stupid wooden triangle of his face by the time he made it down to the basement.

The basement, as creepy as it sounded, was used mostly for storing the old stuff none of Remus’s parents wanted, but were too lazy to throw out.

The four of them had cleared up enough space, pushing the old boxes to the back and cleaned the space.

Remus guided them as they made the salt circle and place the candles, lighting them all on. Virgil volunteered to mix the ingredients, as Roman was still pale from seeing blood and Patton’d rather not get close to poison ivy.

And Remus, of course, set the mix on fire.

As Roman reluctantly read the meaningless words Remus had scribbled on his notebook, two figures started becoming more clear.

Then Roman finished, and both of them fell to the ground.

Logan was able of keeping his balance for a few seconds before slumping against the wall, heaving. Right. Car crash. Broken bones. He should’ve expected the pain. He groaned and looked at the others.

“Hey.” He said oh, so eloquently. “It worked.”

“Not yet.” Janus said, still kneeling on the spot he had fallen. He was panting heavily, grimacing at every little movement he made. He raised his hand to his hair and noticed the wetness. “Concussion, right, I can deal with that.”

He moved to stand up on wobbly legs and Patton made a move to get out to help him. Virgil held him back.

“We stay in the circle. Those were the instructions.” He looked at Patton for a few more seconds before letting him go. “What’s the next step?”

“Next step is” Remus said, “do not panic.”

“Easy for you to say.” Roman said. “This whole experience is going to end me.”

“Roman, shut up.” Janus asked. He looked at the flickering candles. “It’s here.”

“What’s here?” Logan asked, trying to move from the wall.

Janus opened his mouth to answer, when the candles were all blown out. The burning mixture kept going, making everything smell horrible.

And then it stepped in, horns grazing the ceiling as he made his way towards were Janus was standing. And it smiled.

“So the little liar finally came around.” It said, smiling in that way that made Janus shiver. It looked over the four kids in the circle. “Which one of them will it be, Deceit?”

“Wait.” Logan said. “What’s happening here?”

The demon turned to him. “The little snake didn’t tell you? He made a deal. A soul for a soul.”

Virgil was the first to realize what that meant. “You piece of shit!” He yelled, and Janus didn’t even have the decency of looking at him. “I did not agree to this!”

“Stay in the circle.” Janus said, voice barely over a whisper. “It can’t get you if you stay in the circle.”

“One of them will have to come out, if you want to go back to life.” The demon said. “Well, two, if you want your friend to live as well.”

“You set us up?” Patton asked. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No.” Janus said, turning to them. “It was not.” He turned to face the demon again. “I’m not giving you a single thing.”

“Then you’ll die, and so will your friend.” The demon warned.

Janus clicked his tongue. “I don’t think I will.”

The signal, Remus thought, before pulling out the mixture he’d made and dumping it into the fire. He didn’t wait to see how the fired reacted, too busy pulling out the hidden knife from his pants and throwing it at Janus.

Janus tried his best, he really did. But there was only a maximum effort a newly undead body could make. And it wasn’t fast enough.

The demon grabbed his wrist just as the knife was left inches from its face.

“What’s this?” It asked, knowing fully well what was happening. “The little snake thinks he’s strong enough?”

And having said that, he bent Janus’s wrist in an angle that wasn’t supposed to be possible.

Janus screamed as the knife fell from his fingers.

Remus found himself running without second thought, as he did everything in life. With no second thought. And so he punched the demon in the face, making it release Janus.

And stepping out of the circle.

And hurting his wrist.

Then the demon grabbed him by his shirt and threw him against the wall. He heard someone scream his name, probably Roman, as they rushed to his side.

His head ached as he opened his eyes and tried to make sense of what was happening. Roman was fussing over him, talking to him too quick for Remus to understand.

He shoved his brother to the side and tried to focus on the scene in front of him.

Virgil and Patton, both paralyzed with fear, still inside the circle. Both of them trying to protect the other against that thing.

Janus, that little shit, being raised by his neck, struggling with the little strength his damaged body provided.

And Logan, who probably had several broken bones, being the only one to move.

He grabbed the knife from the floor. Without more hesitation, he thrusted it through its eye, straight to where the brain should be if this creature was biologically similar to human beings.

Janus felt to the floor, gasping for air. The demon stumbled back, dissolving into dust.

Logan looked around him, still panting. He could hear his heart beating on his ears.

“Is it… Is it over?” Patton asked.

“No.” Janus rasped. “No, you fools, I told you to stay in the cir–”

And then there was light.

Back when Patton had been five, he had fainted for the first time.

It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, getting sick to the point where you fainted. He had those memories buried in a sea of other, much more pleasant, memories. But he hadn’t forgotten how it felt waking up after fainting.

Waking up after this was fairly similar, only something seemed odd.

Very odd.

He pushed himself to his knees. He was in between boxes, as if they hadn’t moved them in the first place. And he felt… wet. Like he was drained in cold sweat, after a long run in the park when it was freezing outside.

He made it around the corner of the big box, probably containing the twins’s old bunk bed, and came face to face with Virgil.

Or he thought it was Virgil.

His face was a bit more angular, more sharp than before. He had a purplish tint to his skin and bright purple eyes. Eight of them, three smaller ones underneath each ‘normal’ one.

And fangs, Patton discovered, once Virgil screamed and backed away. Patton couldn’t help it and he screamed as well, stepping back.

Once both of them had stopped screaming, which took a few more seconds, Patton stared at Virgil.

“You’re purple!” He said.

Virgil gestured to Patton’s body. “Well you’re green! And frog-like!”

Patton stared down at his hands, noticing the green tint they had acquired. And the fibers between his fingers. And that explained the wetness.

“Oh.” He said. “Oh.” He turned to Virgil. “Do you think this has to do with the ‘killing a demon’ thingie?”

“Maybe? I dunno.” Virgil admitted, inspecting his skin as well. “Where are the others?”

As if on queue, they heard two very distinct voices screaming.

They walked to the back and found what they assumed was Roman and Remus, screeching at each other.

Both of them were on the ground, staring at each other as they screeched. Remus, or whom they assumed to be Remus by the white streak–now more prominent– on his hair and the mustache, had tentacles coming from his back, about six of them. Roman, on the other hand, had bat like wings, plus the spiraled horns that appeared from his head. Both of them seemed to share some characteristics, like pointy ears, sharp teeth, and really loud screeching.

Virgil groaned. “Ok, SHUT UP.” He yelled, his voice becoming louder than he had expected. He shot his hands to his mouth, clamping it close. Both the twins stared at him. “Sorry. But really, you were being too loud.”

“You– you’re…” Roman stuttered, for once in his life lost for words. “You’re… that?!”

Patton rubbed his temples. “Ok, ok, calm the fuck down.” He said, ignoring the gasps that came with him cursing. “There has to be a reasonable explanation for this.”

“Yeah, well I don’t see any!” Remus said. His tentacles shot up in frustration. He grumbled and tried to put them back down. “Why do I get the slimy tentacles and you get the cool wings?”

“Why do I get the horns and he gets the cool voice amplification?” Roman asked, gesturing with his head towards Virgil.

“This… this has to have to do with the whole… demon? Thingie.” Virgil said, running a hand through his hair. “Patton said it, and this whole shitshow went down after Logan killed it.”

“Wait.” Remus said. “Where’s Logan?”

Everyone looked around, as the twins got up from the ground, stumbling thanks to the new difference of balance.

“Logan?” Patton called. “LoLo?”

Then Roman’s phone started ringing.

Logan woke up and looked at the sky. He blinked for a few moments, frowning when Ride’s melody made his way to his ears again.

He sat up, taking off his headphones. He didn’t remember putting them on. Where was he?

He looked around. Oh. That’s where he was.

He got up and ran to the pavement before he got run by a car. Again.

Looking around once he was safe from the cars’s wrath, Logan noticed where he was. In the street in front of the park, where he had agreed to meet up with his friends. Where Virgil had been waiting for him.

He looked to the other side of the street. No one there.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket when he realized. His skin was different.

He might have dropped his phone in shock. He couldn’t exactly tell, staring at his skin as he was.

His skin was like a crystal container where gasses roamed free. No, not gasses. Nebulas. Entire galaxies were spiraling inside his skin.

Logan knew better than to panic right there. Panic could wait, until he was out of sight.

He grabbed his phone from the floor and started going to the Twin’s. That wasn’t the closer one, but he thought that maybe, just maybe, they’d still be there from the ritual. Or whatever that had been. It had not gone as planned.

He checked himself on the camera of the phone as he walked. His eyes seemed to be filled with stars as well, and his hair might have been the only thing that remained like before. Good. He didn’t like changing his hair.

Logan was about to knock on the Twins’s door when he realized they were not likely to answer themselves. Not wanting to scare their parents to death, he pulled out his phone once again and started calling one of them.

“Logan?” He heard Roman say, right after picking up. “Where are you? What happened?”

Logan sighted. “I’m outside your home. Would you mind coming to open the door? I do not wish to startle your parents.”

“So you’ve changed as well?” Roman asked.

“We’ll talk about it when we see each other.” Logan said. He was not willing to have this conversation over the phone.

Five minutes was all he had to wait until his friends came out of the house and tackled him into a group hug.

Logan endured the hug from the ground for five seconds before starting trying to squirm away from it. He sat up and looked at the others.

“So…” He said, noticing their inhuman characteristics as well. “You too, huh?”

“YES!” Virgil said, exasperated. “If you ever dare die in front of me again, I will murder you personally!” To emphasize this, he punched him in the shoulder. Logan pouted.

“Why does Logan get to look pretty.” Roman said. “I wanted to look like a pretty star deity too.”

“At least you can fly.” Patton said, getting up. “Let’s get inside, someone might see us.”

As Logan watched the others made their way back inside, noticing their new… aspect.

Then he noticed, as he entered through the front door.

“Where’s Janus?” He asked.

The others looked at each other, eyes widening with the realization.

“Don’t look at me!” Remus said, when everyone turned to him. “He didn’t tell me this part of his plan, only the stabbidity stab one.”

“Well… where did you wake up, Logan?” Roman asked. “Cause it wasn’t here either.”

“In the middle of the road next to the park.” Logan said.

“Oh, well, then Janus must be at Virgil’s house.” Patton said. Everyone stared at him in confusion. “What? Remus said that Janus died there, in a fire.”

Remus couldn’t help smiling, as he bounced up and down. “You were listening to me?!”

“Eh… yes?” Patton said. “I thought everyone was.”

“I usually tune it out when Remus starts talking of death.” Virgil admitted. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok” Remus waved his hand, dismissing it.

“Well, let’s go to Virgil’s then.” Roman said, grabbing his coat and keys. He stared at the coat for a few seconds and then at his new wings. He then glanced to Remus. “How did you hide the tentacles?”

Remus shrugged. “Just will them to go away, or something.”

“Really helpful.” Roman muttered. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Then opened them. “Nothing? Well, great.”

“Just, I dunno imagine them disappearing or something?” Remus proposed.

“Right.” Roman said. He seemed to concentrate for a second.

The wings disappeared. Roman cheered.

They found Janus asleep on Virgil’s room, laying on the floor.

Remus nudged him with his foot. “Is he… alive?”

Virgil pushed him away. “Of course he is, that’s what the whole ritual was there for.”

Logan kneeled to the ground and pushed Janus to lay on his back.

Janus looked better than he had expected. Yellow scales littered his body, mostly on his left side, were the burnt skin had once been. Apart from that, he didn’t seem to have changed as much, which destroyed Logan’s theory of why he had changed more than the Twins and why the Twins had changed more than Virgil and Patton.

If Janus had changed as much as he did, it would be because they were closer to the centre of the explosion of light, while Patton and Virgil where in the circle, protected, and the Twins were outside but farther from the centre.

He shook Janus gently. “Janus. Janus. Wake up.”

“You sure he ain’t dead?” Remus asked. “The ritual did go shittily, after all.”

“Shittily isn’t an adverb.” Roman said.

“It can be if I want it to be.” Remus said.

Janus groaned, blinking his eyes open. Logan noticed one of them was yellow now.

“What?” He asked. “Where am I?”

“Hey, you’re in my roo–” Virgil started saying, before Janus interrupted him screaming. “Shut UP. Yes, we look different, that’s your fault, now stop overreacting.”

Janus stared at him, then at the others, then at himself. “Scales. Great.” He said, and then grimaced. He sticked out his tongue and stared at it. It was forked. “Snake. Great. Just what I wanted.”

Logan snickered. “Well, none of us could chose anything, you just got unlucky.” He said. “Come on, get up.”

He grabbed Janus’s arm and immediately let go when he yelped in pain. And shoved Logan away. With three arms at the same time.

“Wow, wow, he gets several arms?!” Roman complained. “And pretty scales?! This is so unfair…”

Virgil elbowed him. “Stop complaining, dramaqueen.”

Roman pouted.

Remus rolled his eyes, ignoring his brother and approaching Janus. “Give me your wrist.” He said, crouching in front of him and shoving Logan away.

Janus eyed him wearily, hesitating before accepting. His extra arms seemed to disappear.

Remus gently rolled up Janus’s sleeves and held his bloody wrist in place. He stayed like that for a few moments.

“Is… Is anyone gonna say anything, or…?” Patton whispered, leaning towards Logan.

Janus pulled back and massaged his hand. He looked at Remus and frowned. “How did you do that?”

Remus shrugged. “I dunno, I just repeated what I did earlier when I healed my concussion.”

“Wait, you had a concussion?” Roman asked. “I was worried! You could’ve told me!”

“For what? To worry you even further?” Remus asked. “I’m fine now, so why bother?”

“So… Remus can heal people, Virgil has the weird voice amplification thingie…” Patton said. “We all got powers?”

“It seems so.” Logan said. “Well, now that we are together, we should figuratively tackle the most prominent issue here.”

“You don’t have to say figuratively.” Virgil said.

“Shush.” Logan said, and continued with what he was saying. “Our… new appearances. Might be not so warmly welcome as me coming back from the dead.”

“Honestly I don’t think you coming back from the dead is going to be easy to explain at all.” Virgil said.

“Ooh!” Roman said, bouncing up and down. “I got an idea!”

“Oh, god, I’m scared to ask.” Virgil muttered.

Roman sticked his tongue out at him. He then turned to the others. “Ok, so, if we have cool powers, maybe we can like… hide it? Illusion or something, I dunno.”

Everyone looked at each other for a moment, expecting someone to do some magic trick that would save everyone. Nothing.

“Don’t look at me, I did my healing trick. That’s all I’ve got so far.” Remus said.

Logan sighted, rubbing his temples. “Allow me to try.”

He closed his eyes, and imagined them all, back to how they were. It was hard imagining Janus, without the injuries he had carried as a ghost, but he tried his best.

He felt dizzy for a second, almost losing balance. Janus helped him steady himself, and he opened his eyes.

He stared at his friends, all back to their previous forms. Human. Even Janus.

“I did not expect that to work.” Logan said.

“It didn’t.” Janus said. “Your eyes are different. They’re blue now. Not brown.”

“I think it worked great!” Patton said. “I’m sure no one will notice.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think, Pat.” Janus said. “People will notice.”

“We’ll manage.” Virgil said. “And since when do you get to call him ‘Pat’, huh?”

“VIRGIL? DID YOU INVITE FRIENDS OVER WITHOUT WARNING AGAIN?” A voice yelled from downstairs.

Virgil blushed and turned to the door. “WE’LL LEAVE IN A SECOND MOM.” He glanced at his friends, blushing, and gave them a death glare.

Roman elbowed Patton to stop giggling. He didn’t.

“Ok, darling, don’t stay up late! You’ve got school tomorrow!” Virgil’s mom shouted back.

“Wait. School?” Virgil said.

Logan checked his phone. “It appears to be Sunday again. Eccentric.”

Janus shrugged. “Weird magic doing weird shit.”

“I thought you knew what you were doing.” Roman said.

“I knew. Mostly. I improvised.” Janus said.

“Ok, normally I would care, but you need to get the fuck out of here.” Virgil said. “And figure out a way for Janus to exist now that he doesn’t have any legal documents.”

“Fuck you’re right.” Janus said. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me sleep here, will you?”

“No, we don’t have extra beds.” Virgil said.

“This was my room.” Janus pointed out. “So it would be an extra bed for you, not for me.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “I don’t care if it was your room, it’s mine now.”

“I’d invite you to my place, but my parents don’t like me having over friends they don’t know about…” Patton said.

“You might come to mine for the night.” Logan said. “I doubt my parents will mind.”

“You mean you doubt your parents will notice?” Janus said. “I’m not a particular fan of your parents.”

“Ok, could you please stop implying you’ve seen every aspect of our lifes?” Roman asked. “You’re creeping me out.”

“Let me think… nope.” Janus said. “Also, that guy? Out of all your options?”

Roman blushed, letting out a series of offended noises. “How dare you?!” Janus only laughed. “Stop it!”

“Ok, as much as I enjoy teasing Roman, Imma have to kick y’all out of here.” Virgil said. “I’ve got shit to process, and y’all ain’t helping.”

“I’ll take a look into getting Janus official documentation.” Patton said. “See ya guys.”

“See ya losers.” Remus said. “Don’t murder anyone with the new powers.”

Janus followed Logan home. As he had predicted, Logan’s parents didn’t even notice his presence. It was like being a ghost again. Only now he had to walk.

“I did not come back to life to do math homework.” Janus complained, looking at the equations in front of him.

“Well, too bad, this is what you get for making deals with demons.” Virgil said. “Math homework.”

“I hate you.” Janus said.

“No you don’t.” Patton said. “Now stop complaining and do your homework.”

“Or, in other words.” Remus said. “Suffer.”

“You’re all so dramatic, it’s just maths.” Logan said. “Maths are easy.”

“Shut up, math gay, you don’t count.” Roman said.

Janus groaned again, considering the option of just knocking himself out. That way he wouldn’t have to do homework.

[victorie552onepiecespeedrun]

Reading One Piece pt 196: Soul And Shadow

Chapter 443

Thoughts:

- Fpos/cs: The space pirate is dead and there’s a big explosion in the distance. Let’s see what it is

- Brook is on Sunny! :D

- “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT GUY!?” – everyone :D

- “There’s no reason for a skeleton to wear an afro!” there’s no reason for alive people to do so either but that’s doesn’t stop us

- Where did Usopp’s new hat come from? (Usopp looks like a Vampire Slayer now :D) It looks like something Mihawk would wear. Is it Zoro’s? Please let it be Zoro’s. We know he’s a fan :D

- What is it with Brook and panties. I see it’s a gag already but like… why

- Zoro has objections :D

- “Why do you think you went with him? You were supposed to stop Luffy from running wild!” “We’re ashamed…” oh, like you would do a better job, Zoro. But I won’t lie, Zoro yelling at people like they’re unruly children is my JAM

- Let’s get to know each other a little better. In the kitchen!

- Wow, nice kitchen by the way

- (lol, now Chopper got a cross too. He’s imitating Usopp, it’s precious)

- Brook praised the ship. Franky likes him already

- Wait for the dinner patiently, Brook

- Lol, Luffy didn’t even introduce himself till now

- Yomi-yomi no mi. That’s Brook’s devil fruit. „Yomi-gaeru is the verb for ‘ressurect’” says the underpanel text

- “The truth is, I already died few decades ago!” wow. Ok

- “the power of revival” yeah, we kinda guessed that

- “I was promised that I could live a second time as a “revived human”. Oh, how wonderful that ability seemed!” this already sounds heartbreaking and we’re nowhere close to Brook’s backstory, what is going on here

- So Brook was killed some years ago, along with his crew

- “My soul was returned from the underworld! If I had returned to my body immediately, I would have been resurrected, but, as you can see, there is a thick fog on this sea and I got lost.” Well damn. It doesn’t sound heartbreaking, it IS heartbreaking

- My only problem with this is it’s heartbreaking a little too soon. I’m used to a slower pace and I’m Suspicious

- “My soul wandered around this fog for a whole year! When I found my own body, it was only white bones.” wow

- “You’re just as stupid as Zoro, huh?” WHAT A FUCKING BURN LUFFY TOTALLY UNCALLED FOR

- (Just noticed Brook’s souls says a little “yohoho” in that one panel. Precious)

- Now Zoro wonders about the afro

- “The roots of my hair are strong” You guys are made for each other

- Huh?

- Brook doesn’t have a reflection

- This is weird. You know why? Vampires are known for not having reflections BUT it is a thing because people believed water/metal/mirror can reflect your soul, and vampires don’t have souls. And Brook just told a story of how his soul returned to his sad remains after a year. This is sketchy

- (do I sound paranoid)

- Oh, and no shadow either. Ok, how is that a thing, what is GOING OOOOON

- Zoro! Is! Suspicious!

- Well, at least in a good company then :D

- “being a skeleton… and not having a shadow… are completely different things” oh????

- “to be continued in the next chapter.” WHAT A TROLL

- You really have a feeling Oda wanted to cut in that moment but to his dismay realized he’s still got half of a chapter to make. That’s what you get for switching to such fast pace. Do you know anything about shounens, Oda

…

*Please stand by. We’re experiencing technical difficulties; author needs to stop wheezing at her own joke*

…

- Back to business

- “Some years ago a man snatched away my shadow…” snatched away???

- “A shadow being stolen… It means that I cannot exist in a world with light.” ???

- “If my body is exposed to direct sunlight, it will start to disappear. I don’t have a shadow that should be seen in the light.” This is horrible

- “I also can’t be seen in a mirror or in a photograph! In short, mine is the existence rejected by light!” THIS IS HORRIBLE

- “Why are you so cheerful? Your life sucks!” Sanji… I… I don’t think Brook’s all that well in the head to be honest

- “Today is a wonderful day! I WAS ABLE TO FIND SOMEBODY!” uh, what

- I couldn’t tell a difference between today and tomorrow on this dark sea with a think fog. All alone on the ship that won’t obey its rudder. How many years I’ve been wandering!” I’m taking it back, Brook is as sane as possible in these circumstances

- “I’VE BEEN REALLY LONELY!” and that’s all you get from me, this is getting way too depressing

- “you invited me to be your nakama! I’m really glad. Thank you very much.” Luffy’s smile is precious and has to be protected at all cost

- “But the truth is, I should decline” I knew the other shoe will drop soon

- Brook can’t stand in the light and needs to be at least somewhere close to his shadow. Yeah, it’s unpractical for them to have him as a nakama

- But if you think Straw Hats will be practical about that then you clearly watched the wrong show, BOIIII

- “What are you saying!? We’re not strangers! If that’s the case, we’ll get your shadow back! Tell me who stole it!” LUFFY FOR PRESIDENT

- ...Oh sorry, LUFFY FOR PIRATE KING

- “…!!” Brook clearly doesn’t know what to do with this and can you blame him

- “You’re really a good person. Even then, I cannot tell you that.” Yeah, that’s what I thought

- “I only just met you. You shouldn’t say that “you’ll die for me”” I’m sensing a good heart, complete incomprehension of anything Luffy, and trauma. Lots and lots of trauma

- “Is the enemy so strong?” yes, and also Brook doesn’t know how strong you are

- “I’ve decided that I will fight him” Brook wants to deck that shadow stealer :D I hope he will

- “However, Let’s sing a song! In honor of the good encounter we had today. I’m very proud of my abilities. I used to be the musician on my pirate ship.” CRITICAL ERROR CRITICAL ERROR

- “Eeh!? Really!? I’m begging you, be my nakama, you idiot!” you confessed to being a musician, Brook, now Luffy will never leave you alone. He wanted a musician in his crew even more than he wanted a cook! You got a big storm coming, Grandpa!

- Huh?

- !!!!

- THERE”S A GHOST IN THE KITCHEN

- Oh, Brook knows what’s happening!

- “Did you pick a ‘floating barrel’ on this sea?” “We did!” “That was a trap.” Figures

- No but seriously, they’re heading to some island (or they’re leaded to it?) that’s probably not on any maps

- “this is the “Ghost Island” that wanders through the sea… Thriller Bark!” !!!!!!!! Name Drop!

- That island is from West Blue and log pose isn’t responding to it. I don’t understand the science of it but it’s bad

- What is Brook doing?

- On the Sunny’s head he stands. Big jump tho  

- You drama queen. I love you

- Oh look, he can run on the top of the sea. How does that even…. Ok, nevermind

- PROTECT LUFFY SMILE! EVEN IF IT LEDS YOU TO AN ISLAND FULL OF GHOST AND SHADOW STEALERS!

- More of Sunny

- Isn’t she amazing

Second chapter and I learned so many things already. This arc is GREAT

rOP 195  rOP 197

[saidelia-draconis]

♚ - a memory of something paranormal

  The morning sun was still. The air held a suspenseful hush about it. All that could be heard were the clanking of boots as they tamped down the hard-packed snow. Each step another crunch. Saidelia’s thick, fur boots were a soft plod next to the cacophony of the knights and soldiers she walked with. The chain coat she wore felt heavy. She had still not gotten used to it. As the group walked, the raven-haired knight cast a quick glance down to her.

“First mission. Fucking something, ain’t it. You good, kid?”

  Saidelia nodded, a toothy grin being her response. She clutched the pack of torches she had been trusted with close to her chest. Her ward gave her a clap on the back as they approached the dark and foreboding crypt. The great mausoleum stood solemn and quiet. Its confines hidden by a curtain of darkness. From the mouth, it was littered with bones. Human bones. Saidelia paled as she took notice. Syler gripped her shoulder, squeezing gently. His eyes softened as she glanced up at him. He regarded her with a knowing gaze.

“I know. Whatever you’re thinking, you’re right. This is terrifying. Crypt duty is the worst work you can get up here, but I know you’re ready for it. So, let’s go over the plan.”

  The man stopped at the entrance, kicking a skull out of the way to lay a map in the road. The group of four dropped down to study it. Saidelia peered nervously over his shoulder. Syler’s finger tapped the entrance.

“Okay. From what I can tell, we’re right here. We’ve got me, Tarkin, Jilba, and the kid.”

  His fingers trailed through the blueprint, making a circle. His eyes met with each of the group in turn, making sure that his route was understood. Each of them nodded in turn. Saidelia’s hands shook as she silently acknowledged.

“I’ll take point with the kid. Tarkin is our rear guard, Jilba - and only Jilba -  handles explosives. If I’m down, Tarkin is in charge of our retreat. At which point, the kid is in front with her. I’ve marked down where charges are planted, and Jilba knows where to set them up. Any questions?”

  The group collectively shook their heads. It seemed as though they were clear.

“Right. We’re quiet, but not silent. Any point in time, if I say it’s time to pull back, we all hurry things up and Tarkin leads us out. Let’s get after it.”

The four silently stood. Saidelia watched as they lined up in the formation that had been agreed upon. The dwarf at the back gave her a clap on the shoulder, urging her into place behind her mentor. She placed a hand on her shoulder, Jilba’s small hand looping into her belt as the group formed a chain. Syler lead with the three in tow, past the dark maw of the tomb.

  He nudged Saidelia, prompting her to light a torch for him. As he waved it through cobwebs, Saidelia passed a second torch back to Tarkin. The second paladin thanked her with a muted grunt of acknowledgement. The halls were cramped, labyrinthine, and lined with aged sarcophagi, most of which were cracked open. Which only seemed to further unnerve the group. Their leader stopped suddenly, drawing his weapon at the crest of one of the halls, checking his map in the dim light. He was swiftly granted another torch as Saidelia leaned up to slot his old one into a nearby sconce. The flickering lights were their only retreat from the enveloping darkness and back to the cold winter air.

  The man at the vanguard peered warily at a skeletal arm half-emerged from one of the slabs of stone. Taking no chances, he swatted at the arm. The brittle, desiccated bones snapped, sending the hand hurtling to the ground, shattering uselessly. The tomb did not stir. The air felt as tense as it was quiet. Finally, he shook his head, feeling no danger near them.

“Jilba. We should be at the first section. Set up one of your bombs.”

“Technically they’re--”

“Bombs Jilba. If it’s big, full of powder, and goes boom, it’s a bomb.”

“There’s no powder in these, actually, they’re really very fasci--”

“You know goblins ask less questions when you ask them to blow something up, right?”

  The shocked gnome gasped indignantly, fishing around in the shoulder sling that held her equipment. She knelt at an archway, muttering furiously to herself as she worked. The craft was intricate, and no doubt dangerous. Just watching it made Saidelia’s head spin. She could scarcely follow where the gnome’s delicate fingers moved, as though she were playing a piano with her wires. The whole time, she narrated in a voice, hardly audible to the group.

“Of all the... This-- THIS is what happens when you trust demolition tours to idiots with swords. Of all the positions. To think I’m wasted on work like this. This-- when there are tanks in the keep that I could be crewing.”

  She finally stepped back, pointing to the explosive charge at the base of the arch, staring haughtily up at the knight. For emphasis, she waved at the charge that blinked red every so often. The knight smiled a toothy grin, nodding down at her.

“Thank you, Jilba. When we’re done here, you can explain the difference to us all if you so choose over a pint.”

  The insulted engineer said nothing, falling back in line with the rest. She sighed wearily, waving him off with a noncommittal ‘maybe.’ The group quietly continued their apprehensive advance deeper into the tombs.

  Saidelia had finished placing another torch in the wall when she heard an unearthly sound. It was almost beautiful in a way. A shrill, tortured cry that held grace and terror. It caused her blood to freeze. The hair on her neck stood. She glanced towards the group for reassurance, finding none. Syler and Tarkin raised their shields, leaving the poor girl to wonder. After what felt like hours, she spoke, voice wavering.

“Was... Was that a ghost?”

  The group regarded her quizzically. Tarkin censored a laugh with an unconvincing cough. Jilba held a look of curious suspicion. Syler’s face simply looked tired and disheartened. The man waved his sword around above his head fairly nonchalantly.

“Kid... Come on. We’re half-way up the ass of a skeleton pit in the Lich King’s back yard that we’re trying to blow up because it’s haunted. Do you think it was a ghost? We’ll be lucky if that’s all that’s waiting for us.”

  Saidelia seemed to realize the folly of her question almost immediately, feeling foolish. Her cheeks darkened as she followed after Syler. The three above her gracefully decided to disregard her question almost immediately after it was posed. Down towards the end of the next hallway, an eerie, baleful blue light shone, flickering like a flame. The quake of a foreign chant rattled off of the walls of the crypt. Syler motioned for the group to pause, continuing ahead on his own. He had hardly caught sight of the figure before he doubled back, pointing towards Tarkin and exchanging with her some silent command. She nodded dutifully, turning on her heel and beginning to lead the group back through the torch-lit pathway they had made.

  Not a single one of them stopped until they were greeted by the harsh sunlight. It stung Saidelia’s eyes and caused her to shield her vision with her forearm. When her eyes finally adjusted, she was left staring up at her ward, following the group back the way they came.

“Why are we leaving? We only set one charge. Don’t we have to finish? What was that light?”

“That light is exactly why we fucked off so quick. There’s a lich in there.”

“A lich? But isn’t it our job to deal with whatever was in the crypt, including the lich?”

“Kid, what is job number one?”

“Make it back home.”

“Precisely. There’s two of us, Jilba, and you. That thing could outnumber us with a flick of its wrist, and then we’re up to our elbows in skeletons, shades, ghouls, and whatever the fuck else it feels like burying us with. But at least you learned something today.”

“I did?”

“You’d damn well better have. What’d you learn?”

“...How to set up torches?”

“What? No. If you didn’t know how to set up torches before now, you definitely shouldn’t have come along. No, you learned when to back off and bring in support. You’ll join Tarkin and I for our report and then we’ll all celebrate a job well done. You did good today. I’m proud of you.”

(Thanks so much to @prettyklingon and @hazriels for the ask! It’s only a little late this time!)

[lovelyirony]

Hello. I'm having kind of a shit day ( just found out my sister's hair was full of lice) so if you wouldn't mind could you write some thorbruce? Sorry if this bothers you, I hope you and your family are doing ok

 this could never bother me. I hope that this little story helps! i really wanted something comedic, or at least my attempt at it. so without further ado...a fusion of a thief AU and royalty AU! 

Bruce Banner technically has a career as a scientist. He writes research papers occasionally, helps out with other science projects, and wears smart, science-y glasses. 

And so what if he just happens to make most of his money stealing rich people things like paintings, wine, and other assorted items off of boats and out of houses? Well, that’s extra. Doesn’t even go on any tax forms. 

“You’re gonna get something done to you one of these days,” Tony tells him over margaritas. Tony is one of the rare people who caught him, let him still take the Warhol because “I sure as hell didn’t pick it out, I have taste,” and invited Bruce for cocktails. 

“Of course I am. Maybe jail.” 

“No, not that,” Tony says. “You forget I will be offering my lawyers. They could get the devil himself scot-free. And you’re way better than that guy.” 

“Then what?” 

“You’re going to have to balance yourself,” Tony says, smiling. “And I can’t wait to see you pull it off.” 

Bruce wishes he had more friends like Tony, because unfortunately both Jane and Helen have texted him that he’s screwed for his next goal: Odin. 

Odin is a king who made his whole goal to cover up the shady dealings of his reign, and while his sons are doing better to call it out and bring about new policy ideas now that it is said that Odin will be retiring from the throne, so to speak, nothing has changed yet. 

Bruce knows that people say the next king in line, Thor, is very similar to his father. 

So he’s planning on infiltrating a party. This involves getting a planet ticket to Asgard, sneaking in, and maybe also leaving by boat. He’s not sure yet, depends on how quickly Tony can engineer a self-steering boat. 

(The boat’s gonna be there.) 

“You’re gonna get your ass kicked,” Helen snickers over drinks. “Have you seen his arms?” 

“I’ve heard your ramblings about ten or twenty times, yes,” Bruce says. “For someone who loves their wife as much as you do, you also have an interesting love for Thor’s arms.” 

“They’re buff!” Helen protests. “Jane also nice arms, but they are not buff.” 

“Guilty as charged,” Jane says from the kitchen, rolling her eyes. “Bruce, be careful. And for the love of god, don’t talk to any of them if you can.” 

“Like I would.” 

- 

Thor is very bored with present society. His father has banned all of his friends from attending, Loki has decided to go on their own way in as outrageous of a dress as they could find, in any case guaranteeing that their mother’s attention would be focused on making sure that they had the right accessories. 

There is not one interesting person to talk to. 

Thor is bored. 

This means Thor isn’t so much as paying attention to any sort of conversation and has found one new guest that he has never met before. 

“Hello,” he says. 

The man whirls around. He has curly, nearly-messy hair. Nice nose. 

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Thor says. “I’m Thor.” 

“I’m Bruce,” Bruce blurts out, because he is a Class-A Idiot. 

Of course he gets caught at a royal function. 

“And you haven’t met me before. I’m a...scientist.” 

Thor smiles. 

“Well, what study of interest are you in?” 

“DNA sequencing,” Bruce says weakly. “And you are...Thor, right?” 

“Yes,” Thor says, smiling. “Did my father invite you?” 

“Your mother,” Bruce says, knowing that Queen Frigga is occupied at the moment trying to ensure that Loki is not stealing all of the strawberries. She cannot possibly come over and confirm his story or realize that she has no idea who he is. 

“How is your night faring, Your Highness?” Bruce asks nervously. He cannot make eye contact. 

“None of that,” Thor says with a chuckle. “That title is...stuffy. Overused. I’m just a regular person who is assuming a throne.” 

“Any plans then, regular person?” Bruce asks in a snarky tone, grinning.

“None that I’m comfortable sharing within earshot,” Thor mutters under his breath, into his drink. Bruce smiles. 

His eyes crinkle up. That’s cute. 

“Good idea. Never know what your father listens to.” 

“Not a fan?” Thor asks. 

“Can’t say I’m dedicated,” Bruce answers with a shrug. Thor smiles, leaning in closer.

Thor’s about to answer more, willing to speak with this man. The night was turning around, and--

Odin claps him on the back. 

“Thor, I have some people you must talk to for the future,” he says, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he turns his son towards a group of the most ancient looking old men Bruce has seen. 

Thor swivels his head back. 

“I hope to see you again!” Thor calls. 

Bruce waves. 

“Probably not,” Bruce sighs to himself. “But I’m sure you also won’t see some of your vases again.” 

- 

In the news, they reported that it had to be at least a three-man job. The surveillance didn’t help, heirlooms had been nicked out of at least six different rooms, and top secret documents had been spilled out into the back lawn, some artfully arranged as if they were reading material for the next garden party. 

Thor has an idea of who did it. Has since his mother confusedly asked “who’s Bruce?” 

He’s clever, that’s for sure. Going directly to the house? Using Odin’s disregard of people he doesn’t think are worth his time? Oh, it’s perfect. 

It would also make a good quality in a husband, if he says so himself. 

- 

Bruce is currently lying on his back at Jane’s house, the sunshine warming him. 

“You’re gonna die!” Helen yells. “You told him your name and you are storing, just casually, a priceless artifact!” 

"I’m not storing it. I just put it back in a museum,” Bruce says. 

“You think that Odin’s honestly not going to get it back?” 

“Nope,” Bruce says. “Because he didn’t change the paperwork on it and it has a loan repayment clause thingy. I don’t know how it works but he needs to pay the museum for it and it’ll be bad press for a while. That and his shady dealings with repressing country public opinion. I think Thor’s up to the plate.” 

He is. Bruce is right. Odin has rescinded his claim on the throne, allowing a coronation to be held for Thor. 

“Are you gonna go?” Jane asks. 

Bruce snorts. 

“And what, risk being detained in Asgardian jail or being murdered? Nah,” Bruce says. “Besides, I probably won’t ever really interact with them ever again. And I have no purpose for being there.” 

- 

Bruce isn’t sure how. But he gets an invitation to go. Well, he’s sure how he got it. Thor remembered him, probably found out that he wasn’t supposed to be there. 

He’s mad. 

He’s from fucking Ohio. He knows that no one is supposed to notice him under any circumstance besides maybe an eating competition or a tornado warning. 

“You have to go,” Tony says. “I’ll be there, I can cause a distraction. Loki owes me a favor.” 

“How does Loki owe you a favor?” 

“They needed some help with executing a perfect red carpet walk a couple years back to ensure they upstaged someone. I don’t know who, but I helped. Loki owes me.” 

“But why do I have to go?” 

“Because if you don’t then Thor’s not gonna stop,” Tony says. “Because if he personally invited you, that means something. It means you’re either going to die or he’s going to make sure he has a very fun time at his own coronation.” 

“Why wouldn’t you have fun being coronated or whatever the fuck you call it?” 

-

Two hours in. There’s been two hours of this. Bruce has fallen asleep twice, and Tony keeps jabbing him in the side. 

“Decorum,” Tony hisses. “If you fall asleep, you’re going to cause a scene.” 

“So sorry that I don’t find this just entirely interesting,” Bruce says, “I wasn’t the one who minored in anthropology.” 

“Majored,” Tony says. “Among other things.” 

“Is this when we couldn’t find you for a year? Like, when you went to California or whatever and had a crisis?” 

“I didn’t have a crisis,” Tony says. 

“Sure you didn’t,” Bruce said, snorting. “You were sad and probably ate five loaves of pumpernickel in one day.” 

“If you keep talking we’re gonna get kicked out, and I want my record of being kicked out of royal events to be kept to a minimum of two.” 

“You’ve been kicked out of two?” 

“One was England. That’s practically a given.” Tony hisses. “Now no more.” 

Bruce falls asleep again. 

Thor catches him in the audience. 

He has to bite his own tongue to stop from laughing. Sif side-eyes him. 

He raises an eyebrow. She looks out into the crowd, sees the man who has fallen asleep. She stills, trying very hard not to laugh. 

“Is that the man you want to pursue?” she whispers as the officiants droll on about tradition. Thor nods. Sift snorts. “Of course you do.” 

- 

The party afterwards is tasteful. People are in a line to congratulate Thor. Bruce is by the appetizer table slowly but surely stealing all of the colby-jack cheese slices. 

“I hate you,” Tony says to Bruce. “You’re a menace to society.” 

“Put that on my headstone, see if my ghost sticks around to cause trouble,” Bruce says. “Besides, I am not paying for any of this. I’m already eyeing the chocolate fountain.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“I suppose this is what I get for bringing you here.” 

“You literally did not have to, I got an invite and you forced me to come,” Bruce says. “And all because I stole priceless artifacts. Ugh.” 

- 

Thor finally manages to escape a long line of well-wishers/want-to-make-sure-he-won’t-do-things-he’s-gonna-do people. 

He finds Bruce slowly but surely demolishing the pineapple. 

“Nice to see you again, Dr. Banner,” he says. Bruce stills, turning. 

“I wasn’t expecting to even meet you today again,” Bruce says, smiling. “How have things been?” 

“I’ve gotten some more space for storage,” Thor says, referencing to the act of stealing and also revealing his father’s less-than-golden past. “Thank you for that, by the way.” 

Bruce stills. 

“You...know?” 

“The queen knows no one by the name of Bruce who is a scientist. You paused. Terrible lie, really. You’re lucky you’re quite good-looking and my father is a fool.” 

Bruce looks at him. 

“I stole a lot of shit from your house and you’re calling me good-looking?” Bruce asks. 

“Well to be fair, I’m just glad you didn’t steal my blanket on my bed. It’s pretty soft, pretty valuable,” Thor says grinning. 

“Didn’t get to see that room,” Bruce responds. 

“You’ll have to come up with me some time then.” 

Bruce almost spills his drink. 

“Are you...?” 

“Flirting with you? Yes.” 

Bruce takes a sip of his drink. 

“Interesting. Although I hardly doubt your mother will be pleased to see you talking with someone who stole things.” 

“On the contrary, she most likely won’t mind,” Thor says, smiling. “Just because she married my father doesn’t necessarily mean they’re affectionate.” 

Bruce tilts his head. 

“So what you’re saying is that no one in your family likes your dad?” 

“Not especially. Kind of a bastard, if you ask me.” 

Bruce laughs. 

“So. What kinds of things does a king like to do for a date?” 

Thor puts a finger on his chin, teasingly. 

“Well I’m not sure. Is it kingly of me to offer a lunch?” 

“I would say I’ll accept,” Bruce says, laughing. “So long as it’s a good lunch.” 

 - 

Tony is gasping in disbelief as he sees Thor put a hand on the small of Bruce’s back, leading him to meet the queen. 

“Only my brother,” Loki says, pursing their lips. “Of course he falls in love with the man who stole from the kingdom and would probably be arrested for about twenty years.” 

“He does that,” Tony says. “Thank you again, for inviting me.” 

“No problem,” Loki says. “God knows I needed someone else to judge the questionable fashion choices people made. Just...ugh. Look at her shoes.” 

“I need another drink to even think about looking at those,” Tony says, turning towards the bar. 

- 

With Thor and Bruce, the kingdom gets two excellent rulers. Bruce is more focused on environment sustainability and education infrastructure, and can frequently be seen leading children all over the grounds of the kingdom, identifying herbs and plants and grinning as they picnic for lunch. 

Thor focuses more on bringing more of the...unfavorable history to light, reinventing what he wants for his country, and leading by example. 

Of course, Bruce and Thor are photographed together getting breakfast, lunch, and on one memorable occasion, in-sync eye-rolling at a United States event. 

(Tony gets it framed for their wedding gift.)