#and throughout the game we see him be manipulated and slowly twisted from a good man into something we’re more familiar with

[quibbs126]

You know how Descole described Targent as being like a cult, at least when his parents were abducted?

I know he meant in the fact that they were small but incredibly dedicated, but I wonder just how true that sentiment really is

[rocorambles]

Shiny New Toy

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader 

Genre/Warnings: Military Officer Matsukawa x Prisoner of War Reader AU, Yandere, Non-Con/Rape, Bondage, Sex Toys, Degradation, Overstimulation, Objectification, Humiliation, Body Writing, Mentioned/Implied  Non-Con Branding, Knife Marking, Tattooing

Summary: Most people would consider having a white Christmas a stroke of good luck, but you’re about to find out just how untrue that is. 

Author’s Note: This fic is for the Lovesick Server’s December collab and the theme is Stormy Nights~ Be sure to check out the amazing work by other members here.

When most people dream of a white Christmas, they think about soft fluffy snow you can easily shape into snowmen, they think about fluttering snowflakes they can gaze at as they sit inside a cozy home surrounded by their family. 

Not you. 

When you dream of a white Christmas, you pray for a thunderous snowstorm, you pray for harsh winds, frigid temperatures, you pray for anything severe enough to serve as a distraction, to keep the demons and monsters at bay. 

And it takes every ounce of self-control not to accidentally betray how relieved and thankful you are as your guards for the day are sloppy enough to leave you uncuffed, hastily throwing down enough food to last you a few days in their rush to return to the safety and warmth of their barracks, unwilling to venture out more than necessary to feed you multiple times a day during the blizzard outside. 

They still have enough sense to lock the cell door behind them as they scurry back to the merry celebrations, too afraid to deal with the wrath of their superior officers. And you can’t blame them, not when Oikawa’s sadistic streak and Iwaizumi’s untempered rage are infamous throughout the nations, not when you’ve seen firsthand just how cruel the Seijoh Four can be. 

Painful memories of fire, screams, and blood flood your mind and you grit your teeth as you push them aside. There would be time for grief and mourning later. But for now, you need to escape first.

You examine the lock in front of you, the one thing separating you from freedom. It’s not a bad piece of work. Sturdy, strong, and reliable. But it’s nowhere near the craftsmanship and skill you’re used to. After all, when you come from Date Tech, the nation famous for its Iron Walls, its ironwork, its ability to manipulate all types of metal to do or be whatever the heart desires, nothing compares. And it’s laughably easy to make said lock useless as you quietly creep outside for the first time in months. 

It’s quiet. Not a soul is in sight and you slow your breathing and thoughts down as you concentrate. What’s the next step? Which direction should you go? What’s the overall plan?

For once you’re thankful for how the guards they’ve been sending could care less about your presence, treating you nothing more than an object as they blatantly ignore you and carry on conversation as if you’re not there. You know that despite the fact that most of Miyagi has been conquered, three nations still remain in an endless war against each other.

Karasuno. Shiratorizawa. Aoba Johsai. 

It’s just your luck that you’d ended up a prisoner of war by the worst of the three, humiliated and kept alive as a trophy and symbol of what they had accomplished. At least if Date Tech had been conquered by Shiratorizawa you’d be dead within seconds once Ushijima had deemed you unworthy and far too weak to live up the to high standards of his warriors. 

But Karasuno...you don’t know much about the crow nation, a nation that had kept a low profile for as long as you could remember, only to recently rear its head and prove that they’ve kept up with the best of the best despite their long isolation. But you do remember the kind faces of their high ranking officers when they had gotten into a conflict with Date Tech long ago, how surprisingly amicable the two sides were as Date Tech admitted defeat, preparing for the worst, only to be surprised as Karasuno had peacefully left after having your nation promise an alliance with them, leaving your home relatively in one piece, letting your authorities remain in power, allowing your people to live normally.

It’s decided then. The game plan is to escape to Karasuno and hope that Daichi Sawamura is as just and kind as you remember. 

Determined, you carefully listen and check your surroundings, grateful for the added coverage the snowstorm provides, relieved when you hear the distant drunken shouts and celebrations as the soldiers celebrate the joyous holiday, tucked away in the mess hall quite a distance from you. And you brace yourself as the wind howls around you, as the icy snow stings your bare feet and legs, soaking through your tattered clothing. But like hell you’re going to let something as silly as frostbite stop you and you darkly think that dying from hypothermia would be a preferable way to leave this world than by the hands of a Seijoh officer. 

Escape is tantalizingly close and you forget about the way your body feels numb from the bitter cold, forget about how your teeth chatter and your body shivers when you see the nearing enclosure, so focused on the exit that you don’t notice the solitary tall figure casually leaning against a wall nearby, curiously watching your stumbling weary body make its way towards the opening, amusement in his eyes when you pass him, completely unaware of his presence as your eyes sparkle from seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Matsukawa doesn’t care much for Christmas. Well to be fair, he doesn’t care much about holidays or celebrating in general, finding the rowdy atmosphere headache inducing, the raucous volume irritating, the crowds of people bothersome. But Oikawa and Hanamaki love their social events and it boosts squad morale, so needless to say of course there is an obnoxious holiday party raging on, with Iwaizumi playing babysitter. And Matsukawa had slipped out as soon as he could, finding strange comfort in the tumultuous weather outside, unfazed by the way snow slashed across his face as he walked and walked until only the sounds of wind and the night accompanied him. 

So imagine his surprise when their adorable little prisoner shows up in the midst of the blizzard like a ghostly apparition, struggling through the elements in a desperate attempt to escape. Honestly he doesn’t know why you’ve been kept in the cell for so long and he supposes you have Iwaizumi to thank for Oikawa not sinking his teeth and claws into you already, the green eyed general having a softer heart than most would assume knowing his reputation. But your luck has run out and not even Iwaizumi can save you from punishment and Matsukawa’s penchant for ruining pretty things. 

Suddenly Christmas doesn’t seem so bothersome after all as Matsukawa’s long legs swiftly carry him to you, his arm quickly wrapping around your neck from behind and squeezing until your nutrient deprived and half frozen body collapses in his arms. 

You groan when you come back to your senses, sinking into the soft surface you’re laying on. 

Wait. Soft surface?

Your eyes shoot open and your arms instinctively move to help you sit up, only for you to falter as something keeps your arms bound behind your back and you flail and struggle to move your tied up body as you gauge your surroundings, feeling nauseous when you recognize the turquoise and white uniform jacket hung up by the door, staring in disbelief and humiliation when you finally look down at yourself, the glowing Christmas lights adorning and highlighting your body as they weave around your breasts and between your legs. And you can only assume that’s what you feel wrapped around your arms, keeping them immobile behind your back as your naked body fights against its restraints on the bed you’ve been placed on. 

 But you scream, all thoughts of escape zapped out of you when two devices come to life inside of you and you sob in shame and panic as both your lower holes are assaulted by the vibrators inside of them, the tangle of lights looped between your legs keeping the toys firmly shoved inside of you despite the way you try to push them out of you. 

Matsukawa doesn��t understand the appeal of Christmas lights or decorations nor does he understand Oikawa’s fascination of sex toys and overwhelming his play things with plastic, rubber, and metal, preferring the surge of pride that courses through him when he wrecks his sluts with his body alone. But as he watches you writhe in front of him, your eyes glistening with hopeless tears, your nipples perky and erect, your moans and whimpers filling the room as he sits back and relaxes, his large hand slowly palming his hardening cock that he untucks out of his trousers, he admits that maybe he had been too quick to judge, grateful he hadn’t immediately dumped the box of gag gifts his brunette captain had gifted him bright and early this Christmas morning. 

“I know you don’t like toys, Mattsun. But you should test these out on the new batch of prisoners we get from the next raid!”

You aren’t a new prisoner, but he’s sure Oikawa wouldn’t mind that he was using them on you. If anything, the brunette would probably be jealous that he’d claimed you first. 

Time ceases to exist as Matsukawa watches you, fingers idly tapping away on buttons and a smirk spreading across his face at how receptive you are to the setting changes, how little he has to do to have your body contorting and your voice wantonly wailing as orgasm after orgasm is ripped from you. But he grows tired of watching from afar after he forces you to break apart countless times and he draws near, stroking his now fully erect cock as he mockingly whistles at how you’ve soaked the bed sheets near your cunt and drenched the lights shoved against your folds, laughing at how your back arches and your eyes roll back when he roughly pinches and twists your nipples. 

It’s like you were made to be played with. And suddenly Matsukawa can’t get his hands on his new toy fast enough, unwinding the soaked string of lights from your lower half and bending your legs before retying the lower strands of lights so that they bind your calves to your thighs, enjoying the view as the vibrator in your pussy easily slips out from your loosened sopping wet hole while he teasingly pulls and shoves back in the large vibrating plug he keeps nestled inside of your ass. 

You really are just like a sex toy or a fuck doll, other than that scowl on your face and the raging hate and disgust in your eyes. But the fierce look only stirs deeper lust and anticipation in the officer as he eagerly awaits the moment you completely break because of him, large hands easily hauling your bound body by the waist and forcing you to straddle his lap as he reclines against his headboard, smiling at how rage turns to a gorgeous look of fear when you feel the tip of his cock brush against your glistening entrance. 

It really is admirable how you hopelessly fight against him, against gravity as his hands guide you down and down, despair, pain, and maybe something on the border of pleasure overtaking you as you sink on an enemy’s shaft seemingly forever, the girth alone already stretching you far more than the vibrator had. But it’s the length that tears you apart and Matsukawa is painstakingly meticulous about making sure you swallow him at an agonizingly slow pace, making sure you have no choice but to feel every bit of him that enters you, that drags against your walls, further and further until you swear he’s in your cervix, in your stomach. 

You hate how sensitive his earlier torment has made you, how your pleasure addicted body is already chasing after another orgasm, your pussy fluttering in excitement around the new object filling it, your mouth drooling and unable to close as your mind goes blank from the sensation of being double stuffed again. And you sob in relief when you finally bottom out before you can humiliate yourself by cumming yet again, tensing as you wait for your captor to ruthlessly fuck you right away. 

But nothing happens and you stare in astonishment as Matsukawa merely reaches over to his nightstand to pick up a book, flipping through pages as you sit in his lap. 

“Be a good cock warmer and just stay still and look pretty, okay?” 

Humiliation courses through you at his words, but you obey. Or at least you try your best to. But he’s set you up for failure as the hand not holding his reading material finds its way between your legs, calloused fingertips gently and slowly rubbing against your clit in a way that has your body heating up, has your hips unconsciously grinding as they chase the building inferno inside of you until you’re desperately humping him like a bitch in heat in search of relief. And Matsukawa irritatedly sighs. 

“Aren’t fuck dolls supposed to just stay still and be quiet? If you want to cum that badly and distract me, at least entertain me.” 

You don’t even have the presence of mind to pay him any attention as you keep on bouncing as much as you can with your limited movement, completely ignorant of how he tosses his book to the side and rummages through the opened gift box besides him, a pleased hum escaping him when he pulls out two jingling objects. 

But you do notice the piercing pain from both your nipples as incredible pressure is applied to them and you scream as Matsukawa adjusts the nipple clamps, whimpering when he smacks your breasts and the bells attached to the devices loudly ring. Satisfied with your new decorations, once again he wraps his large hands around your waist and you wail as you’re easily lifted and slammed back down, face burning with shame and embarrassment when you realize you’re being fucked to the rhythm of Jingle Bells, the bells lewdly swinging from your sensitive buds only emphasizing your pathetic position with every shrill chime. 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. You shouldn’t be moaning like a whore. You shouldn’t be on the verge of yet another mind blowing orgasm. And you clench your eyes shut as you try to remember your home, remember your family, remember your friends, anything to distract you from the present. But Matsukawa has other plans for you and pleasure and pain strike you down like a bolt of lightning when he rips the clamps off of you and you let out an animalistic sound of ecstasy as you experience your most intense orgasm yet, one that has you twitching and mindless, slumping against the broad body in front of you in post-coital bliss and exhaustion.  

But you weakly cry out when large hands hold you still as strong hips thrust up hard into you. 

“Your performance was so good that now I’m in the mood.” 

All your pride goes down the drain as you beg and plead for him to let you rest, to stop, making a mess of his shirt and neck as your tears and snot smear across skin and fabric as you exhaustedly bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, crying even harder when fingers trace slow patterns on one ass cheek before slapping you harshly to shut up your whining. 

“A toy’s job is to make its owner feel good. Plus, I’m curious just how durable you are. Clearly if you’re conscious enough to annoy me with all your sniveling, then you’re in good enough shape for me to use some more.” 

You can only brokenly cry as he rails you from below, your torso still propped against him, face still buried in his shoulder, as he manhandles your body, forcefully slamming you down with every thrust, making sure you’re completely filled and unable to escape the delirious fullness and stimulation. And you can’t even breathe, unable to think of anything except for the aching overwhelming feeling bubbling inside of you, threatening to consume you as you’re brought to new highs over and over again.

But your weakened body can only take so much and your squeals trail off into silence, darkness encroaching on your consciousness as your body shuts down from overexertion. It’s too much and you gladly and wearily welcome slumber, can practically taste it on your tongue as a part of you shatters deep inside when you vaguely register the hot thick spurts filling your insides as Matsukawa slams balls deep inside of you one final time. 

Your heavy eyelids flutter shut and you can feel your breathing begin to even out, but panic forces you to stay awake and alert when a low teasing voice murmurs into your ear. 

“You lasted longer than I thought, but I guess you’re officially out of batteries now. Don’t worry. I’ll charge you right back up.”

You don’t know what he has planned for you, but it can’t be anything good and despite how fatigued you are, you thrash and wiggle, doing everything you can to avoid the inevitable despite your still bound position. But it’s useless and you feel so small, so vulnerable as you’re shoved face down in the corner of his room, twisting just enough to see Matsukawa holding the vibrator that had been inside of you earlier and plugging it to an outlet in the wall. And your heart plummets when he gives you a lazy grin as he abruptly shoves the toy inside of you once more. 

“Can’t have it running out of batteries while it keeps you loose and wet for me.”

You kick and scream as he adjusts the lights wrapped around your legs once again, only pausing as he rains down hard and heavy hits to your ass, and if you felt vulnerable before, you feel absolutely pathetic now with a strand of lights keeping both the vibrator and plug firmly inside of you once again and your binds adjusted until you’re in a hog-tie position. But you don’t have time to dwell too much on it, not when both vibrator and plug are suddenly set at their highest settings and you shriek, tears streaming down your face from the onslaught of sensations in your already spent body. 

And you can only feel, feel, and feel, brain dead and numb to anything else happening around you. Even when Matsukawa crouches in front of you, you just dumbly stare at him as drool trickles from your mouth and lewd moans spill from your lips. 

But even in your depraved state, the last dregs of your pride shout at you to do something, anything, as the officer holds a pair of socks and black briefs in front of your face. 

“As beautiful as you sound, I can’t have the entire unit complaining about how loud my little doll is. And toys don’t need to talk or see anyway, so I’m going to wrap you back up until I’m ready to use you again, okay?”

It’s a rhetorical question and before you can even think of retorting, the socks are brutally shoved into your mouth and you gag and choke as long fingers cruelly push and push, practically deep-throating you with the thick fabric, more hot tears cascading down your face as he removes his now saliva coated digits and wipes them clean on your face. 

But as the elastic band of his briefs are pulled over your head and snapped into place right beneath your eyes, rendering your eyesight useless, making the buzzing torment in your lower regions even more prominent, you go completely limp save for the uncontrollable tremors of pleasure, any fight you had in you shattered into a million pieces as you fully register what has happened and what you have been reduced to. 

And Matsukawa takes a moment to appreciate how broken you are already, barely looking human with the glow of the Christmas lights surrounding you and your facial features hidden for the most part by his briefs, looking every bit like a depraved whore, like human furniture, like a lewd object to be used by anyone, anytime. 

But Matsukawa has never been good at sharing his belongings and he plucks a permanent marker from his desk, scribbling dark unmistakable lines across both your ass cheeks, smirking down at his new mark of ownership. 

Issei’s Toy

The words look good on you. His name looks good on you. 

Maybe if you survive his treatment long enough, he’d get it permanently tattooed into your skin. Maybe he’d carve it into your skin. Maybe he’d burn it into your skin…

The possibilities are endless, but for now, he has an appearance to make, sighing tiredly at the responsibilities he has as a senior officer. Curse Oikawa and his insistence that all of the Seijoh Four had to at least show face at the beginning and end of the holiday party. And he rolls his eyes as he straightens out his uniform and throws on his jacket. 

But before he departs, he spares you one more glance, mood instantly lighting up when he sees your wrecked pitiful form laying on his ground like a forgotten toy. 

At least something good came out of this dreadful day, he thinks, as he quietly hums Jingle Bells all the way down to the mess hall. 

[mybg3notebook]

Gale: Hypothesis and Analogies – Part 1

Here, I compile several hypotheses that are pretty common to find around, expressing my opinion on them and showing what EA has given us so far to justify them or not. 

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

Disclaimer about interpretations of Real Life concepts: I’m not a fan of bringing real life issues into plain analogies/allegories in a game which intention in doing so was not made explicit, but the fandom seems to like this aspect and therefore I would like to share those opinions here as well since some seems reasonable despite not being of my taste. This topic may be sensitive for some people. Be aware of it.

Hypothesis: Gale was groomed

Concept

Grooming is building a relationship, trust, and emotional connection with a child or young person (and sometimes their family as well) to lower the child's inhibitions with the objective of sexual abuse. Grooming allows offenders to slowly overcome natural boundaries long before sexual abuse occurs. On the surface, grooming a child can look like a close relationship between the offending adult, the targeted child and (potentially) the child’s caregivers. The grooming process is often misleading because the offender may be well-known or highly regarded in the community. As a result, it’s easy to trust them. Although grooming is more common among children, it may happen with adults too, especially in work environments.

Stages: First, perpetrators may target and exploit a child’s perceived vulnerabilities: emotional neediness, isolation, neglect, a chaotic home life, or lack of parental oversight, etc. They work to gain the trust of parents/caregivers to lower suspicion.

Once the perpetrator begins to fill the child's needs, they may assume a more important role in the child's life. Perpetrators utilize tactics such as gift giving, flattery, gifting money, and meeting other basic needs. Tactics may also include increased attention and affection towards the targeted child. The perpetrator uses isolation tactics to reinforce their relationship with the child by creating situations in which they are alone together or by cultivating a sense that they love and understand the child in a way that others, even their parents, cannot. 

Once emotional dependence and trust have been built, the perpetrator progressively sexualizes the relationship. When sexual abuse is occurring, perpetrators commonly use emotional manipulation; they make the child believe they are the only person who can meet their emotional and material needs. The child may feel that the loss of the relationship, or the consequences of exposing it, will be more damaging and humiliating than continuing the unhealthy relationship. 

Behavioural consequence

The consequences on victims of grooming tend to be very different depending on the victim's age, personality, and psychology, but some broad leftover traits or behaviours can be summarised as:

They are too eager to please and have a great avoidance of angering others.

Big desire for privacy: they know others will not understand what they lived.

The victim becomes withdrawn, or they may seem troubled by something but unwilling to talk about it. Alternatively, their emotions might become more volatile.

They tend to be unaware of the abuse for a long while even after the relationship ended. 

If they are aware, they tend to display shame and embarrassment for what happened.

They can suffer abandonment issues depending on the way this relationship ended. 

They tend to develop difficulties to maintain relationships.

This situation tends to be particularly invisible or dismissed for men and boys due to social norms about masculinity.

Inside the context of BG3

First, it's important to estimate Gale's age. More or less the fandom agrees he is currently (1492DR) in his early 30s. Mystra returned in 1479DR (read the post about "Mystra and her Chosen ones" for details), so Mystra may have lured Gale into serving her as Chosen when he was around 17 years old (this depends on every player’s perception of Gale’s age)

This gives us a good estimation of the context: When Mystra returned thanks to Elminster—who gave her most of his Silver Fire—she immediately started to strengthen her network of Chosen ones and to work on repairing the Weave to its original state. Due to this unique context, Gale may have been observed by Mystra as a precious asset: a very young wizard who could not only control the Weave but compose it: a great skill to repair a still weak Weave. Furthermore, in the novel Dead Masks (1491DR), it is stated that the best way to cast a spell with a weakened Weave is to "twist" it instead of using it for tapping into the Raw Magic. In this book it is not clear if this is a skill that only Chosen ones have, but it has a strong similarity with Gale's skills.

Although we don't know much about Gale's childhood, if he was neglected or not as a child to be more easily lured by the Goddess, we can agree that it's most likely that Mystra has been watching him as a potential candidate since a child. Gale explicitly says: "I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember". And as far as Forgotten Realms lore goes, Weave and Mystra are the same. We also know that this is a common behaviour of Mystra who has been watching precocious, skilful wizards before choosing them for her goals: for example, Midnight. 

When Gale reached an age that could be considered a "(very) young man", she seduced him, using his passion and love for Magic to lure him. She offered him a deep connection with her and with the Weave: with Magic itself. After seeing Gale's passion for magic, it is understandable that he—as a teenager or a young man—must have been dazzled by her and her proposal. We know that, in the novel Elminster: a mage in the making, she offered to Elminster exactly what he wanted the most: power to make his revenge possible . By the end of the encounter, Elminster became “charmed” by her despite hating her throughout all his life, turning into her devotee. This situation can be interpreted as another example of how Mystra works: she seems to lure her potential Chosen with the promise of giving them what they are most passionate about.

Once Mystra slept with her Chosen, and imbued her divine essence on them, she left them to their own devices, making them wait for her commands. In Elminster’s and Sammaster ‘s case, both were put under tests, being forced—by their own drive to please the Goddess—to develop more magic and personal skills to serve her. In the process, both developed an obsession for her. Elminster's seems to be less self-destructive than Sammaster's, but the latter could be understandable since he always suffered from madness. My point is, the pattern continues with Gale: driven by this obsession of wanting Mystra close, to please her, Gale tried to control an ancient magic, and failed, being abandoned by Mystra due to this mistake.

Gale, according to this interpretation as a victim of grooming, is still stuck in the process: he wants to please Mystra, wants to right his wrongs, even though in some scenes he seems to have been over her, in others he still seems to be very attached to her (it's hard to know which is the most accurate since it's EA and Gale was rushed), he keeps all this trouble in private because he knows nobody will understand.

Unlike an adult who realised he was victim of grooming, Gale seems to be still not over that relationship, showing many of the behavioural consequences: 

Gale is a person who is always eager to please and avoid confrontations. If there is no choice he will use violent means, but he will always push for diplomatic approaches [1,2]. This trait seems to favour this interpretation.

He has a strong sense of privacy to the point that he is considered "shady". A lot of that desire for privacy may come from the fact that he knows no one will understand the unique relationship he had with a bigger entity. This can be seen by choosing the meanest options during the Weave and the Loss. Despite his many troubles, he remains secretive, acknowledging that "some things can't be spoken". 

He is completely unaware of having been a victim of such power imbalance. He doesn't see abuse in it, and he is not performative about this fact, since he is very private on the topic until very late in game.

Nobody can deny his abandonment issues (which are even explicitly pointed out in the dev's notes) [20]

We can infer, by all the information given, that Mystra has been his first (and presumably only) relationship so far, giving a possible hint that he may have decided not to enter another relationship again or may have felt apprehensive about it (even though I personally think this impediment is mainly caused by the “orb”).

I don't completely subscribe to this interpretation because I don’t think Mystra’s main goal has been sexual abuse, but the creation of servants and devotees that allow her to expand her power. To do so, she uses sex as part of the “ritual” that transforms certain mortals into Chosen Ones. The way in which this is indirectly explained in the novels makes me remember the concept of Zeus and his abuse of mortals: he spreads part of his divinity in the form of demi-god offspring. In Mystra’s case, she seems to leave part of her divinity in the Chosen one that slept with her: the “seed” of semi-divinity. 

However, it’s not clear if sleeping with her Chosen ones is a procedure she always does. Her daughters may have inherited her divinity when she conceived them while possessing a mortal body, but other female Chosen Ones seemed to be out of this process. Ed Greedwood also has a constant discourse in his novels where he explains that magic is “better” understood or much easily wielded by females because “they are connected to their emotions” and another stereotype of this kind. What seems to be clear is that Forgotten Realm lore hides as much as possible its queerness, and when it comes to Mystra, this habit of sleeping with her Chosen seems to apply (or at least make it more explicit) only to male mortals. So in short, her main goal was to catch another useful mortal to her group of Chosen Ones, and to do so, she lured Gale with all what she could offer. I also believe gods are gods, and they are immensely overpowered and entitled to do whatever they want in this fantasy world. They don't follow mortal rules, so they may have little scruples to do anything they see necessary to achieve their own goals, no matter if the consequences of their actions affect children, teenagers, or adults. 

Mystra in particular has been a very neutral goddess (due to her many rebirths), not particularly cruel as an evil deity could be, but not completely selfless either: she has conceived her daughters using a mortal vessel who previously gave her consent but without knowing the consequences of giving birth each year for a decade while containing a goddess inside. Mystra also profited off of Sammaster's madness (some Harpers who wrote Sammaster’s reports suspect she could have been able to cure him): she may have actively decided not to in order to let his genius madness increase her realm of power/magic. Therefore, Mystra may have had little scruples to use a very young Gale enamoured with magic to turn him into another Chosen whose skills could fix the Weave given the context that it had been severely weakened after the Spellplague. So the grooming is not completely misplaced in my opinion.

Gale's Chosen selection process is not different to what we can read in the book of the Cult of the Dragon, where Sammaster became obsessed with Mystra after sleeping with her and developed metamagic as a consequence to impress her. Or in the novel Elminster, the making of a mage, where Elmister originally despised Mystra and every magic user. However, after being in her presence, he fell for her charm, and never could get over his "love" for her, suffering a lot of painful circumstances to just be a "good devotee" and serve her.

Mystra is written in most novels as the living allegory of the beautiful "mean" woman who will always ask for more from her poor captivated men, but she will never be completely satisfied, no matter how much they sacrifice. She acknowledges the effort, but she is always asking for more. Only with Elminster she actively tried to save him from the Hells, showing, for a change, that her Chosen can be a bit more than mere pawns in the big game of divine power. However, it's important to highlight that the last rebirth of Mystra has changed her: in the novel Dead Masks some of the Seven Sisters explicitly say that Mystra has turned paranoid, asking each of her Chosen to do missions that the others cannot know. She has become more secretive and cryptic than ever. 

Mystra's actions seem to have worse connotation if we think that she can have visions of the future, as she had when she decided that Sammaster had to be her Chosen: she had foresaw the death of another Chosen and she wanted him to fill that vacuum before the event happened. So she may have foreseen Gale’s actions in his naive way to impress her. Maybe she wanted him to do it, so she could have a new piece of magic in her realm. But this is mere speculation, we will need the full release of the game to have the answer.

As I explained, despite not being a fan of it, the interpretation of grooming is not a bad one. It fits mostly if it's applied to a teenage boy, and probably it would have been taken a bit more seriously and less prone to jokes inside the fandom if Gale were a female character and Mystra a male God. 

Hypothesis: Gale has abandonment Issues

Concept

Abandonment issues arise when an individual has a strong fear of losing loved ones. A fear of abandonment is a form of anxiety. It often begins in childhood when a child experiences a traumatic loss. Children who go through this experience may then begin to fear losing other important people in their lives. Some individuals continue to fear abandonment as they grow older. Although it is less common, abandonment issues can also sometimes begin in adulthood. 

The loss often stems from a trauma, such as a death or divorce. Emotional abandonment, where a parent or caregiver is physically present but emotionally absent, may also give rise to abandonment issues later in life. It is not clear what makes one person develop this fear, since not all humans who have experienced similar losses do it. Trauma — potentially from abuse or poverty — may play a role, as may the level of emotional support that a person receives following a loss. These issues can have a significant effect on a person’s life and relationships because they fear that the other person will leave them at any moment. 

Behavioural signs/consequences

Being overly eager to please ( a “people pleaser”) 

Pushing others away to avoid rejection

Jealousy of the partner or the others when in a relationship.

Trouble trusting their partner's intentions.

Feeling insecure about their relationships.

Codependency

Need for continuous reassurance that others love them and will stay with them

Persisting in unhealthy relationships

Inability to maintain relationships: or moving quickly from one relationship to another or sabotaging them

Inside the context of BG3

I'm not going to explain this in great detail since it's spread in most of the posts I’ve done about Gale's analysis. What it's clear is that Gale has a constant fear for abandonment once he starts caring for Tav as a friend or/and lover, and this fear makes him prone to do things of poor taste. This fear seems to make him look for acceptance that only through a night of intimacy can give him. This information is apparently in the book he read, making us guess that his experience with relationships is rather poor if nonexistent. Dev's notes also reinforce the idea that Gale fears abandonment:

Gale: It is my truth, finally revealed. It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through. After the night we spent together. Surely we can brave even this side by side Dev's note: Solemn. Full of yearning, his news will not lead to him being abandoned by the player. 

Gale: Loyalty is such a… such a very rare commodity. Dev's note: The reference to loyalty foreshadows Mystra leaving him. 

So far in EA, we can see that Gale checks some behavioural consequences of this fear: he is always eager to please, approaching Tav with courtesy and jovial manners, only displaying his most acidic side to a Tav whose actions are evil. In that case, Gale cares little if Tav leaves him. With the Loss scene we can see that it is hard for him to give his trust to others, pushing them away because they would not understand the grave mistake he made. His trust demands constant progression from the Stew scene, to the Weave, to the Loss scene. If he is romanced, he asks several times if Tav is thinking of the Weave moment. When Tav asks him this question, Gale will deflect, always asking back to have Tav’s answer first before giving his: it could be interpreted as Gale looking for constant reassurance in the blooming relationship. 

However, in my opinion, the best situation that shows his abandonment issues is during our meeting with Gandrel. Gale disapproves of handing over Astarion, by telling Tav about an anecdote of a dog turning old and mean: how his friend got rid of the animal just because it was an inconvenience. This is very curious since Gale's mistrust for Astarion is not a secret: he stated many times that Astarion is a danger to the group, and his wickedness causes him to strongly dislike him. The reason for this is quite obvious if we see both lists of approvals: mostly what one approves the other disapproves. Despite all this, Gale strongly judges Tav for handing Astarion over, and his disapproval for doing it shows that Gale is not lying on the matter: the meta-knowledge is trustworthy information. 

This can be understood better when Tav defends Astarion against Gandrel: Gale approves twice of defending him. If Astarion is not in the group when meeting the monster hunter, the first approval happens when Tav recognises that Astarion is part of their companions/friends (therefore, Tav is showing care for their group). The second approval happens when Tav reinforces their loyalty to Astarion insisting that they won’t give his location (this is a clear display of loyalty that Gale acknowledges as rare. See the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat" for more details). Although Gale will explicitly question this decision, he secretly approved it (the approvals we saw are meta-knowledge: only the player sees them). Considering the undeniable context that Gale deeply dislikes Astarion, we may interpret this as Gale seeing in Tav a loyal person who will not abandon someone they care for, even if that person endangers them. Loyalty is something that resounds deeply in Gale due to his abandonment issues. 

 Another detail on this matter can be seen during the party. If Tav arranges spending the night with a companion and then asks (non-romanced) Gale the same, he will answer:

Gale: You are all too quick to abandon the one you promised yourself to. It’s not a quality I admire.

This line shows that first, Gale is not interested in casual sex; he needs the connection that the Weave provides and Tav’s explicit, previous romantic interest in it. Second, when Gale is romanced but Tav sleeps with someone else, Gale will not interfere in that affair, but he may not like it (due to his, I suppose, jealous comment since he doesn’t display an approval penalty for this). However, he seems to equate loyalty with commitment, understanding that affair as a fling but believing he still holds the romantic interest of Tav, hence his proposition the next day. More details in the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat".

---------

Sources for both parts:

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders ( 5V)

Some concepts were summarised from: https://melcrowecounsellor.com www.d2l.org/child-grooming-signs-behavior-awareness/

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

[heejinnien]

bts | roses chapter two

word count: 1.8k words

pairing: bts x reader

synopsis: y/n is a member of the seoul behavioral analysis unit. usually, she’s the cat in the typical game of cat and mouse played with the criminals they catch, but when a mysterious string of murders has her on edge, she discovers she’s caught the attention of one of a dangerous criminal — and he’s determined to make her pay for it.

or, not all attention is the good kind.

genre: horror, angst

warnings: yandere themes, descriptions of gore, descriptions of violence, murder, the reader carries a gun because they need to defend themself against bad guys, guns, manipulation, victim blaming, this is overall just a very dark fic

author’s note: i’m sorry this isn’t as long as the other chapters but when i cut the fic into different parts i didn’t split it evenly sksks. like before, the “terms used throughout this fic” section of the masterlist was updated to include terms in this chapter. if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask or dm, or just let me know your thoughts! i would be happy to explain things to you, and i would also love to hear your feedback or who you think is suspicious. as always, adhere to the warnings and do not read if any of those things trigger you.

roses masterlist

“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?”

Hoseok sits beside you as officers swarm the small hotel room and the hallway outside it, dusting for fingerprints, searching for any traces of the person who left the letter outside your room.

“No, I didn’t,” you reply, twisting your hands anxiously. “They knocked and I spilled some of my dinner, and by the time I cleaned it up and got to the door the hallway was empty.”

Hoseok nods, thoughtful. “We’ll get the hotel to pull up security footage.”

You both sit in silence, your thoughts swarming. You hope that Hoseok doesn’t ask why you spilled your food. Even though you know he won’t judge you, you still feel the need to present yourself as unphased by this case as the rest of your team. Admitting that you were startled because you had been so wrapped up in sentimentality would be a sign of weakness, and as a female NIS agent you know you can’t afford to show any of it.

“Where’s Namjoon?” You finally ask, voice cutting through the awkward silence that had settled around you.

“He’s back at the station already, adding this to the case notes.”

“You let him know what was happening?” You ask.

Hoseok had been the first to burst down your door, his room sharing a wall with yours and your voice having pierced through the thin wood. The rest of your team followed shortly after, local law enforcement arriving moments after that to process the scene.

“Jin did, he’s in the hallway now.” Hoseok jerks his head in the direction of the open door. Just around the corner of what you can see is where you assume Jin is. If you strain, you can hear his voice, speaking rapidly as he barks out orders to the officers around him.

You nod, bouncing your leg anxiously.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Y/N,” Hoseok murmurs, giving you a gentle smile and leaning forward to hug you. He wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth and the soothing comfort he provides. “We’ll catch the criminal, just like we always do.”

You both remain like this for a moment before you pull away. “I’m okay, really,” you say, flashing Hoseok a smile that you hope is more reassuring than you sound. You force the fear and anxiety twisting inside you aside, refusing to let Hoseok see how shaken up you are.

As if sensing this, Hoseok searches your gaze. You force yourself to remain still, forcing the emotions that Hoseok will expect to see into your expression. Collectedness. Unbotheredness.

Hoseok hums as he drags his eyes away from yours, pushing himself to his feet.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N,” he says after another moment of pause.

He smiles again, but this time something dark flashes across his gaze. It passes so quickly you’re sure that with your paranoia you imagined it, and you ignore the way Hoseok’s words settle wrongly in your gut, the way that nothing feels right anymore.

“Detective Yeosang.”

You nod your head in greeting at the new detective, quickly shaking his hand and observing the empty lot around you. You cock your head to the side as you snap on a pair of blue gloves, raking your gaze over the Incheon detective.

“Where’s Detective Jaehyun?”

Yeosang gives you a tight smile, voice strained as he says, “Detective Jaehyun was removed from the case this morning for hindering an official investigation. SSA Namjoon was kind enough not to press federal charges against him, but he was still removed.”

You arch an eyebrow at the news, mildly surprised. You hadn’t been informed Jaehyun was taken off the case when your team had assembled that morning, Namjoon assigning everyone a task for the day. You wrack your brain, attempting to remember if you had seen the detective at all that morning, but you come up dry.

“What do you have on the vic?”

Your partner Jin’s voice pushes you out of your thoughts and you force yourself back to the present, returning to your mental crime scene analysis.

“The victim was found around eight this morning by a delivery truck who usually drops food off for one of the local bakeries.”

Yeosang motions for you and Jin to follow him and you do, trailing the detective as he leads you to a narrow brick alley at the edge of the lot. He steps to the side as you and Jin study the alley. The familiar scent of copper and rose makes your throat dry as your mind flashes back to your hotel room, but you close your eyes and exhale, forcing your pulse to slow down and pushing the memory into the recesses of your mind.

“There are more stab wounds than last time,” Jin points out, pointing to the victim’s chest and thighs. “The amount of blood signifies she was killed here.” Jin points to the victim’s head. “Their hair isn’t even black.”

“So the unsub is devolving,” you muse aloud. “Someone or something must have triggered him.”

Jin hums in agreement. “With how deep the stab wounds are, you would almost think that this was a different unsub than the other crimes.”

“What do you mean?” Yeosang asks, frowning. “We have two killers on our hands?”

“Doubtful,” you answer. “When an unsub devolves, they grow sloppier, leaving behind evidence they usually wouldn’t have or changing parts of their MO. In this case, the stabbing and rose are consistent, but the finer details such as the lamb’s blood are missing.”

“What would cause something like that?” Yeosang says, voice raising slightly.

“Maybe something in the unsub’s life went wrong,” Jin suggests, standing and crossing his arms. “A rejection, a loss, maybe. This means that they’ll be sloppier and keep leaving clues that hopefully we can trace back to them.”

“So we just have to wait for him to keep killing until he leads us to him?” Yeosang demands, disbelief and frustration evident in his tone.

“Of course not,” Jin says evenly, despite Yeosang’s rising hysteria. “If you detectives were so worried about the lives of your people, maybe you should have shared all of the evidence in the case with us from early on.”

“That was Detective Jaehyun’s call, not mine,” Yeosang grits out, hands clenched into fists. “I don’t appreciate what you’re implying, Agent Seokjin.”

“I’m not implying anything.”

Jin’s face is cold, tone apathetic as he addresses Yeosang. He arches an eyebrow coldly, continuing, “I’m just saying that maybe if the NIS had all of the facts for this case, we might have been able to find something by now.”

Yeosang sputters, and Jin turns away, already refocusing his attention back on the body. You give the steaming detective a sympathetic smile, bending to pick up the flower resting in the victim’s hands when your skin pricks as though it has been stabbed by the rose’s thorns. You immediately stand and whirl around, but aside from familiar police vehicles and officers, you are met with nothing. Yeosang gives you a questioning look, and you wave your hand dismissively. After another scan of the lot you turn back towards Jin, ignoring his concerned look.

Despite this, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. 

“Y/N.”

“Namjoon.” You nod at your team’s leader as you pull out a plastic office chair, settling across from the aforementioned man.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you admit, rubbing your hands against your legs soothingly. “A little spooked, but this isn’t the first time one of us has received a note from one of our unsubs.”

“That’s true,” Namjoon muses. He spins in his chair slowly, twisting enough that you hear the creak of his chair but not enough that his body ever completely turns away from you. He steeples his hands on the mahogany desk in front of him, case files spread across the wooden surface haphazardly.

After a moment, you clear your throat. “I heard that you forced Detective Jaehyun off of this case.”

“I did,” Namjoon says slowly. “He was withholding information from this investigation.”

“I see,” you say, throat dry. Your body fills with nervous energy as you contemplate what to say. Namjoon speaks before you do.

“I was speaking with some of the other BAU members, and we’ve all agreed that the unsub seems to be targeting you.” Namjoon smiles, but it’s devoid of any friendliness. “I’m sure you’ve thought of it by now, right?”

You nod, unable to force yourself to speak, and Namjoon continues. “The NIS Director caught word of the note that was sent to you last night, and he wants you off the case. Conflict of personal interest, he said.”

“If this is about my ability to handle this case, I assure you that I can — ” You say quickly.

“I know.” Namjoon says, holding up his hand and effectively silencing your protests. “Which is why I’m not taking you off this case. But going forward we’re going to need to be honest with each other, okay?”

Somehow, you know that Namjoon is speaking on a level that transcends your current conversation. With a growing sense of dread, you are aware that Namjoon knows that Jaehyun had told you about the notes. You briefly wonder how he knows, if Jaehyun ratted you out. You clench your fists, waiting for a reprimand similar to the one Namjoon most likely gave Jaehyun for not telling your team leader earlier.

It never comes.

You stare at Namjoon silently, unsure of what to say. Seconds stretch on between you. Finally you find strength within you to nod, and Namjoon smiles sharply.

“Good. Now tell me what you and Jin found at the crime scene earlier.”

You stare at the case files, your eyes drooping.

The rest of your team left long ago, hushed whispers and a few worried glances thrown your way. You ignored them, choosing instead to concentrate on the pictures of victims in front of you until your eyes burned tiredly. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t come up with anything linking the unsub to the victims. You feel so small, so unsure, and this makes everything you had been feeling towards the case worse.

Finally, you sigh, standing and gathering your things. You grab your phone, groaning as the time is reflected on the screen. It’s too late to hail a cab, the method of transportation you had assured the rest of your team you could use to get back to the hotel when they had left earlier.

You idly scroll through your phone’s app store, looking for a rideshare app that you can use to get back to your hotel and pushing open the precinct’s glass doors when your foot collides with something solid. You try to steady yourself, but it’s too late. 

Your hands find purchase with something warm and sticky, and it takes a moment for you to gain your bearings. When you do, your eyes land on a foot. Your eyes follow it to a leg, and then up, up, and when your eyes finally focus on the owner of the foot you scream.

It’s Taehyung.

send me an or dm if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist!

taglist: @kassrole​, @hoebii​, @biaswreckme​, @taegularities​, @moccahobi​, @scarlet2007​, @deepdarkdelights​, @birbdae​, @mieohmy​, @samros95​, @ggukkieland​

[redvoid-40]

A Game for a Kiss

Don’t ask me where this came from. I’ve watched BSD a couple months ago and of course I got the hots for the feral rat-man. -.-

Anyway, slowly I came up with a little plot for an arc with some OCs (weird calling them OCs, when they’re all named after past writers but oh well) and even thought about developing it, but since I’m not in the mood to write a whole multi-chaptered fic, I decided to just write this interaction between Fyodor and my main OC for the BSD-universe, Mary Shelley. You know, as a treat. >.<

I know the fandom is super small, but I thought someone might enjoy this, so here it is! :)

Also, Fyodor might be OOC (it’s hard to get a full understanding of his character) but I see him as creepy-pretty, with no qualms in manipulating women in ways that border on dub-con. So... TW: some making out; Fyodor’s thoughts making it clear his morals are more twisted than a pretzel. 

Anyway, enjoy! :)

Part 1 / Part 2 (NSFW) / Part 3 (NSFW)

“How about a game?” Fyodor proposed, smiling from ear to ear as he moved a chessboard from the side table to the coffee table in front of them. It was small, with tiny and expensive crystal pieces that had a purely decorative role, but he had never minded playing with valuable and irreplaceable things before, so why start now? Much worse to die of boredom than to shatter a hundred-dollar pawn. “I heard you had quite the reputation at the Chess Club in Oxford.”

“It’s been a few years since I last played,” Mary admitted as placed her glass of anise-infused gin on the coffee table and reached out to touch the white king, as if she was caressing a long-lost lover. “Not sure I’ll be a worthy opponent to you, Mr Dostoevsky.”

“How about I give you some impetus then?” Fyodor asked, raising a sole eyebrow as Mary’s eyes shone with interest. “If you win, I’ll give you something. Something I know you want from me.”

Mary quickly pulled back, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie-jar. “You’re already doing so, and I’m eternally grateful for it. Helping me retrieve Adam and right my wrong is all I could ever hope for and more, Mr Dostoevsky. There’s nothing el-”

“A kiss.”

Fyodor’s smile widened and his eyes darkened as a pink dusted over Mary’s cheeks. Her dark eyes made it hard to discern her emotions, but if he were to guess, Fyodor would bet her pupils had doubled in size at his indiscretion.

“I can feel your gaze on me, Doctor Shelley. Every time I walk in a room, your eyes peruse my figure like I’m an appetising treat,” Fyodor spoke, feet planted on the floor as he projected his body forwards, elbows on spread knees and the fingers of his hands intertwined. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you are interested in me in a way that’s not entirely professional or proper.”

Mary reached for her lowball glass and quickly brought it to her lips, downing the rest of her gin in a way that also wasn’t professional or proper. Fyodor watched her throat move, amused and admitedly a bit impressed at the pace at which she was draining her gin, wondering if maybe he should have proposed a drinking game instead. Who would fare better, her with her gin infusions or him with his chilled vodka?

“... and if I lose?”

Fyodor blinked, lazily trailing his eyes up her chin, passing by her pouting lips, blushing cheeks and up to dark eyes that stared at him so attentively. Lips curled at the corners, he raised a single eyebrow, urging Mary to continue.

“If I lose the game, what would you demand as compensation?” She clarified, and Fyodor exhaled at how she pressed her thighs together beneath her knee-length, black skirt.

“I’m not sure,” Fyodor said. “Why don’t you let me decide later? If I win the game, that is.”

Mary’s eyes turned away from his, moving down to gaze at the empty glass in her hands as some luster in her eyes darkened into distrust. “I think I’ll pass on your offer, Mr Dostoevsky. A kiss for an IOU? Your proposition doesn’t sound fair to me.”

Fyodor retreated, letting his spine fall comfortably against the back of the sofa as an airy laugh left his lips. The woman wasn’t as foolish as he had expected, at least; despite admitting in all but words she was enamoured with him, her shackles remained raised, certain she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Must be a woman’s intuition, Fyodor thought, remembering the looks he so often received from the fairer sex throughout his late adolescence and adult life. So many inviting smiles were thrown his way, only to morph into barely veiled jitters when he got close enough to touch. For all his years of manipulating the brightest of the brightest to have his way, Fyodor still hadn’t figured out how to lull women into unravelling themselves for him without promises of money - or some other stimulant - as reward.

“If I win I vow not to abuse my freedom, and will only ask for something of equivalent value to what I offer,” Fyodor proposed, lips relaxing in a smile he hoped Mary deemed trustworthy. “And if you feel I ask too much, you can deny me and I’ll give up my reward altogether. Does that sound fair, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary looked at him through lowered lashes and he could almost hear the gears turning in her head, lust and reason rotating in opposing directions in a struggle to decide.

“Fair enough,” Mary spoke at last, and placed her glass back on the coffee table. Her hand then moved to the chessboard and spun it around so the white pieces were close to her. “But I play white.”

Fyodor almost protested, but the smile Mary threw his way demanded enough endearment that he’d allow her this little bit of despotism just this once. 

He found he rather liked it.

---

To Fyodor’s surprise and satisfaction, Mary proved herself to be a worthy opponent. For the first time in years, Fyodor stood over a chessboard with furrowed eyebrows as he macerated the pad of his thumb between his teeth to the point he could taste iron on his tongue.

“Don’t do that. You’re hurting yourself.” 

Fyodor had just moved his knight when a hand seemed to appear out of nowhere and gently wrapped around his wrist to guide his thumb out of his mouth. Purple eyes narrowed, shooting up from the board to Mary, but his scowl melted into something almost benign at finding the woman hunched over the board, positively pouting. Her hand released his wrist, leaving an imprint of heat on his flesh despite not touching skin, and floated back to her, fingers twitching as they hovered over her pieces, debating their next move.

There was a brief knock on the doors before they opened and in walked Ivan, pulling Fyodor’s attention just in time to see the narrowing of his silver eyes as they fell on the back of Mary’s head. The glare disappeared as soon as it came, so when Mary turned around to greet the newcomer with a polite smile, he responded with an enormous grin and flamboyant mannerisms.

“I’ve come to check upon you, see if everything was alright,” Ivan announced as he stood behind Mary, silver eyes fixed on Fyodor with adoration. “It’s almost midnight.”

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she reached for the phone she had forgotten on the cushion by her side. “Oh my, there are twenty calls from Jane. I really should take this thing off silent mode.”

Fyodor’s jaw tightened as Mary’s focus shifted from their match to her phone. “Ivan,” he called with a firm voice that demanded to be the centre of attention again. “Please, let Doctor Shelley’s companions know she is safe and sound with me, and that we’re both occupied at the moment. Also, would you be so kind to have someone bring us something to eat? Something sugary would be best. I will have a drink as well. Vodka, chilled but no ice,” then he lowered his eyes back to the woman in front of him and smiled as he motioned to her empty glass. “Doctor Shelley, would you care for another?”

“Ah, I-”

“A gin for the lady, Ivan. Thank you.”

Ivan’s smile didn’t falter as he bowed his head. “Of course, I’ll have someone bring your drinks. As for sweets, I believe there are a few strawberry shortcakes in the fridge. Would that be to your liking?”

This time, Fyodor remained silent as he stared at Mary, giving her the illusion she had a say in this whole matter, that she could choose her treat in the way she couldn’t choose to refuse a drink. 

Mary’s eyes were glued to his and once again he noticed how her thighs rubbed together at his attention, leaving her phone forgotten by her side. Blushing, she craned her neck to glance at Ivan and nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Very well. Someone will bring everything here briefly,” Ivan said, moving his eyes back to Fyodor. “If you need me-”

“We will be fine,” Fyodor dismissed, purple eyes fixed on Mary as he gave her a smile that showed too many teeth. “I believe it’s your turn, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary nodded, turning her gaze to the chessboard. Her hand hovered while her brain readjusted to their match, reviewing the last rounds as it calculated the best moves she could make. It took her only a couple of seconds to review their entire game and make her move.

“Good,” Fyodor said, right hand rising to his lips out of habit, only to stop midway as he felt an intense stare on him. When he looked up, Mary was giving him a look that quickly morphed into a smile when he aborted the movement. He snorted and smiled back. “Worried about my delicate fingers?”

“You’re the one who said you have an anemic constitution,” Mary replied, eyes dropping back to the board. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself; it might take longer than usual to heal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fyodor said, letting his eyes move up and narrow slightly at finding Ivan remained still behind Mary, staring at him with a doll-like smile on his face and wide eyes. “Ivan, our drinks?”

“Oh, of course! My apologies,” the man said before bowing theatrically. “I’ll leave you to your match. Good night!”

Fyodor nodded as Mary turned back to Ivan, throwing a polite “Good night, Mr Goncharov”, before once more focusing her attention on their game, waiting for Fyodor to take his turn. He grinned, purple eyes fixed on her as he made his move, enjoying the way Mary’s lips pouted as she concentrated.

He really was having fun playing with her.

---

The game came to its inevitable conclusion hours later, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and the birds chirped outside the window. After a couple slices of strawberry shortcake and a few refills of vodka and gin, Fyodor let his body fall back on the sofa, smiling from ear to ear as he stared at the pouting woman in front of him.

“Check-mate, Doctor,” Fyodor purred, purple eyes darkening in satisfaction. 

Mary stared at the board for a couple more seconds, as if a solution to her defeat would present itself to her. But when none did, she sighed in acceptance as her forefinger gently laid down her king.

“Don’t beat yourself, Doctor. It was a splendid game; the best I had in years,” Fyodor commented.

“Thank you, Mr Dostoevsky. But your words don’t make defeat taste any less bitter.”

“I guess not,” Fyodor said. “Especially since I have to claim the spoils of my victory from you.”

Fyodor didn’t miss the glance Mary threw his way, clearly torn between enticed curiosity and rational diligence, clearly still wary that he hadn’t made his wants known before their game despite his guarantees. Those intelligent eyes clouded with lust made him lick his lips, and her breath hitched in response.

“I want… a kiss.”

Mary’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I promised to ask for something reasonable, didn’t I?” Fyodor mused. “What’s more fair than to ask for the very thing I offered?”

“But then… why did we play?” Mary asked, head dropped to the side.

“Well, I don’t feel like moving at the moment,” Fyodor said, letting his knees fall open as his eyes ran over the woman in front of him. “So, since you’re the one owing me a kiss, you come here and give it to me.”

Fyodor had never seen someone’s skin change colour so rapidly before, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bright red that bloomed all over the pale skin on Mary’s cheeks and neck. Without thinking, he brought his left thumb to his mouth, nibbling gently on the soft flesh as he regarded the woman with his own sort of unprofessional and improper interest.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said, eyeing the contour of his lips around his digit.

“Come and stop me,” he replied.

Mary swallowed his words with the same relish she swallowed her gin as she stood from the sofa, taking a moment to straighten the fabric of her pleated skirt, before walking towards him with soft, elegant steps. She came around the coffee table, sparing a glance at her toppled king before her eyes fell on his widespread knees and ran up his body until they reached his face. And while Fyodor was used to such appreciative looks, he didn’t expect the soft smile she gave him when their gazes crossed; it was usually at this moment that women stepped back from him, frightened by the intensity in his eyes.

Mary sat down by his left, so warm against the side of his body, and reached up with both hands to pull his thumb away from the abuse of his teeth. She brought his hand down to her chest to examine the damage, pouting when she saw the pad of his thumb was red and swollen, with a small laceration that had just barely crusted over and still threatened to bleed.

Fyodor watched her through half-lidded eyes, exhaling deeply when she glanced up at him. From such close-quarters he could make out the limits between the black of her pupils and the brown of her irises; just like he imagined, her pupils were dilated to extremes, wary of and eager for him. The red on her cheeks subsided, leaving a light pink colour in its place that enticed him to run his lips over the skin.

With a small quirk of her lips, Mary glanced back at his hand and shook her head at the damage on his thumb, before bringing it to her mouth to kiss the wound. The touch was soft as a rose’s petal but still knocked the breath out of Fyodor’s lungs. His warm breath gusted over the top of her head, then hitched as a soft, warm hand laid on his cheek.

“That was not what I had in mind when I asked for a kiss,” Fyodor spoke, smiling down at the woman. 

A chuckle escaped Mary and once again she gave him that soft look he was unfamiliar with. Before he could taunt her further, Mary tilted her head and guided his face down, letting her lips ghost over a corner of his mouth before moving to the other, soft and sweet. Hypnotised, Fyodor’s eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed into these teasing touches that, despite being feather-light in their delicacy, made heat rush in his veins like molten metal, erupting out of his heart to his cock and leaving a trail of feverish desire in his veins that demanded more. More contact, more kisses, more pressure.

Fyodor pushed forwards, folding his body over Mary as his hand reached out to grab the back of her neck, only to freeze mid-air as her cold air took the place of her warm flesh. Somewhere he heard an unholy sound, and only after he opened his dark purple yes to find startled brown staring back at him he noticed he was the source of it. He was growling.

In a fraction of a second, Fyodor wondered about the stage he had set for them. Had he misjudged her interest? Hadn’t he offered her enough drinks? How much did she need his help? How much did he need her and her companions? How far could he push? Was everyone in the house still asleep? If she screamed, would anyone come to help?

Brown eyes narrowed slightly and Fyodor swore he saw a glimpse of himself in them; of something aware, astute, and artful. It was there for a moment so short he wasn’t sure he had projected the connection, so before he could let his brain process it, he was once more being subjugated to that look. That nauseatingly soft look no one had ever given him before, and that he did not know what to do with.

Without words, Mary bent the rules of their game and took his turn from him, cancelled aggression with tenderness as she pushed him back against the sofa gently before swinging her leg over his lap to settle herself on his thighs, pulling a pleased hum from deep inside his chest. 

“May I?” Mary asked, hand playing with the flap of his ushanka hat.

Smiling, Fyodor nodded, and Mary pulled the hat off his head. The motion left his hair messy, drawing a giggle from her lips as she combed the knots away so gently he couldn’t help but shut his eyes and relax against the caresses. 

“Your hair is so soft,” Mary murmured, letting Fyodor smell the gin and strawberries on her breath. He felt her fingers dance on his face, collecting his long fringe to push it back and away from his features. “And you’re so beautiful.”

Fyodor’s eyes opened slightly, just enough so he could stare at the rosy lips hovering so close to his. His hands twitched by his sides, unsure where to go or how to touch. He was used to grabbing, pulling, bruising and scratching; not to soft lips or delicate touches dancing over his skin like her hands ghosted over the chess-pieces only minutes before.

Mary’s lips let out a delicious, trembling breath before moving towards him, avoiding his own mouth altogether to give a kiss on his cheek before moving to whisper into his ear: “You feel so tense. Relax.”

Easier said than done, Fyodor thought, turning his head to bury his nose in Mary’s long, black hair and breath in the scent of her shampoo - something citrusy and common that made him light-headed in a way he only felt when his anaemia got the best of him, causing him to black out and wake up stretched on a hospital bed, with an IV bag of O- blood connected to his arm. 

Still, he couldn’t possibly lose consciousness now, not with Mary’s warm body grounding him so sweetly, not with her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat between her legs trapping him against the sofa’s cushions in the best possible way. Gently, like everything she did, Mary finally laid her mouth over his, allowing a whimper to escape the back of her throat when he pressed against her, not as much as he would have liked, but enough to hold back the most violent aspects of his desires, for now.

At the contact, Fyodor’s passive hands took action, sneaking up Mary’s thighs and hips, before slipping under her blouse to rack his short nails over her naked back as he used his hold over her to press her heat harder against his cock. He half-expected her to pull back again, startled at his boldness, but Mary surprised him by letting out a delighted gasp as she tightened her grip on his hair and arched her back, pushing her breasts even more against his chest.

Fyodor took the opportunity and shoved his tongue inside her mouth, groaning as the taste of her invaded his senses. One of his hands danced over Mary’s skin, causing her to shudder as it tickled by her ribs before moving up to her-

“Oh, Dos! Are you in there? Why is the door locked?”

Nikolai’s happy-go-lucky voice breached the door’s barrier, causing Mary to pull back from their kiss, panting. Fyodor’s nails tensed over her skin before his hands relaxed again, dropping to her waist as he sighed and dropped his forehead against her collarbone.

“I guess your debt is paid, Doctor,” Fyodor spoke against her skin. “There’s work to be done.”

“Of course. I have my mission in a couple of hours as well,” Mary agreed as she pulled away to stand up on shaky legs. “It would be best if I got a couple some sleep before it.”

Fyodor glanced down at himself, at the wet spot on the crotch of his pants, and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes with a devil’s smirk. “Think you need a shower too?”

Mary blushed as she straightened her clothes in a modicum of decency. “I guess.”

Fyodor chuckled, but before he could tease her further, Nikolai’s loud voice invaded the room once more, making his eyes roll upwards in exasperation.

“Quiz time! How long until I force the door open? Two minutes? Two seconds?”

“I will leave you two alone,” Mary said. “Excuse me, Mr Dostoevsky.”

Fyodor nodded dismissively, but the look in his eyes was anything but uninterested. “I will see you later… Mary.”

The woman’s breath hitched at having her first name spoken with such heavy desire before she quickly made her escape, almost slamming against Nikolai when she unlocked the door.

“Good morning, Mr Gogol,” she said with a polite smile.

“Good morning, Mary!” He replied enthusiastically, pulling one of her hands to his lips. “What a treat to see your charming figure so early in the day! Don’t tell me Dos has summoned you at such ungodly hours to talk business?”

“Oh no, we were just having a match,” Mary said, pointing to the chessboard on the coffee table. “He wiped the floor with me.”

Nikolai took a few moments to examine the board and what he saw made him raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Looks like a tight match to me,” he said, before turning to Mary. “Next time you should invite me so I can cheer you on! Gods, what I wouldn’t give to watch Dos lose a game…”

Mary chuckled and opened her mouth, but Fyodor beat her to the punch. “You wanted to talk, Nikolai?” He called, smiling tightly at the other Russian. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

“Hmm, grumpy,” Nikolai whispered, sharing a conspiratory smile with Mary as he once again kissed the back of her hand. “Lovely to see you, my dear.”

“You too, Mr Gogol. Have a good one,” Mary said before walking away, throwing one last smile in Fyodor’s direction.

Nikolai waved at Mary’s back as she walked away, closing the door once she turned a corner.

“You know,” Nikolai began in Russian, spinning on his heels to face Fyodor. Both men smiled, but the emotions they showed were something dark, almost cruel. “I believe this is the first time I see a woman in a room alone with you leave without tears in her eyes.”

Feet planted on the floor and knees spread, unashamed of his hard-on or the wet spot on the fabric of his pants, Fyodor hummed a little song as he reached for his hat and adjusted it back on his head. Satisfied, he reached forward and grabbed Mary’s fallen king from the board.

“Honestly, my friend,” he said, bringing the piece to his smiling lips. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

[depressedacadamia]

Sore Losers

A/N: This was meant to be a simple one shot but I couldn’t help myself and now it’s a twoshot because I’m extra af. I hope you enjoy it and please comment!

Summary: Percy and Annabeth are both the most competitve people to ever exist by far. So when they both lead teams in a match of Capture the Flag Paintball edition, a very fun game ends up becoming a battle. Annabeth and Percy also happen to be the biggest pair of sore losers out there. 

Word count: 3.8K

Tagging: @showtunesandsolangelo

Chapter I

Let it be known that Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were both the biggest pair of sore losers on this side of the Atlantic. You’d think that a large group of teenagers at a paintballing park would cause a lot of trouble. Yes, yes they would indeed. But not nearly as much trouble a group of traumatised teenage demigods could cause.

They had 1 rule- don't use any powers.

However, the demigods were never really much good at following rules.

Percy promised Annabeth that his team would win and Annabeth, unable to help herself, boasted back how amazing her team were going to be. It was quite obvious how their fatal flaws- hubris and loyalty- were going to be their downfall in a game of paintball.

“Oi! You two stop flirting and get on the damned bus, would you!” Piper shouted from the window seat with Hazel to her. The yellow bus was warm due to the sunny weather outside and it smelt like teenagers.

“We aren’t flirting!” Annbeth protested violently as she threw her sports bag over her shoulder while climbing the steps. Percy, being the gentleman he was, took the bag off her shoulder and carried it for her- not that it was truly hard.

“Even I can tell that you’re flirting,” Leo called out from the back where his fingers idly fiddled with some copper wire, a battery and a nail- it seemed like he was making an electromagnet.

“Can you blame me if Percy thinks his team is going to win Pipes?” Annabeth turned around in her seat.

“That’s because we are going to win,” Will commented with a hint of sarcasm from the side of the bus where Percy’s team sat. Nico, who sat next to Reyna and was on Annabeth’s team, was more invested in fidgeting with his rings until Will spoke up.

“Says you, traitor,” He snorted.

“Death boy, it’s a game. You chose Annabeth's team- it would be unfair if we were on the same team. Besides, If anything, I should be upset. You chose Annabeth's team after I chose Percy’s!”

Nico refused to answer, his arm clinging to Reyna who barely took notice and smirked at the boy’s ego’s.

“How sad must it be that you genuinely believe that you will win?” Reyna was about to sheath her spear when Hazel put her hand on hers.

“Reyna! We aren’t allowed to bring weapons. We need to prove we can beat them without weapons!” Hazel argued.

“Having second thoughts over there?” Frank called out from beside Jason. Hazel stuck her tongue out at him- he pulled a funny face in return. While these two were considered the most mature, when they were talking to each other, they were no better than 5 year olds.

The venue was huge. It was like an abandoned forest with upside down vehicles, camo everywhere and at least 3 places to get perfectly shot in the head- not that it was allowed. There was a specific reason behind the demigods choosing to go paintballing- they were never trained to use guns. It was something that none of them were familiar in, thus they were all at a completely fair level. Had they been sword fighting, they would have all destroyed each other. They had to pull on protection suits- which were also camouflage.

“Okay, this is to capture the flag but in paintball. You’re all familiar with capturing the flag- the only difference here is instead of our regular weapons, today we have these peculiar things…” Calypso trailed off slightly.

“Guns,” Hazel and Nico finished off together. The entire squad gave an alarmed look at them saying Why in the name of Hades do you know that? In sync, they both replied.

“World War 1,” Hazel sighed.

“Hitler,” Nico grunted, kicking at the floor. A couple of scattered snorts came from the group who could not picture them in the 1900s.

“Enough enemy mingling! Comrades, let us unite to beat the Owls!” Percy commanded his group comedically. Nico raised his eyebrow at the communist joke while everyone laughed slightly.

“I see you’ve learnt something in History- let’s find out if your seaweed brain can figure out how to surrender shall we?” Annabeth challenged as she took steps towards Percy, her hands resting on her hips confidently- Her hubris was showing. She half expected Percy to slip his hand around her waist or try and show off like she did but instead, he turned to his team and began frantically whispering.

The game was so on.

“Okay, this is it. We go in, storm the boys and capture their flag,” Annabeth decided.

“And don't forget to shoot as many of them as you can!” Piper added and the group happily agreed.

“Okay Comrades, Mission ‘infiltrate’ the owls is about to end- when we meet at what I like to call No man's land, we shall take their flag while they attempt to take ours. Will, guard our flag- the rest of you, position ourselves in the formation we discussed earlier. Jason and Leo, you’re my backup soldiers if I’m down,” Percy announced. The boys nodded and prepared for the plan.

Annabeth was crouching, gun in hand with Hazel behind her. Annabeth's blonde hair made her stand out a bit whereas Hazel had a greater advantage- from a vantage point, one wouldn’t even be able to see her. As Annabeth approached through the clearing she froze. Up ahead was a dangerous place. No bushes, no trees, no cars- she’d be totally exposed to whatever Percy was plotting. She did not doubt that he had some person watching this area, ready to release fire on any enemies. Annabeth was going to wait, she crouched by the bush before the clearing and kept her gun pointed and her eyes on the lookout.

She was about to move when paint balls began exploding all around her. The sound ricocheted in her ears and the droplets of paint remained floating about in the air. The boys had planned an ambush! Annabeth knew she had 2 options- retreat and play defensive or attack and play offensive.

“Hazel, you’re in charge. Nico, you’re coming with me. Make sure Reyna is still guarding the flag!” She whisper- shouted as she began running across No Mans Land with Nico trailing close behind her. He may or may not have been using his powers to bring shards of earth encased in shadows to protect himself and Annabeth from the shower of paintballs heading towards them. Nobody really needed to know- besides, he was forbidden from using death powers, not earthly ones.

“Nico, I hear something,” Annabeth warned. The sound of crackling and rushing water surrounded them.

“It’s coming from the creak…,” Nico mumbled.

They both made eye contact, agreeing on a time to run. 3 ,2 ,1- Now! They began sprinting, dodging the rocks and the flames which were scattered across the field. The other team were really going all out and being ruthless. Leo had set half of their frontier on fire that was only being controlled by the fact that Percy had a lot of water coming in from the creak preventing the fire from spreading too far. Flashes of light came striking down on the trees, causing crackles in the trees. There were echoes of thunder rumbling throughout their section and the smell of carbon monoxide slowly rising into the air.

The tree that had been struck by lightning was causing an awful mount of crackling, a bit too much for comfort. It wasn’t until the distinct sound of a tree snapping did Annabeth and Nico realise that the tree in front of them was falling.

Directly. Onto. them.

Back at Annabeth's side of the frontier, Hazel had decided to play dirty and get powers involved. It was only fair, was it not? Piper, Reyna and Calypso were all very happy to oblige to this. They had restructured their battle plan with Piper guarding the flag and using her charmspeak if necessary. Hazel, Calypso and Reyna were at the front, using their powers to their advantage. Reyna had not decided to use her empowerment- it wasn’t necessary and it was never comforting knowing she had made her friends feel brave; she felt like she was manipulating them whenever she did use it.

“So Hazel, what were you saying about not using weapons?” Reyna raised an eyebrow as she impressively pulled out her spear of imperial gold, glimmering in the sunlight. Hazel who sheathed her Spatha simply shrugged.

“Calypso are you ready?” Hazel asked, slightly concerned- she didn't want to overwork her so quickly after she had only just started to get her magic back.

“You think I’m going to let Leo win?” She scoffed slightly as she raised her hands slightly, the magical aura around them visible.

“We have a battle to win,” Reyna announced.

Nico grabbed onto Annabeth and closed his eyes. She felt herself slip into the darkness with Nico- the moment was awful. Dark, cold and creepy whisperings surrounded her. She did not want to know how Nico was able to do that. As he pulled them out the shadows, Nico dropped to his knees, trying to catch his breath. His eyes looked significantly tired post- shadow travelling.

“Don’t tell Will, he’ll go crazy if he found out that I shadow travelled,” he said weakly, his hand clutching his ribs. Annabeth slowly helped him up to his feet, only one gun still with the both of them- Nico had dropped his when he had to shadow travel them.

“Nico, I’ve got another plan if you’re up for it,” Annabeth offered. She leaned over and whispered her strategy. The corners of Nico’s lips twisted upwards into a cruel smile- cold and menacing. Was this plan extremely dangerous if one part went wrong? Probably. But Nico decided he liked the idea of winning too much to really care.

He dug his feet into the ground again, pushing every ounce of energy into controlling the shadows. He needed to keep this accurate- too much and Hazel’s side of the field goes dark, too little and Percy’s team will be able to see what's coming.

Slowly, shadows covered every inch of Percy’s field. Nico and Annabeth were grasping onto each other, Nico was holding onto her for strength while Annabeth was staying with the only person who could control what was happening. The only light that was visible were the fires ignited by Leo but by now, they were weak. All they had to do was wait for a figure to light up their hands- all the members would flock to the light, except whoever was protecting the flag.

“What just happened?” Percy yelled as he followed the stream of water that led to the fires.

“Someone’s using their powers… probably Nico, I can hear whisperings and these shadows are really cold!” Leo responded, lifting his hands up to signal his location to his teammates- though that may have not been a good idea. A giant flash of light came striking down to the ground again and the loud rumble of thunder came soon after, only adding to the creepiness of the game.

“It’s definitely Nico using powers which means he’s somehow gotten through our borders,” Jason gritted out. They all looked at each other agreeing to search for the son of Hades.

“Nico, you can summon the skeletons now, right?” Annabeth asked as she supported Nico on her shoulder. Feebly, Nico nodded while trying to summon some of his own strength. His skin which had almost returned to it’s olive hue was now close to a deathly pale. Annabeth could feel his cold fingers and slightly shivered- it was like holding a corpse. The ground started cracking, the earth splitting open as a skeletal arm reached out, climbing into the real world. Within a minute, Nico had summoned enough skeletons for the plan to work.

Annabeth knew what had to happen next- she would either run after the flag or go drive the remainder of Percy’s team far back enough so that her team could attack them from behind. She cherished the idea of getting the flag, a truly victorious moment, but she knew that if she went after the flag, she’d be sending Nico who seemed as fragile as glass right now to go fight 4 of the most powerful demigods. She decided to take her chances- hopefully whoever was guarding the flag wasn’t too hard for Nico.

“Nico, here take the gun and go after the flag. I will push back the other team.”

“I don’t need that- you’re going to be 4 against one, take it.” He batted his hand, refusing to allow Annabeth to hand over her gun to him.

“Nic-”

“-If you want to actually win this, you need your gun. You don’t stand a chance fighting 4 of them alone. Take the gun,” He managed to snap. Annabeth actually smiled at this. If Nico could give her snappy comebacks, then he still had a bit of strength in him. She kept her gun as she ran into the shadows, the skeleton army close behind.

“Does the other side look kinda funny?” Hazel asked, tilting her head to the side with her spatha in hand.

“It’s...it’s dark. I can't see anything there,” Calypso responded, slightly shocked.

What in the name of the gods was going on over there?

It seemed that the answer hit Reyna and Hazel at the same time- Nico! Not that they were about to admit it, but they were a tad concerned- you know, if you saw pure shadows just floating about, you would also be slightly concerned.

“We should move ourselves further up the frontier into No Mans Land. Annabeth must have planned something with Nico.” Calypso announced. They all agreed and moved further downwards, cautious for any ambushes.

“Oh Annabeth, aren’t you meant to be the smart one? You know, daughter of Athena?” Percy mockingly asked as she approached them, the shadows encasing most of her but not enough to go unnoticed. The skeletons however, were hiding perfectly in the dark.

“And where is the little shit?” Jason looked around Annabeth, trying to see if Nico had hid himself among the shadows- something that wouldn’t be too hard for him.

“Technically this is cheating,” Leo pointed out. Annabeth snapped her head towards him, still wondering where the skeletons were.

“We weren’t the ones who started it- if I remember correctly, you literally almost crushed us under a tree.”

“That was an accident,” Jason sheepishly rubbed his head.

“Don't think you can walk in here without being defeated, Wise girl.”

“If all 4 of you are going to fight me, I think all guns should be prohibited- does that sound fair Jackson?”

“3. All 3 of us. Frank has been… patrolling.” Leo rubbed his hands mysteriously. Annabeth wanted to gasp, they had been cheating from the beginning, using Frank as surveillance on them.

“Well since you were cheating from the very beginning, you definitely cannot use your guns,” Annabeth protested, enforcing her plan. The boy shrugged and threw their guns to the floor- Annabeth did the same but the gun was still close enough for… a change of heart. Fire raged from Leo’s hands, Percy had Riptide in hand and Jason had his Gladius, the charge of lighting running through it. Annabeth had to try to not visibly gulp- Where on earth were the skeletons? Here getting toasted was not part of the plan. She could only start to take them one when the distraction was set.

Nico forcibly pushed his foot one in front of another, searching for the flag. The entire half of the arena was covered like a blanket. The only light source being Leo’s fire and the occasional fires that Nico let loose through the ground to help him see. Up head, Nico could see another light source- did he just walk himself into a circle? He couldn’t see Leo or any fires. In fact all he really saw was light.

Light?

He trudged forwards, keeping to the shadows. As he got closer, he realised the light source was Will- his skin was the lightsource, literally. It was like he was watching a firefly for the first time- Will was glowing! No, focus Nico. The game, the flag. Capture it and reign victorious with Annabeth.

“Frank, dude, get off my shoulder,” Jason said. As the hand remained on his shoulder, Jason grew slightly agitated and turned around before jumping back and letting out a scream of surprise. Catching the attention of Percy and Leo, the skeletons began to close in on them. Now was Annabeth's chance. While the skeletons pushed them back, hopefully Hazel would have the team ready for an ambush on all sides.

“You’re very shiny today,” Nico commented.

“Well if you didn’t plunge us into semi- eternal darkness, I wouldn’t be a night light,” Will retorted crossing his arms.

“I’ve always wanted my own personal nightlight. Also now, I have an actual justification to call you sunshine- you’re literally glowing.”

“Quit laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you… I’m just stealing,” Nico shrugged as he made a dash for the flag. Will scrambled for his gun but it was too late, Nico had pulled the flag into the shadows- the paintballs from Will’s gun had only hit the tree that Nico had once stood in front of. As Nico emerged from his travelling, the shadows that once covered the entire field started fading.

With their guns strapped to their backs, Hazel and the team made their way across No Mans Land- trying to avoid the shower of paintballs from the other side.

“You made a machine gun out of this?” Hazel asked in dismay as she dodged the fireball coming from Leo.

“I am Admiral Leo, of course I made a machine gun, Hazel.”

“Hazel, on your left!”

Hazel swiftly ducked a paintball coming her left which proceeded to hit Leo square in the chest. He groaned as he felt the bruise start to form across his chest. Saddened by getting hit, he fell to the ground dramatically.

“Oh I’m wounded! Tell Calypso I might not make it!”

“Tell her yourself,” a voice snorted. Jason and Reyna were both fighting- Jason’s gladius would come down harshly onto Reyna’s spear, who continuously tried to disarm him. When Jason came down again with his sword, Reyna twisted her spear towards the hilt and pushed the butt of her spear upwards successfully disarming the sword with a clatter from his hands. She placed her foot on the sword and kicked it backwards, away from Jason before she dropped her spear.

“Hand to hand?” Jason asked. Reyna did not reply and instead charged towards him.

Calypso was trying to not get set on fire- while Leo had been shot, he was not about to let her win so easily. Her magic could only do so much and it annoyed her that Leo was setting everything on fire.

“Calypso, don’t you have telekinesis?” Annabeth shouted nodding towards Leo as she dodged another slash from Percy. Calypso got the memo and closed her eyes, harvesting as much power as she could. Being an ex-titaness came with it’s privileges from time to time. She opened her eyes and flung her hands towards Leo. Easily, she threw him into the creek where he landed with an ‘oomph’ and a very loud curse word that will not be repeated.

Piper hated being the guard. Everyone was probably having a blast and here she was, away from the action. There was a buzzing noise that was annoying her and she really did not want to deal with it. She had one of her daggers clutched in her hand while the gun was slung over her shoulder. She had gotten so bored that she had resorted to talking to the crow opposite her who had just sat there. It would tilt its head every once in a while when she said anything that could be deemed controversial.

Suddenly, the crow flew towards her, as to rest on her shoulder but instead, went towards the flag. Nothing wrong there, just a crow going towards a flag. Afterall it wasn’t as if it was trying to pull it out of the ground. Just as Piper turned around to see what the crow was really doing, she caught Frank with his hand wrapped around the flag, smiling and saluting towards her as he turned around and ran, flag in hand. Piper swore she had run as fast she ever had in her entire life, trying to get her charmspeak to work. The panting did not help her.

Annabeth slashed her knife in Percy’s direction, missing him by a millimeter as he stepped back to avoid it. Riptide came back at her, instead of it going for a blow to the chest as she expected, Percy aimed for her feet. As he wanted, she tripped and fell but her knife was still in hand. Just as she was about to use it, Riptide was held under her chin- she could feel the cool metal of it as Percy smirked and lightly teased her neck with it.

“You know Miss Brainiac, you really have yourself in a bad position, giving up would be easy, wouldn't it?”

“Jackson, you are enjoying this too much. I think you’ve forgotten the point.” Annabeth grabbed Riptide and twisted it before roling backwards slightly and throwing herself forwards. The sword clattered to the ground making Percy pout slightly but he wasn’t disheartened. Annabeth backslashed towards Percy who grabbed her arm, rendering the weapon in hand useless.

Annabeth had one last plan.

She leaned forwards and pressed her lips against Percy. It was quick and daring and Percy certainly did not expect it. Their lips met gently- it was comforting, warm and soft. Their lips brushed and when she pulled away lightly, he could taste her chapstick.

“Ouch!” Percy yelped as he jumped away from Annabeth and let go of her wrist. She held the knife under his chin and winked at Nico who held the gun with the flag under his arm. There was a giant yellow splatter on his back.

“That's not fair!” Percy sputtered. “ You seduced me!”

“All's fair in love and war.” Annabeth winked.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got the flag!” Frank gasped slightly- mainly due to being out of breath. He looked at Jason who was on the ground, Leo who was soaking, Percy who had a massive paintball splatter on his back and then at Nico who was holding the flag.

“We planned this. To make you win. We were taking it easy on you guys,” Frank decided. All the boys nodded in agreement only making Annabeth's teams chuckle.

[life-rewritten]

Gifted Graduation: The futility of Pang's idealism

Episode 8-10 of Gifted Graduation has been just filled with mind fuckery, and overflow of plot twists after plot twists. Thing is as much as everyone is complaining about this,  The Gifted has always been a show that has taken us on a journey of fear, exhilaration and worries only to then even break us further by ridiculing our hopes, dreams and idealism for a better future/better world. In this situation, we are like Pang, a boy who was shown the cruelty of close-minded and controlling adults who have no care for the children like him. These kids who are being viewed as tools and accessories because of their unique abilities.

In season 1 Pang learnt about his powers and made a decision to fight the system and defeat the adults who are controlling it. Season 1 ended with a depressing revelation; Pang was still too naive and too unprepared for taking down the adults. So he and his team hid for two years preparing for a way to defeat this system. In season 2 from Episode 10 we are shown how futile all this is, all Pang had hoped for, all he worked for, all he dreamed of was a lie, he was still being used as a tool for the downfall of all his own dreams. This is so painful to see because we are like Pang, we want a better society, a better world, a better life, and yet just as we also hoped and thought that things would improve we again fell for Supots lies and trickery. So we also were left feeling bleak and hopeless. So here is a post analysing why Season 1 finale of Gifted mirrored episode 8-10 of The gifted graduation. Is Pang's idealism really useless, how does this affect everyone, has Supot finally won, and what do we do now?

THE THEME OF THE SHOW; FUTILITY OF IDEALISM

I first noticed the clue that Season 1-Ep 10-13 was being mirrored in Gifted graduation episode 8-9 because of the certain similarities that were shown and also the return to plotlines from the past season that finally showed growth/change or showed a full-circle moment. The reason for why Gifted graduation ends up mirroring the same ideas as Season 1 is to laugh at us, and to laugh at Pang for failing yet again to realise the truth (despite thinking we were close to winning ) and again repeating the same mistakes of the past. Let me explain with the clues first:

PANG DEFEATED

In Season 1, Pang starts as a determined boy who wants to prove he's something, but slowly sees the horrors of his school system misusing and treating his peers like experiments because of their powers. Pang is determined to defeat Supot and change the gifted system. Still, by the finale, we see that even though he thought he was always a step ahead Supot always knew what he was up to, Supot manipulated him and his peers and unravelled all their plans in one go by revealing his powers and revealing his plans for the gifted. Pang is left defeated with his memories wiped and we the audience screamed in pain and frustration at our main character losing.

Season 2 Pang thinks he has the upper hand; his memories are back. He's avoiding his powers, so he doesn't end up like our villain, he has his peers back on his team. By episode 4 the goal is fulfilled; Supot is defeated and even by episode 6 despite the fact that we think the ministry is evil we still see that Supot is defeated, he's forced out of the school, and he goes in hiding. By episode 7-8 we begin to think Supot is actually a victim of this messed up system and he's just become evil because of the pressures of life, we start to trust him a bit, and we begin to think there is an immense evil at hand to defeat. Pang and we were fools. Gifted episode 10 repeats again the same copy of Pang being under Supots control, Pang being betrayed once again by his peers, and Pang also realising that everything he did was for nothing.

This time, the defeat is more painful, there's more at stake, there are lives lost and broken (Korn, Yuth, students being under a virus that causes brain damage) and the very goal Pang had wanted to defeat in Season 1, Pang was the sole cause of making it fulfilled. Its dramatic irony, it's hurtful, and it is soul-crushing to realise that all the pain he went through was for nothing. In the end, Pang is just still a tool to Supot, Pang put his peers again under Supot's control, but it's even worse time because he's putting more schools under Supots control. Pang is left with no one, nothing and no hope on his side. He's left defeated once again.

SUPOTS POWERS MORE THAN THEY SEEM

Season 1 is such an incredible story for how Supot and Pang became enemies to each other. We start of Season 1, learning about Pang's potential, to control minds with touch, we're petrified and scared about the strength of his powers since we see how it can hurt people (the first time he uses it), the only thing that's exciting and hopeful about this is that he can use it on Supot who is blissfully unaware. We expected Supot to underestimate Pang and not know what his gifts were but no. The reveal again in a painfully ironic twist is that Supot is a stronger version of Pang. His powers are so powerful he's able to get everyone to defeat Pang, he's able to convince people to lie to Pang and us, so we are blissfully unaware of what was genuinely happening the whole season. Pang is left horrified at the truth about Supot; not only does he have with the same potential as him, but he can do with without touch. This was an incredible plot twist. 

Yet season 2 manages to trick us into thinking Supot's powers are not as powerful anymore, Pang is the one who has to use his powers to become stronger and defeat the ministry. Supot had a past where he didn't want to use his powers for evil. Or that's what he told us, and that's what we fell for yet again. The realisation in episode 10 that Supot is insanely powerful, he can prevent Pang's potential from affecting him, he can convince people to kill themselves, and yes he can also convince and hurt Pang's peers if they don't do his bidding; the fact that Supot yet again manipulates Korn in this episode. This is also a repeat of season 1 because Korn was tricked into thinking his powers were gone by Supot only to realise he lied to there was no antidote. This both affected Mon and Korn just like Supots control over Korn revealed in episode10 led to Korn trying to commit suicide because he was so scared and betrayed, and Mon losing her trust in Pang because of losing Korn. Supots powers not only leads to Pang being hurt and betrayed but in season 2 we've seen they've led to death, they've led to despair, and they've led to misunderstandings and pain.  Supot from the start never was good; he tricks us into believing he was someone else when really he erased his ex-best friends identity and convinced him to kill himself whilst he had lost his hope and had learnt that his idealism for a better world was useless. Already we see that with Supot's past that the show is echoing that idealism for equality and difference is futile.

WAVE AND PANG AGAINST THE WORLD

This and Clare and Punns storyline in episode 8 are what made me know that Gifted was mirroring season 1 with this season. I couldn't see the reason at that time or sort out the theme, but now I know what it is. So Clare and Punns relationship is damaged as both have to grow, we get a repetition with Punn going evil with Void showing up threatening to hurt and kill again, Punn broken down at the end by Clare. But it shifts, we see Punn and Clare break up, they've both grown, they've both changed, and they want to work on themselves first before they return to each other.

In contrast, we get a repetition of a bond that was tested throughout season 2, Wave's trust in Pang is ruined at first because of Pang's insensitive actions when focused on his goals ( another repetition of season 1 with Pang's flaw). Still, Wave and Pang reunite to try and defeat the ministry and also help achieve their goals. Whilst everyone betrayed or wasn't on the side of Pang, Wave stays loyal and it's him and Pang against the world. 

In season 1 this also happens, more because Pang refuses to trust anyone else to help with his goals, and so he keeps it a secret; his plans to defeat Supot, Wave helps him with it but ends up betraying him because of Supot. We see in the trailer for episode 11; Wave is forced to think again about this decision because this time he's threatened with the virus. There is now something that can defeat the gifted and take away their potential. 

Wave however in season 1 pretends to side with Supot, but we see at the end he helps Pang regain his memories. So I don't believe that he'll betray Pang, I think whatever we see on the surface in the next episodes are not to be trusted, Pang and Wave will have another plan on how to defeat Supot, but it will be very hidden and secretive. But the importance of this mirror is because Pang needs Wave, so he doesn't give up on his idealism, so he still has hope in his dreams. Wave is the person who is the helper to Pang through thick and thin. Pang's idealism may be futile right now but because we have more episodes and we still have Wave who won't betray him unless, under mind control, he'll come back around.

SUPOTS PAWNS

By the end of season 1 everyone becomes a pawn in Supot chess game, he uses and manipulates everybody to do his bidding. Sometimes he keeps them hidden as final revelations, sometimes he lies to them to make them give in and change, and sometimes he uses his powers to convince people to lose. The repeated pawns ins Supots plans from season 1 obviously is the Pom and Chanon.  But before we talk about them, let's talk about the other mirror characters:

DARIN; she's a mirror character for the previous female teacher in the school. The audience thought that teacher was supportive of Supot but Pang learns that she is actually good and worried about the students without potentials. Pang also uses her with his powers to attack everyone and give them the vial that causes removal to their abilities.  Pang used her as a pawn as the last option to defeat Supot. She ended up being weak and not necessary. Darin is the same, at first we think she's right and she's out to protect the kids (just like this woman, and she probably was because she's a mirror of this woman) but she ends up being seen by Pang as manipulative and also evil siding with the ministry. Supot convinces Pang and us that the ministry is corrupt thereby we also see her as someone evil. In episode 10 its revealed she's just as weak; she's just a pawn underneath Supot and the ministry who is helpless and powerless just like the other teacher.  She and the ministry don't even come close to being the greater evil we thought they were; they're under Supots control. They're his tools for his goals. And Pang joins that. Sigh.

POM AND CHANON have a different significance; Pom was the pawn who we thought we could trust in season 1 until it was revealed he betrayed Chanon, he had the potential to erase memory and he was under Supots control by choice. Pom keeps betraying Pang despite being a father figure to him, someone who mentors and helps him with his gifts. And sigh season 2 reveals that Pom still is that pawn, he still is under Supot. His goal, to teach Pang the theme and reason for why we keep getting this copy of the plot of season 1; idealism is futile, it's useless to fight someone like Supot, and it'll just hurt worse if you try. Pom, however, ends up growing as well, he reveals he's good, and he cares about Pang and Chanon, but it's too late because he was right, idealism and trying to fight was useless. Chanon overpowers him, and he ends up being discarded as a worthless tool for Supot (though he loved him as a son), and now he's broken and damaged by the virus.

So you see Chanon who we saw as the actual symbol for Pang's idealism. He's the reason for why Pang hoped and tried to fight for freedom, he's the reason for why Pang still trusted adults, he's the reason for why Pang believed he could defeat Supot (because he predicted accurately of Pangs coming), but no he ends up being the very symbol for the futility of idealism. He ends up being the worst useless pawn under Supot; he destroys all of his old personality, his old idealism, his old positives for revenge because he's been traumatised by the past. Because of resentment for Pom, Supot manipulated and convinced Chanon to throw away his idealism and become defeated. It's painful because again these two echoes the same theme Pang's idealism is futile, Supot is always one step ahead and trying to fight him is hopeless. It hurts. We realise now that we didn't succeed at all even after season 1 taught us how to evade Supot. We still failed, instead, like fools we've repeated the same story, but this time Pang played a massive role in getting Supot what he wanted. Pang ended up being the worst painful pawn under Supot. It's so ironic, it's so severe, it's so soul-crushing, and it leaves all of us in shock. 

What do we do now? Can Supot be defeated? Will ever get to see Pang get his goals? Or is it all useless to try and change the system?

THE NEXT GENERATION; GRACE, TIME AND THIRD

For so long, I wondered why we needed these three characters, why didn't we just focus on our gifted students. But that's the point, whilst all of our other characters were repeating the same mistakes and stories of the past, seeing time and time again that idealism was useless, our three new characters were stuck, on a pause, they show up by the end of episode10 belatedly ready to try and defeat Supot. 

Supot doesn't have these three under his control yet; he does not know of Grace's potential to see the future. I also think this is already showing you a symbol that even if idealism is futile, the future is always filled with potential for change, potenial for hope and potential for a difference. Grace being able to see her self in the future suggests that the message we've been shown so far can still change, the mistakes of the past can still be erased and improved on, and we will be fine. Supot does not know how much these kids believe in Pang's idealism and in how much these kids want change and want to fight for what is right:

From the beginning, these kids are perfect for defeating Supot:

We have Time: who will do anything for the right reason, someone who wants change, someone who fights for change and fights for doing the right, justified thing. Time does not give up easily, and just like Pang, he's idealistic and hopeful about changing the world.

Grace: does not give a fuck about traditions and the system. she thinks that as long as you try and as long as you make an effort, you can get what you want. Unlike Time, Grace isn't afraid to try different ways to achieve her goals even if they seem wrong/not moral. She's someone who cares about her friends and her peers, and she doesn't care about adults.

Third: Aggressively chooses what is right, he likes to be correct, he likes to be on the side of power but because he wants to be useful. He likes doing good and ensuring that people follow the rules. This is also a negative because if he ends up believing that Supots rules are the right thing, then he can also be a villain. Still, for now, he believes that Pang and the ministry are correct, so he is going to aggressively fight for those rules to be followed, for the right thing to be done.

So with our new generation, we have determination despite seeing futility, we have lack of care for tradition, adults and the system despite how scary it seems, we have hope, and a will to fight for what is right. And we have people who want justice. Isn't it funny? Although gifted shows the failure of society, the way we are all stuck in old systems that are cruel and wrong, the way achieving change and equality is always seeming futile to us because of the people above us, the new generation still stays fighting. The new generation does not give up; they're loud, active and willing to get change no matter what. These three students are now with Pang (who has escaped) the people who still can defeat Supot. We may have had history repeat, but the new generations learn from history, knows not to give up hope, and pushes on to try and change.

So you see, using Season 1 repetition and mirroring to keep echoing that Pang's idealism for change and equality is futile, useless and ineffective, we also get one more repetition where just as Chanon said about Pang in the past showing up to prove Supot wrong and fight for change, we get Grace and her crew now taking Pang's place as our main characters ready to go fight for change and end Supot's tyranny. And you know what? I believe that we will get a successful ending because of this. I think this is beautiful, way to show that the world might be broken (especially with all that has been going in 2020: the riots in Thailand for equality and freedom, black lives matter in the US, NSARS in Nigeria and other countries that have been fighting for a change)  but we still can fight for change and equality. Having idealism may seem futile, but it isn't, it's needed and its what's going to change and break the system. So thank you for The Gifted Graduation for this message.

[thedistantdusk]

Private

Thanks to @floreatcastellumposts for Brit-picking and @el-eye-zee-aye for organizing the Harry/Ginny Discord birthday challenge! This was a lot of fun! T for language/mild sexual humor. 

On AO3

________________________

Being the significant other of the most desirable wizard in Britain doesn’t come without drawbacks. Ginny knew that from the off. Even the earliest days of their raw, rekindled relationship were marked with requests for interviews, a trend that continued throughout the summer of 1998. When she returned to Hogwarts that September, reporters took it upon themselves to sneak onto the platform, capture her and Harry’s final, departing snog… and then reprint it, absolutely everywhere. Without their consent.

Her decision to pursue professional quidditch after Hogwarts made the situation both better and worse. On one hand, the publicity became less random. Less speculative. As soon as she signed with the Harpies, her privacy was protected — at least to some degree. Press events were soon planned and targeted instead of the sporadic, anxiety-inducing sneaks attacks to which she’d become accustomed.

The trade-off, of course, is that when press events do happen, they’re dreadful.

Utterly, completely dreadful.

Ginny sits in the enormous purple armchair and bites the inside of her cheek. She hates interviews like these… ones of the aforementioned dreadful variety. This one is with Sandra Richardson of Witch Weekly, a woman known for her propensity towards twisting words and taking statements out of context. But it’s part of the job, Ginny reminds herself for the thousandth time that morning. She must sit through six of these per year, each before a match. She must be generally pleasant and polite. She must represent her team well.

And above all else, she must not lose her temper. Right.

“Don’t be nervous, dear,” croons a dripping, saccharine voice. Oh. Ginny swallows. Sandra Richardson, here for the interview.

Sandra places the tray on the table between them and shoots Ginny a wink as she begins pouring tea for each of them. A younger, more naive Ginny might have trusted Sandra from her appearance alone. Her gold jewelry and buttoned blouse make her seem more matronly than predatory. But just as she plops down in her armchair, brushing a lock of her coiffed blonde hair from her forehead, Ginny catches a look in her eyes that she’s all too familiar with.

Ambition… red-hot, glowing ambition. The type she’ll chase with everything she has.

Yes. Ginny sits up a bit straighter. The interview hasn’t started, but she already sees it for what it is. The whole thing now reminds of scoldings in Umbridge’s office.

“Sugar?” Sandra gestures towards a polka-dotted dish in front of them.

Ginny forces a smile. “No thanks.” Merlin knows she won’t be drinking it. This is what they do, these reporters; they lull you into a false sense of security with their tea and their biscuits and their grins. Once upon a time, Ginny was thick enough to fall for that — for the manipulation disguised as courtesy. Now, she’s a bit wiser.

“Interesting,” says Sandra, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh?” Ginny can’t fathom why, but she has a feeling she’s about to find out anyway.

Sandra slowly sips her tea before she lifts her quill and notebook. “Are you abstaining from sugar for… any particular health reason?” she asks, her lips curled in a coy smirk.

Ginny gets the unnerving sensation that the interview started long ago. She refuses to give Sandra the satisfaction of a true reply.

“Nope,” she replies brightly, clasping her hands in her lap. “Just not my prefere—

“—Mm,” interrupts Sandra. “Because I hear that sugar and caffeine often trigger morning sickness. Did you know that, Ginny?”

Ginny’s forced smile remains in place. In truth, she’d expected something like this. Their wedding is soon — very soon. People have been pestering them about their reproductive plans for months. Sandra certainly isn’t above the masses.

“I didn’t,” Ginny says smoothly. “But let’s discuss quidditch. It’s why I’m here, after all!” She shoots Sandra a knowing wink and hopes that conveys when she can’t say: mind your fucking business, you cow.

Unfortunately, Sandra doesn’t take the hint. “It’s now 6th August, Ginny. Officially in between the birthdays of you and your Chosen One.”

“Well spotted,” Ginny notes, still grinning. “Who needs calendars when we have you?”

There’s a beat.

For just a second, Ginny thinks she’s gone too far… but she soon realizes that with Sandra, there’s no such thing as a boundary.

“We’ve all swooned over those photos of him holding your niece — oh, what’s her name…” Sandra taps her teeth, pretending like she doesn’t know the answer; Ginny’s blood rises to a low simmer. “Victoria?”

“Victoire,” Ginny grits. Little gets her back up faster than bringing oblivious children into things. Especially when they’re used for manipulation tactics.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Sandra croons. “Victoire!” She places a hand over her heart as if reliving a poignant memory… as if she’s had any bloody involvement in Vic’s life. “She’s such a gorgeous baby, isn’t she?”

Ginny forces a laugh. “You’d know, I reckon, since you’ve seen her! Now.” She clears her throat. “I’ve a game in two weeks against the Falcons. Let’s discuss—”

“In time,” Sandra says, waving a manicured hand. To her left, a fluttering of movement catches Ginny’s eye. Shit. The white feathered end of a Quick Quotes Quill furiously darts through the air as the tip scribbles on a notepad. When did Sandra take that out? She thought for certain that Hermione banned them…

“But for now, let’s focus a bit on you, eh?” Sandra presses, her cloud of blonde hair brushing against her shoulders as she cocks her head. “I’m sure readers would be titillated to hear about how your fiance has been in quarantine for over a month. What’s that been like?”

Ginny snorts. Oh, for the love of -- that’s what she’s getting at?! The complete non-story of Harry being quarantined?

“That’s… not very exciting,” Ginny replies. Because it isn’t. With a bored voice, she begins the thousandth recollection of exactly how and why her fiance hasn’t been able to leave the house for two weeks. “Harry was raised by muggles and wasn’t exposed to Dragon Pox as a child. With the latest outbreak in London, the Auror Department wanted to keep him home until they’re finished with the latest preventative potion.” Ginny picks at a piece of lint on the velvet couch. “It’s quite dull.”

Just like this interview.

The remainder of the sentence remains unspoken in the air, but Ginny hears it resonating in her head so loudly she almost jumps.

Sandra just gives her a knowing smirk; Ginny feels a rush of relief that the woman isn’t a Legilimens. “I don’t know. Sounds like fun, having a man all wrapped up for you, 24/7?”

Ha! This time, Ginny really does laugh. Seriously, what is the media obsession with constant sex? She’s about to launch into an explanation about how it’s thoroughly possible to be too bored to shag, but Sandra cuts her off with an even more horrendous question.

“Remind me,” says Sandra, leaning in close. “How old were your in-laws when their Chosen One was born?”

Oh, for the love of—

Ginny bats her eyelashes fiercely. “I’m sure you know,” she says through gritted teeth, “since you’re asking this question. But seeing as how we can’t bloody ask them, I don’t find it appropriate to—“

“Lily Potter was nineteen when she fell pregnant,” Sandra says through a stage whisper. She claps her hands together as if she finds this a truly revealing statement. As if anyone isn’t capable of reading the bloody gravestones and doing the math.

Ginny clears her throat. “Good to know. So the Harpies only have one more match this year, and—“

“You’re 19,” Sandra adds, continuing the conversation she’s only been having with herself. “The rumors around London are that the quarantine is bogus. Has Harry already quit his job to be a stay at home dad? He’d love to have his own Chosen Ones, Miss Weasley.”

In retrospect, Ginny will realize that this comment is the final fucking straw. She could handle the false flattery. She could see through the batted eyelashes and the singsong lulling into complacency. But she cannot — will not — stand for this complete cow spreading rumors about Harry.

But instead of handling any of it maturely, she rises to her feet, glares at Sandra, and provides a retort so lewd, so scathing, that it rocks the tabloids for months.

And with a triumphant quirk of her eyebrow, Ginny turns on the spot and disapparates, leaving Sandra’s dropped jaw to tremble as the Quick Quotes Quill continues scribbling so fast it scratches the parchment.

Even before her feet touch down, she regrets the whole ordeal.

She doesn’t regret telling Sandra off, mind — but with a wince, Ginny accepts that yes, she does regret how she did it. She regrets that she’s just given the cow enough ammunition to paint her as a true villain. She regrets that she involved Harry and—

Harry.

Ginny shudders. Harry, who values his privacy above everything else. Harry, who won’t discuss anything about her in interviews, but still gets this adorably lovesick grin whenever her name comes up. Harry, who loves her. And trusted her.

Fuck.

Ginny pinches the bridge of her nose, her stomach sinking, and wonders how in hell she’s going to talk her way out of this one.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t have long to ponder how she’ll break the news. In the blink of an eye, Harry’s coming around the corner. Poor bloke. It’s not like he’s got much else to do but await her return. This whole quarantine experience is uncomfortably reminiscent of Sirius' last months of life. She can't ignore the ghostly memory of Dumbledore’s gentle chiding that energetic young men (and women, she supposes) don’t do well cooped up, cut off from the outside world...

“Hey!” says the man in question, flashing her a smile. “That was a quick one! Thought I heard you, but you’re—“

“I fucked up.”

Her whisper echoes in the flat. She stares at her trainers, her face burning.

She blinks up as Harry shifts in place; his smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced with the look she knows and hates. Harry’s jaw is set, his eyes narrowed in concern. He’s doing the whole I’m-strong-for-you-but-I’m-afraid.

“Erm. Ok?” he asks, gesturing towards the couch. “Would you like to...?”

“I’ve said something during the interview I shouldn’t,” Ginny adds, biting the inside of her cheek. “Something I definitely, definitely shouldn’t.”

There’s another pause. Ginny worries, just for a second, that she’s scared him or that he’s somehow already heard.

But she should’ve known him better. Because in a split-second, Harry both senses exactly what she needs... and acts on it.

He wraps her in his arms and rests his chin on the crown of her head. He presses her face to his chest and guides them both to the couch and makes soothing murmurs and brushes the hair away from her jaw.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says gently. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you claim, but—”

“It is,” Ginny whispers, miserable.

Harry shrugs. “Well, I can’t possibly know until you tell me, so—”

“She— she mentioned your mother.”

Harry’s chest stiffens as he draws a sharp breath; she gets the impression he’s trying very hard to wait until she’s done to interject with words of support.

“She... Sandra... she mentioned that I’m nearly 19, your mother was 19 when she fell pregnant, and—”

Harry cuts her off with a snort. “And does she think that was on purpose? I mean I’m happy I’m here, but yeah...” He shifts her in his arms, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I don’t seem entirely intentional, given the circumstances.”

“Well, babies have a tendency of showing up like that,” Ginny replies dryly. “Sandra did raise a good point about making sure we’re... being careful.” She grazes a fingernail up his arm and relishes when his skin erupts in gooseflesh.

For a fleeting, victorious second, Ginny thinks she’s distracted him. She thinks she’s achieved her ultimate goal of turning his attention to the 24/7 sex they’re alleged to be having.

But she should know better, really, that Harry would ever be fooled when it comes to her.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Harry rumbles, his voice gentle but firm. “Not like I’ve got anywhere else to go, after all. We can sit here for the next few weeks if—”

“She asked when we’re having kids. And not just in passing,” Ginny adds, raising a pointer finger. “No, Harry, she pushed. Over and over. She suggested I was already pregnant, she brought up your mother, she asked when I’d function as the vessel for the Chosen One’s offspring…” She trails off with a sigh. “So. Finally, I snapped.”

He takes her still-extended pointer finger and gently pushes it into a fist. “What did you tell her?” he asks, kissing her knuckles. “Because from what I’m hearing, it sounds like she deserves it. Honestly I’m surprised you didn’t—”

“Isaidwhenyoustopfinishingonmytits!”

There’s another pause. “Erm, sorry, what was that? I didn’t quite—”

“I said,” Ginny repeats, her voice strained, “that we’ll have a baby when you stop finishing on my tits!”

Fuck.

She groans, sliding her hands over her face. Recapping this is somehow worse than living it the first time. Speaking it to Harry changes the stakes. It turns the situation from hypothetical to absolute. It solidifies that she fucked up... she really, really fucked up.

And she’s so lost in humiliation, so buzzing with horror, that it takes her a second to realize that Harry isn’t buzzing for the same reasons. Although he’s certainly shaking, isn’t he?

A second later, she dares to peer at him through her fingers. To her delight, Harry’s not furious — he’s laughing!

And when they make eye contact, his silent shaking transforms into full-body laughter. The type that sends tears to his eyes. The type that’s infectious, contagious. The type that makes her want to laugh, too.

“So I take it you’re not… angry?”

Harry wipes his eyes. “Ginny,” he says weakly, “I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe! Did you actually think I’d be angry over that?” He snorts, pressing her against his chest again. “No. For once and for all, no. She crossed a line, and she got what was coming.”

“But you hate attention,” Ginny moans into his shoulder. “You hate big displays and personal things being public and—”

“But I love you,” he says softly, kissing her temple. He gives a dry chuckle that sends tingled through her body. “And to be honest, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t go off on people. Especially when they deserve it.”

She sighs, pulling back. She has to see his face to confirm. To reassure herself. As she’d suspected, Harry’s just giving her a wry smirk. His green eyes are flooded with warmth as he peers back at her. Even after all this time, he still looks at her like he can’t believe she’s there. Like he can’t believe she’s his. His smirk grows to a full-on grin, and Ginny bites her lip; she thinks he’s about to provide some sappy, lovesick rebuttal.

Instead, he replies with something that’s simultaneously the absolute best — and the absolute worst.

“Besides,” Harry says casually. “Joke’s on them. We both know I’d never have the self-control or coordination to finish on your tits.”

With that, she laughs... really, truly laughs. She relaxes against his side, letting the soothing rhythm of his voice wash over her. He laces his fingers through hers. He plays with the strands of her hands.

And by the end of the night, she’s thankful for exactly two things: her fiancé in quarantine, and the contraception that will keep them from enacting Sandra’s plan for a long, long time.

[cosmic-navel-gazin]

In which I chronicle my Legacy of Kain journey and bridge it with your boy Adam Warlock! (Part 5 of many, and MASSIVE, I MEAN, HUMOUNGOUS SPOILERS for Soul Reaver 2 and the 1970’s Warlock)

Awwwwwwwww yeah we are going there, these compositions are most definitely on purpose.

This is where I realize that my true purpose in this world is to draw and talk about obscure or forgotten works of fiction, and I embrace this destiny. 

Ladies and gents, laughing times are over (not really though), sh*t gets very real again.

I guess it’s a bit late for this but if you have even the slightest interest in checking any of these properties out, do yourself a favor and go experience them first hand. If you just want to see me lose my mind and don’t really care about spoilers then please, proceed.

You know, when I started this little crossover of sorts, I was just having a laugh you know? It was just a cute little thing, I’ll write this one post and maybe I’ll get enough material for a second one and that’s it. THIS IS THE SEVENTH POST (even though it says Part 5). 

Never, and I do mean never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be here one day, talking about having your past and your time-travelling-future selves meet and clash, of seeing your sanctimonious attitude and overall the worst about yourself personified and given free reign to go on bloodthirsty crusades showing off how much of a hypocrite you’ve bee- but wait, I am getting a bit ahead of myself. 

I’ll get there I promise, let’s go back a bit.

Where we last left off, we managed to travel back to an even more distant past than we’ve been before. To the time of the great Vampire Purge, so that Raziel can meet this infamous ancient vampire who knows all the lore and might have the answers we seek on what exactly is causing the corruption of our world.

As we step out into this era of History we notice the fields covered with the Sarafan Order banners, and the impaled corpses and chopped-off heads of vampires. No different no doubt from the kindness vampires showed mankind later when they gained the upper hand during Kain’s 1.000 year old reign. Raziel seems a bit distraught by the sight since he assumed the Sarafan to be virtuous and heroic:

“For all the butchery of Moebius’s crusade, this massacre was somehow more chilling. The killing fields of the Sarafan betrayed a kind of orderly ruthlessness, the cold-blooded righteousness of the true believer.”

“Here at last in the flesh, I beheld my former brothers-in-arms, the warrior-priests of the Sarafan order; their lives devoted solely to the annihilation of the vampire plague. And while I confess I felt a twinge of longing, a pang of grief for what I had believed was my lost virtue, I regarded them now with none of the reverence I formally felt. For I had seen the human face of the vampires, and now I beheld the monstrousness of these men.”

While on the topic of genocidal holy wars, my boy Adam here had a bit of a run with a similar pious little group that goes by the name of Universal Church of Truth, who were going about doing a bit of cleaning throughout the galaxy:

Things don’t go so well:

Interestingly enough, I’ve learned of a deleted cutscene for Soul Reaver 2 that plays out very similarly to Adam’s first encounter with this “holy” order. There was this minor female vampire character that was being hunted down and would be executed by vampire hunters right in front of Raziel.

This scene was probably removed because they knew that almost 20 years later there would be some asshole on the internet trying to compare their games to obscure marvel comics of the 70’s.

But yeah bummer for Adam here, we’re a couple of pages in and he’s already failed to save someone. However, through the power of the Soul Gem, he’s able to retain her soul for a brief moment, letting us know more about these holy inquisitors:

Some of these methods don’t seem that far off from the Sarafan, especially on the twisting of good intentions part, but on a galactic scale:

Aye, a great bunch o’ fellas all around, if you submit and “fit in”:

Damn.

Hush Adam, I’ll get back to your predicament give me a moment. I just want the good people at home to keep both this church and the Magus, the god they worship in mind for later.

Now, back to the game. In the Sarafan Stronghold during the first hour of gameplay, Raziel made comments on the vampire he’s currently seeking while looking at some stained glass depictions:

“So this was the legendary Janos Audron - reputed to have been the most ancient and diabolical vampire to have ever existed. According to folklore, he lived high in the cliffs of Nosgoth’s northern mountains, and preyed mercilessly on the defenseless villagers below. His reign of terror ended when the Sarafan finally hunted him down and tore his throbbing heart from his still-living body. (…) But I wondered - could Janos Audron truly have been as monstrous as depicted here? Or was this merely artistic licence by the Sarafan, who sought to lionize themselves by demonizing their darkest enemy?

Keep these stained glass images in mind, they’ll also be important shortly. Neetheless to say, the hype was very real to meet this Janos Audron.

And as I kept hearing about this gentleman, I thought: “I really love this cast of pricks, where everyone speaks in half truths and is hiding something and has some hidden agenda, but you know, I kind of wish there was some slim ray of hope, of goodness and honor, just some good old plain chivalry and honesty. Maybe this Janos lad won’t be as bad as he was depicted back in the Sarafan Stronghold.” 

It took us a while but we’re finally make it to his retreat.

I really love the entire segment, the hopelessness and feeling of dread while making your way through this place, probably my favourite puzzle area of the game.  I also really love the music and architecture here.

When we do make it to the top, BOY OH BOY were my prayers answered!

Lo and behold, enter Raziel’s new daddy/mentor figure, my man JANOS AUDRON! Proabably the one decent and kind creature I’ve seen yet in these games (if you don’t count helpless human npcs who are just trying to live their lives but are caught in all these wars, slaughter and destruction).

FINALLY an understanding, moderate, compassionate man in the midst of all the lies and deception. I love him! Oh and he has what seems to be a Romanian accent. Maybe a nod to the granddaddy of all vampires: Dracula? I think his design is cool as well, so that helps.

Before we go into huge lore dumps and while on the topic of having a brief father/mentor figure for your protagonist when he’s utterly lost, alone and confused, I thought I’d bridge it with Adam’s own once foster parent, the High Evolutionary:

From the few minutes you get to know these dads they’re very different characters with different backstories and motivations. Janos is this sad lonely old man, the last of the ancient vampires and one who has been keeping himself alive solely for his sense of duty. 

While the High Evolutionary was once a man called Herbert Wyndham who performed an experiment that evolved him into a godlike being. This experience proved to be such an assault on his senses and perceptions that he chose to encase himself in this armour. Like the name suggests he is obsessed with genetic manipulation and tampering of various kinds, it is his life’s ambition. 

Despite his somewhat villainous appearance, he’s never portrayed as such from what little I’ve read, he’s just…a bit creepy. Like, he takes Adam in and is super stoked about adopting him, but he also values him not so much as a person per se as you and me would, but more as one would value an impressivly carved piece of work:

I don’t know, maybe it’s his metal face that doesn’t emote much; his sometimes questionable morality; maybe it’s the fact that Adam was 5 years old at this point, a baby boy, and this pink armoured deity is super hyped about him; there’s something a bit unsettling about this guy. Have some more dubious quotes I’ve stumbled upon:

All in all, I think he did care about him, in his own strange way:

Anyway, what’s important is that these adoptive dads serve a somewhat similar purpose, and that is to push/urge our ”“”“"heroes”“”“” (I say with many quotation marks) into a more benevolant role: to guide them in their messianic mission and save a corrupted world. Basically there to provide a chance for them to be good boys. Up until now their track record leaves much to be desired, and they’ve been quite lost on what they’re supposed to be and do.

Raziel:

“So it’s all true, then - what Kain and Vorador have told me - I really am some kind of unholy vampire messiah…”

Janos:

“Unholy? -no. Messiah… perhaps.”

Raziel:

“I don’t like that word - it smells of martyrdom.”

Janos:

“Raziel, your role in this world’s destiny is more crucial - and more benevolent - than you’ve allowed yourself to believe. Your journey will not be easy - dark powers are allied against you.”

Oh and both dads give their sons their toys (Soul Reaver and Soul Gem):

Back to the meeting with Janos, we finally learn tons of things, both new and others that have been hinted at throughout, namely:

Janos has been living a life of a recluse, alone, on top of the Aerie;

Janos knows of Raziel (some old legend I think) and has been waiting for him to hand him over the Soul Reaver, saying it is the key to save Nosgoth;

The Pillars of Nosgoth were erected by the ancient vampires and they were the rightful guardians. Janos was called to be th 10th guardian, the Keeper of the Reaver;

Over time this ancient race started to die out, with their history slowly being forgotten;

Humanity prospered and since the Pillars choose their guardians from birth and vampires were no longer born, humans were called to be their guardians but were “wholly ignorant of their true purpose.”

The Circle of human guardians is led to believe (by whom we do not yet know) that vampires are a cancer in the world. Janos warns that “with their vampire purge, the members of the Circle have assaulted the very architects of the Pillars they are sworn to protect (…) With every vampire they kill, the humans are slitting their own throats.”

Janos being a cool level-headed guy here when Raziel says he must hate mankind for all the suffering they’ve brought to him:

“They fear what they don’t understand; and they despise what they fear. But no - I do not hate them.”

I find it funny how Raziel asks if humanity should be forgiven for trying to exterminate the vampire kind and doesn’t realize that: one, he himself was exterminating vampires just a couple of moments ago back in SR1; and two, how he is just like how Janos describes humanity to be:

“They don’t understand what they’re doing. They are simply unenlightened… and vulnerable to manipulation.”

Again, this last line, completely unlike a certain blue shambling corpse I know. Not like him AT ALL.

Then, as they head inside, we learn something odd as Janos presents Raziel with the Reaver. You see, the two times Raziel has been close to the Soul Reaver still in its physical form, reality started to bend and distort (I show it off in this previous post). 

When we met Kain and decided not to kill him, he explained that when: “two incarnations of the blade meet in time and space, a paradox is  created, a temporal distortion powerful enough to derail history”

This distortion, or sense of displacement however, is nowhere to be found now when Janos presents the blade to him. Raziel feels nothing and says that “this nothingness is somehow worse…” and to get it away from him.

We learn the Reaver was forged by the same ancient vampire race that erected the Pillars (which we’ve seen hinted at when we explored the land and came accross all sorts of old murals).

But now THIS is when the game first impales me through the heart.

Me and Janos are interrupted by the Sarafan warriors who arrive carrying Moebius’ Staff (which disables vampires to the point of being barely able to move at all).

And of course! OF COURSE! Of course the moment my boy Raziel finds a truly positive influence in his life to guide and enlinghten him, and that was willing to put himself in danger in order to save him… he is axed! HEART RIPPED FROM HIS CHEST!

And by whom you ask? Who would do such a deed and kill my last ray of hope?

WHY, ME! 

TWICE!

“Me” because I was the one to open an entrance to Janos’ up until then impenetrable retreat, and literally me: human Raziel of the Sarafan that lived during this time period and was head inquisitor!

A bit different from what was depicted back at the Sarafan Stronghold, we found several centuries later (putting the same image here again so you don’t have to scroll up to compare, am I swell or what?):

The Sarafan escape with Janos’ heart and the Reaver, while wraith Raziel has a final moment with Janos. 

This part destroys me:

Raziel:

“Forgive me; I’m sorry… I failed you.”

Janos: (gently)

“No, Raziel. Perhaps this was my true purpose - simply to save your life this once.”

Raziel: (distraught)

“While I have taken yours…”

That last bit is probably my favourite line-read in the entire series so far (which is the most impossible thing to choose since there are so many great ones). But I think it’s the overwhelming sadness in Raziel’s voice that makes it memorable, you’ve never seen him feel like this for another creature.

Breaks my stone hardened heart every time I listen to it. And here’s why I think it’s an effective emotional scene, even though we only get a few minutes with Janos before he is murdered - it is because of contrast. Up until now everyone you meet is some degree of a bad or manipulative person, and you don’t really have a true friend or someone to confide in, there’s no one that really brings out the best in Raziel and it sucks because there is potential there.  So when you introduce the apparently only decent and noble person in this god forsaken land and you’re so used to by now suspect and mistrust everyone, it is impactful because he was truth and honesty in a sea of deception and moral relativism. He was my light in the midst of the fog and the one who saw good in me. And right when you’re finally relaxing and getting confortable the game pulls the rug from under you.

Now, while on the topic of having your past and future meet, there was a little something about the meeting between Adam and the Universal Church of Truth that I’ve been saving up until now. If you remember, Adam was interrogating the young woman who was killed by the inquisitors about the church and the god they worship. When suddenly:

Good news is, Adam must’ve taken a left turn somewhere and ended up on the set for “Monty Python’s Life of Brian”, where he learned some latin:

This helped him quickly figure out the Magus’ identity:

Learn your dead tongues kids, you never know when it might come in handy when meeting your time travelling, thousands of years old future-self:

So as you can se, we have a similar self-discovery journey going on but reversed in a way. In Raziel’s case you play as his future self, who time travels back in time, meets his past self and sees what a hypocrite he’s been his entire life. In Adam’s case you follow his present self, who meets the Magus (his future self), who has travelled back in time 5.000 years, in which time he has built his empire. Meeting and confronting said empire/future self, leads Adam to see what a hypocrite he’s been his entire life. You see, both Adam and Raziel have always been their own worst enemy (their own shortcomings and character flaws). So it would be only natural that we get embodiments of the worst in them: Raziel, the human Sarafan Warrior and the Magus, their past and future selves respectively.

Oof, this was a long one, and I’ve reach the character limit. In the next post I’ll elaborate more on their characters and different selves; and we go through the roller-coaster of emotions that is the endgame for both these stories.

Look foward to me losing my mind even further while I go into time travelling, paradox shenanigans… oh, and look foward to happier times with COSMIC SUICIDE! See you in the near future.

[syntaxeme]

One Good Turn ch. 4

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter] | [Next Chapter] Rating: T  Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss.

— — – 

Angel was right to think that Valentino wouldn’t be long in asking after him. The following day, Charlie welcomed Angel back with open arms and tears of joy. The mood throughout the entire hotel improved with his presence, in fact, from the staff to the guests to Angel himself. He seemed very pleased to be back, while the others—Alastor included—were delighted to have him. Yet in the midst of their happy reunion, there was an undercurrent of nervous anticipation, and only a few of them knew why.

After roughly five days of waiting, another large and intimidating demon, different from the last, came knocking. This time, however, Alastor was waiting in the lobby to greet him, having relieved Husker of his duties for the moment. “Good afternoon, my friend,” he called cheerfully from the bar. “Are you here to reserve a room for yourself? For a friend, perhaps? We’re happy to accommodate—”

“Can it, Radio,” the other demon growled.

“—whatever needs you might have,” he concluded. “Well, if that isn’t why you’re here, what can I do for you?”

“I’m lookin’ for Angel. Where is he?”

“Angel? Hmmm, Angel…” Alastor pursed his lips, leaning forward against the bar and drumming his fingers along it rhythmically. He materialized the hotel’s registry in front of him and flipped through the pages too quickly to read them. “You know, I’m not sure who you mean. That name doesn’t appear in our records. Could you give me a more detailed description? I hate to be unhelpful.”

“Look, I’m not in the mood for any of your fuckin’ games. Tell me where I can find Angel Dust. Boss knows he’s here. The longer you keep him from goin’ back, the more pissed Val’s gonna get.”

“I see. Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Alastor said, nodding, sweeping out from behind the bar to meet the visitor. “Maybe I should go and have a chat with Valentino to avoid any misunderstandings.”

“No deal. I’m here for Angel, and I ain’t leavin’ without him.”

“Are you sure? I really think”—there was a burst of static, Alastor’s voice distorting slightly as he gestured toward the door—“this is the best option for everyone. Yourself included. Now, I try not to make assumptions about the feelings of others, but I can promise you, if you refuse to take me to Valentino, you will regret it.”

“Uh.” The crony took a step back, his eyes widening as the room darkened further and further. He must have recognized just how serious Alastor was about this. “All right, all right, just come with me. If you wanna be the one to break the news, be my guest.”

“Why, it would be my utmost pleasure!” the Radio Demon agreed, congenial once again now that he was getting his way. He followed Valentino’s employee out to the limo, which was empty this time. They rode in utter silence, Alastor observing through the window and considering all the various ways Valentino might take the news he had to present. Plenty of possibilities, plenty of options. Of course, it would be simplest if he could talk his way through the disagreement without needing to resort to violence, but then…

Then he recalled the tears in Angel’s eyes those few nights ago, how terrified he was of being touched, how disgusted he sounded when talking about Vox and his men…and he wondered if perhaps a little violence wasn’t in order. Angel wasn’t likely to get revenge himself, but his suffering still deserved to be repaid to the ones who had caused it. Something to think about, at least.

The studio, when they reached it, wasn’t the sort of place Alastor would’ve spent his time willfully. Visual media. Flat facts, no imagination, what a bore. The demon who had driven him there tried to take him up the elevator, but he slapped the man’s hands away from the buttons and entered the car alone with a smile and a grateful bow.

When he reached the top floor and stepped out into Valentino’s lounge, the pimp was waiting sprawled on a velvet-upholstered couch. The look on his face said he’d already been informed in the change of plans regarding his guest. It wasn’t a pleased or welcoming expression by any means.

“Radio,” Valentino said simply. “I knew somethin’ was keepin’ Angel at that shithole of a hotel, but I didn’t figure it’d be somethin’ like you.”

“Well, I do try my best to do the unexpected. To be clear, though, I haven’t been ‘keeping’ anyone anywhere,” he replied, absently twirling his staff through his fingers as he wandered the room. The view from this height was quite impressive—as impressive as Pentagram City could be, that is. “Angel has expressed an interest in staying at the hotel, so I thought I might do you the favor of explaining why.”

“As if you understand anything about him,” Valentino sneered. “You met him, what, a couple months ago? You don’t fuckin’ know him.”

“Not as well as you do, I’m sure. But I also have no interest in leading him to feel or think any particular way. I’m told that’s an area where you and I differ.”

“Then why’re you comin’ here to speak for him? There a reason he couldn’t tell me all this himself?”

“There is! And I’m sure you’re well aware of it,” Alastor said, coming back to stand in front of the couch, hands folded at his back. “After all, you’ve been using it to manipulate him for years, haven’t you? Any time he began to argue with your orders, any time he fought you for his freedom, you subdued him with a show of force that you know he can’t resist. If he were to come here, you would do the same thing yet again. Am I wrong?”

“Must be real easy to stand there and run your mouth about shit you don’t understand.” Valentino’s long fingers tapped slowly along the arm of the couch. “But it sounds like you two’ve spent a while chattin’ about it. He tell you about all the times I got his junkie ass outta trouble? All the times he came crawlin’ back to me when he couldn’t make it on his own? Nah, I bet he painted this big sad picture for ya where I’m the bad guy and he’s never done a thing wrong in his life. That’s what I mean when I say ya don’t know him. You don’t even realize when you’re bein’ played.”

“He didn’t ask me to come here,” Alastor pointed out. “In fact, he asked me not to. His fear of you is so powerful it extends even to others he cares about outside of himself.”

In an instant, Valentino was on his feet, bearing down on Alastor menacingly but not enough to make him back down. “People he ‘cares about’?” he growled. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? You’ve been screwin’ him, haven’t you? You’re the reason he thinks he doesn’t need me anymore.”

Alastor tossed his head back and laughed aloud. “My good man, you are wrong on every possible count. Well, other than Angel realizing that he doesn’t need you. That, he has.” A feather or a tuft of fur from Valentino’s coat floated down to rest on his shoulder, and he brushed it off casually. “No, I’ve been doing nothing of the sort. But he’s made it clear to me that you are not what he wants for his future. So I’m here to make it clear that you will not be a part of his future.”

After a moment of exchanging silent glares, Valentino let out a laugh without ever smiling. “You really think you’re hot shit, don’t ya? You think you can waltz into my place of business and tell me what I can or can’t do with my own property?”

“I sincerely hope you’re not referring to Angel Dust as ‘property.’” Despite all the windows in the room and the fact that the sun was still up, shadows began to slowly gather in the corners and edge toward him. “I’ve come to think of him as a friend, you see, and I don’t much appreciate my friends being insulted.”

“A friend. I just bet,” Valentino scoffed.

“Why else would I have come here in his defense?”

“You tell me, Radio. Vox says you ain’t interested in sex. Not really. Nobody knows what the fuck you’re interested in. But you obviously have some kinda investment in Angel. So what is it about him you like so much?”

The sound of his rival’s name made Alastor’s smile edge into a sneer, and he made no effort at forcing it back into something congenial. “As much as I appreciate your efforts to understand me, I’m afraid I just don’t have the time or will to explain myself to someone like you. Kindly give me your word that you’ll allow Angel to live his own life free from your interference, and I’ll leave you to continue your distasteful business in peace.” He offered his hand, ready to seal the deal and be done with this conversation before being forced to examine his own motivations too closely—but Valentino refused to cooperate.

“And if I don’t?” He raised his head, jutting his chin out defiantly. “If I tell you none of your petty threats or parlor tricks are gonna work on me and I’m not lettin’ Angel go for all the hookers in Hell? Then what?”

Alastor took a slow, deep breath, his mouth twisting into a disappointed grimace as he rested the end of his staff on the ground and ran his free hand through his hair. “If you were to say that, I would be distraught. I did tell him I would try to resolve this peacefully. That being said…” He tapped his staff once, and the shadows that had been slowly creeping closer suddenly shot forward to shackle Valentino’s wrists, yanking down sharply and forcing him to his knees. Not bothering to pretend he wasn’t enjoying this, Alastor went on, “I also told him that if you forced the issue, I had no qualms about forcing your acquiesce. So here we are.”

“You fuckin’ piece of garbage.” Valentino thrashed, and his physical strength was surprising, almost shocking in that it nearly broke the shadows’ hold on him. Nearly. As he was dragged back down, he growled, “Say what you want, but I know you’re tryna keep him for yourself. You think you can take what belongs to me and get away with it? I was the one takin’ care of him. I was the only reason he made it as far as he did. Whatever I wanted as payback, I deserved. If he thinks he can—” Another shadow tendril snaked around his throat to cut off his voice as Alastor grew tired of his excuses.

“I appreciate your dedication to your principles,” he said, starting to stroll thoughtfully back and forth just a few feet from where Valentino was bound. “There’s something to be said for a man who really sticks to his guns, even if your particular guns are objectively repugnant. Now, do you have any sort of formal deal with Angel that details him as your ‘property’?”

“You got me curious now,” Valentino answered, ignoring the question. “You gotta know who I am. You know what kinda trouble fuckin’ with me is gonna get you into. But you’re doin’ it anyway, for his sake. With your reputation, it just doesn’t make sense. But Angie’s got his hooks in you deep, I can tell.”

“A contract? A verbal agreement?” Alastor suggested, not bothering to respond to the other demon’s musing. “Something regarding his career, maybe? What will it take to sever your hold on him once and for all?”

“It ain’t like this’s never happened before, y’know.” Valentino had stopped fighting his bonds altogether, simply sitting still on the ground and watching Alastor thoughtfully, his voice turned smooth and calm. “He does this to people. Sometimes it’s the guys he shoots with. Sometimes it’s fans or clients. They spend a little too much time with him and start gettin’ the idea there’s more to it than sex. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell them: whatever Angel says, whatever little pity games he wants to play, he likes the work I have him doin’.”

“He gives a very different impression.”

“Sure he does. That’s part of the game. He likes havin’ some power to play with, seein’ how far he can get a man to go for his sake. Or maybe he just likes seein’ me kill his drooling puppy-love dickheads over and over to keep him to myself. Who knows what goes on in his head? But you’ve known him a little while. You’ve seen how he acts. You think I taught him to be like that?” Valentino let out a cold laugh. “Nah. He was a slut before he ever met me.”

Alastor’s smile was distinctly pained at this point, his face reddening with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify. “I don’t see what any of that has to do with this conversation.”

“The point is he doesn’t want out. He just wants control over somethin’. Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t it piss you off to think he’s usin’ you?” With a growing smirk, he went on, “Doesn’t it make ya wanna punish him? Bring him back here for me and I’ll let you.”

Horrified, the Radio Demon reeled back a step as static started to build in his ears. “Excuse me?”

“Hey, it doesn’t hafta be sexual; however you wanna do it’s up to you.” Valentino was practically salivating at the thought, grinning ear-to-ear. “I’ll even make it so he won’t fight back. Do whatever ya want with him, teach him not to fuck with an Overlord. Your thing is audio, right? Well that voice of his sounds even better when he’s screaming—”

Alastor’s fist closed abruptly, and the shadow around Valentino’s neck tightened, jerking downward to slam his face into the cold tile floor. All sound in the room had been drowned in squealing, buzzing static, betraying how utterly livid he was. That was what Angel had noted in relation to Vox. What’s the point if I don’t scream, right? The thought of being compared to that odious cretin in any aspect was enough to boil his blood, but it was especially insulting to suggest his cooperation might be so easily bought with the promise of carnal pleasure, as if he had no more significant motivation.

“I hate to interrupt while you’re clearly enjoying this subject so much”—he spoke over (or under) the static without trying to subdue it—“but I think we’ve gotten a little off-topic. I was asking you whether there are any official deals binding Angel to you. And you were going to tell me so that I could end them. Yes?” Placing his mic under Valentino’s chin to force his head up, he took slight satisfaction in seeing that the pimp’s kitschy heart-shaped sunglasses were now cracked. Better yet, there was no trace of a smile on his face.

“Motherfucker,” Valentino grumbled, sitting up as well as he could. As the tendril around his neck slowly coiled tighter and tighter and Alastor was debating whether it might be safest to simply kill him now and be done with it, he choked out, “No, all right? It’s nothin’…like that. It’s just understood.”

“Then I’ll need you to revise your understanding.” He knelt to be eye-level with his opposition and ordered, “Tell me you and yours won’t approach Angel Dust or coerce him into anything again. Promise me that, and the most you might lose is some revenue. Refuse, and I’ll make it my mission to prove exactly how much more you have to lose.” The white noise had pitched higher and higher to an ear-splitting level, but Alastor didn’t so much as blink as he waited for an answer.

After several moments of stubborn, cringing silence, Valentino finally broke down. “Fine!” he snarled. “I won’t come get him. I won’t make him leave your little freak show. But you need to know he is gonna come back to me, just like he always does, and when it happens, I’m not lettin’ him outta my sight again.”

The screeching static dissipated all at once as Alastor got to his feet again. “Considering how unlikely that condition is, I’ll accept it. I’m glad we could finally come to an agreement.” The shadows released their hold on Valentino and slipped away into the corners of the room again, all returning to its proper state before his arrival. He offered his hand to make the deal official, not at all concerned about Valentino attacking him; even if he tried, it had already been proven which of them was stronger.

Begrudgingly shaking his hand, just once, Valentino growled, “Now get the fuck outta my studio.”

“Oh, with pleasure! I wouldn’t spend a moment longer here than necessary,” Alastor agreed, already heading for the elevator and humming happily to himself. All things considered, those negotiations had gone quite well.

…

It took some time for him to get back to the hotel, as he was forced to walk this time. By the time he reached the lobby, the sun was already setting. Inside, Husker was leaning against the bar and watching an uncharacteristically anxious Angel pace back and forth in front of it, while Charlie waited with her arms crossed. When they caught sight of him, Charlie and Angel rushed over to meet him immediately.

“Al! Where the hell’ve you been?” Angel demanded, looking him over as if to be sure he wasn’t hiding some sort of injury.

“You left the front desk empty too,” Charlie added with a pout. “I mean, no one came in while you were gone, but what if they had?”

“I apologize for the sudden disappearance; there was some business I needed to attend across town. But now that it’s taken care of, I’m back and able to give the hotel my full attention,” he assured Charlie. “If you need anything at all, remember I’m just a call away. In the meantime: Angel. Could I have a word?” With this, he headed toward the stairwell, certain Angel would follow—which he did.

“Niffty said she saw Val’s car out front earlier,” he explained once they were alone and working their way toward the third floor, where Alastor’s room was located. “Is that where you were?”

“Well, I was only in the car for a short period,” the Radio Demon teased. “Most of my time away was spent in Valentino’s lounge. Nicely decorated, that place, if a bit gaudy for my taste.”

“So you talked to him? What’d you say? What’d he say?”

“Surely you don’t expect me to repeat it all word-for-word,” he chuckled. “Maybe I should’ve been recording it for you, if you’re so interested.”

“Alastor, seriously.” Angel didn’t try to touch him this time, instead moving to block his path on the stairs. “What happened?”

“We had a discussion. Like gentlemen,” Alastor said, folding his hands behind his back. “It took some persuading on my part, but he agreed not to pursue you any further. As long as you don’t go back to the studio of your own free will, you shouldn’t have to deal with him again.”

“Wait, so that’s just it? It was that simple?”

“Not quite, but those are the most important details.” Remembering the deal Valentino had tried to make with him, the offer of torturing or otherwise ‘punishing’ Angel still sent an uncomfortable chill down his spine—but he was well aware that hearing all that wouldn’t do Angel any good. “I figured you would want to know, so you can stop worrying every day that you’re going to be called back to him. It won’t happen.” I’ll make sure of that. As he moved to continue up the stairs, Angel spoke again.

“So what d’you want?”

“Want?” Alastor repeated, pausing to glance back at him.

“Yeah. I mean, if you’re for real about this, you just did me a pretty huge fuckin’ favor,” Angel pointed out. “Nobody down here does shit for anyone else without expectin’ somethin’ in return. I know you like your bets and deals and all. So tell me what ya want.”

That was all very fair logic. Alastor did very much enjoy making deals, often the sort that weren’t exactly as they seemed, and collecting favors from those he worked with. It was true he’d taken quite a risk in threatening Valentino, and it made sense that he should want to be repaid. Yet he hadn’t been thinking of it that way up to this point.

“What I did today wasn’t entirely selfless. While I am glad to know you’ll be free to make your own choices, I also wanted to keep you here with us. Er, to give you that option. If that’s what you want. Of course you’re free to leave if you prefer,” he added, not wanting to liken himself to Valentino in that way. “Point being: you don’t owe me anything, cher. I’m satisfied with knowing you won’t be abducted by some third party.”

Angel didn’t respond for a moment. When he did, it wasn’t in the way Alastor expected. Because Alastor was a step or two higher than him at the moment, their heights were roughly equal, which made it simple enough for Angel to lean forward and kiss him. For once, his buzzing static went completely silent, and his eyes widened further as gloved hands slid into his hair on either side of his head. It was a simple, lingering kiss, just light pressure and warmth—but before he drew away, Angel did lick his lips once, softly, briefly.

“Hmm.” As he stepped back, fingertips trailing down the Radio Demon’s cheek, Angel wore a playful, self-satisfied smirk. “Lemme know if ya change your mind about that.” And he left to head back down the stairs, most likely to take the elevator up to his room.

Alastor remained very still, hands clenched at his sides as he tried to understand exactly what had just happened and how he felt about it. While it was true he’d never had much interest in sex, this was something rather different and not altogether unpleasant. Maybe… Maybe he did want something from Angel. But he wouldn’t ask for it. He refused to prove Valentino right in his theory that Alastor had only freed Angel in order to claim him for himself—though that word, ‘claim,’ and all it implied did make him shiver with intrigue.

No. He would not be what Valentino was, what Vox was, what Angel expected of every man he encountered. He wouldn’t insist that he needed no repayment, then immediately prove himself a liar with the slightest temptation. That being said, if Angel were to offer again…Alastor might have some difficulty refusing.

[xiubaek-13]

Case File 01

A/N: This is a continuation on the AU I created for Case 99. It is a standalone one shot but there is background info that you’ll pick up on more if you’re read the first fic. Let me know what you think :)

Pairing: Suho x Reader

Warnings: Supernatural themes, violence, angst, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, manipulation etc. This will deal with some darker themes but there is some light hearted fun in here too, kind of.

Genre: Fantasy/Supernatural

Word Count: 8,488

Summary: Sometimes people are not who they seem. Sometimes the harbor secrets that they would take to the grave. Sometimes people play with your heart on purpose in a sick and twisted game purely for their own amusement. When they think they’ve won you strike, because only you decide what breaks you.

One stupid mistake led you here and now you can’t escape. For a time you were happier than you’d ever been, but then there are times when you remember who you were and where you’re from. Will you choose to stay or will you find your way home?

I wonder if they’ll bargain with me? Do they even do that in this city? You stared at the small fruit stall, filled with it’s overpriced produce, then back at the small pile of coins in your hands. After a few days of greasy take away and dull looking food your body was craving something healthy. It just so happened that you strolled past a fruit store on your way towards the center of town…well what you assumed was the center. You’d decided that the giant casino was the middle of the city but you could be wrong, not that you really cared. This place was just a pit stop on your way to the coast. You grew up in the mountains and always dreamed of a trip to the sea. You wanted to watch the sunrise over the ocean to make a brand new day and to feel the cool water and sand between your toes as you did.

Your parents had always turned their noses up at the idea of a seaside holiday, the air was too salty down there apparently. Try as they might, they never dissuaded you from your dream holiday and as the years went by, your desire to visit the ocean only grew. Your parents did their best to try and change your mind (not that you ever understood what their problem with the ocean was), always telling you horror stories of the city that you’d have to pass through before you could get to the coast. A city that would corrupt and deceive you. A city that was full of dark alleys and people with secrets. These stories had the opposite effect than what was intended - now you wanted to spend a few days in this supposedly evil city. The storied made you interested in the corrupt nature of man and made you wonder about the cityfolk. Would they be cruel and jaded or kind and misguided?

Above all your father had told you never to trust the people you met between the city and the sea. He told you that they would manipulate your kind heart and twist you in ways that you wouldn’t realise until it was too late and he would not be able to protect you. If wasn’t for the worried look in his eyes when he spoke you would have thought nothing of his warning but something about the way he spoke and looked at you in that moment made you treat his words with the seriousness they deserved.

After three days in the city you could definitely agree with your parents about the cruel nature of man but not in the ways they might think. The residents of the town, as far as you were aware, were an even mix between the hardworking, honest folk and the scheming degenerate and power hungry rich who ruled the place. You’d seen things you couldn’t explain, things you couldn’t unsee and heard things you never wanted to hear again as long as you lived but even with the hidden dangers, the city had charm. It lured you in and made you want to stay just one more day…which is how you were still here after three days.

In the mountains you bartered with farmers and traded goods with neighbours but down here haggling was a much more intricate sport. Still, you were going to try with the fruit store owner because of how good those cherries looked in the front window, and the peaches. You passed through the door causing the small chime to sound as you entered. A short woman with kind eyes emerged from the back of the store and asked what you were after. You complimented her on the quality of her produce, chatting about where she sourced it from since there were no farms in this urban jungle and she was more than happy to chat away to you about the lovely gentleman who grew all sort of produce in his orchard between the city and the sea. When you told her of your childhood in the mountains she took great interest in learning about why you have strayed so far from home and if you were safe in this city. She reminded you a lot of your parents with her concern for your well-being and cryptic messages about the unsafe parts of town.

“Girl, I will make you a deal,” she began. “I will give you some of my fruit free of charge if you tell me two things.”

“What things?” You asked, puzzled by her odd question.

“Why you dream of the sea and what your name is.” He responded, her expression giving away nothing.

“That’s all?” You asked.

“Yes dear.”

“You can call me Jan-” You coughed midway through saying your name. Something told you not to give out your real name and before you could ponder your reasoning you found yourself giving the kind old woman an alias. “Iseul, you can call me Iseul.” She smiled. Then you proceeded to tell her about why you so strongly desired to visit the sea. True to her word, she gave you a small basket filled with peaches, cherries and apples.

“Go my dear, thank you for brightening my day with your stories and remember, though darkness may lurk around every corner it’s the man in front of you that you should be wary of for sometimes the wicked will say things just to confuse you.”

You left the little shop with your fruit basket, waving to the owner as you closed the door behind you. What a strange woman you thought to yourself. She had been kind but she had said many confusing things that now replayed through your mind.

As you made your way back to your hotel you were so consumed by your thoughts and the old woman’s words that you didn’t hear the man from the casino calling out to you until it was too late. The fading sound of “Watch out! Hey! Stop!” and the blurring image of the seaside and the casino and blonde haired man who tried to get your attention brought you back to your senses, only to make you think you’d been drugged.

The world swirled around you until you were engulfed in salt water. The floor fell out beneath you as you struggled to stay afloat. You’d never learned to swim - you’d never run the risk of drowning in the ocean up in the mountains after all. You gasped for air as you felt yourself slipping beneath the water. How the hell did this happen? Did that old lady drug me? Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming… and if I die in my dream I’ll wake up right? Your mind was racing as your lungs started to burn with the need for oxygen but you couldn’t get back to the surface no matter how hard you tried. When you had sunk further down your foot and somehow become stuck. You let go of the fruit basket and tried frantically to release your foot from the net it had become stuck in before you drowned, the very real fear of dying finally settling in.

Nothing worked. Your lungs felt like they were on fire as you tugged at the net, trying to loosen its hold on you. You knew you wouldn’t be able to prevent yourself from trying to gulp in a breath, which would only serve to fill your lungs with water and bring you closer to drowning to death. This was the exact opposite of your dream of being in the sea. This was a nightmare.

Realising that there was nothing more you could do you thought of your parents, of how you’d miss them and the little home you grew up in in the mountains. You’d miss your father’s lame jokes and your mother’s persistent nagging about how you should really hurry up and pick one of the farmers sons to wed. None of that would occur now, not when you were second away from blacking out from lack of oxygen. Unable to hold out any longer you open your mouth and water pours into it as you try to breathe, knowing full well that it will not work. The last thing you feel is the burning of your lungs and the salt water as your whole world fades to black. A glint of gold is the last thing you see before you bid the world adieu.

***

“Find out how she got here.” A voice commanded. The voice was male, that much you knew, but it had that tone that people in power get. Unrelenting and lacking in empathy. “There must be a tear near the border.” What the fuck is he talking about? Is this the afterlife? I sure as shit hope not because this guy sounds like a jerk and I do not want to be stuck with him for all of eternity. Your thoughts raced as you slowly regained consciousness, remembering walking on a street…then water, lots of water… then drowning? You were pretty sure you’d drowned and it had been awful. “She appeared in the East Sea and I do not want to see either of you until you find out where that tear is in the city. For all we know spies have been getting in again.”

Whoever it was that he was speaking to mumbled their response, making it too difficult for you to hear but you caught every second or third word. “Prince… Court… hunt… soon…”

This seemed to please the first man for a few moments. You decided it was as good a time as any to let them know you were conscious. You coughed and very slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes before opening them and looking around the room, if you could even call it that. It was a massive sprawling room with ornate carvings, there were windows all throughout the room that allowed the sunlight and pleasant sea breeze to flow through. You had been lying on the floor at the base of a small set of three stairs that led up to a dias. On the dias was an incredibly intricate wood and coral chair that could only be described as a throne.  There was a man standing next to you and another man seated in the throne. You blinked a few times and shook your head, not believing the sight in front of you.

Before you could open your mouth to speak the seated man spoke. “How did you get here girl?” His demanding tone grating on you.

“I don’t even know where I am so how am I supposed to know how I got here?” You responded curtly.

“Who are you? Surely you know that much.”

You bit your tongue because whilst this guy seemed to be a grade a jerk, he was sitting on a throne so you figured you’d give him a few minutes before you gave him a piece of your mind. “My name is Ja-. Iseul. My name is Iseul and I’m a tourist. Who are you?”

The man next to you scoffed. “You should address the Prince with more respect human.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I forget that humans are slower. I. Said. You. Should. Address. The. Prince. With. More. Respect.” He enunciated each word as though you hadn’t heard him the first time. You rolled your eyes at him before speaking.

“I heard you clearly the first time, there’s no need to be a dick about it. I said what because I clearly just gave my name so I have no idea why you decided to refer to me as human…like who does that? Weirdo, and secondly, Prince? Of where? Of what? I just told both of you I had no idea where I am.” You snapped.

The man next to you turned away from you, staring daggers at the supposed Prince. “Are you just going to let this…this human disrespect you like this?!”

The man on the throne couldn’t look less interested in the scene playing out before him if he tried. He lifted his gaze to the man and spoke in that flat commanding timbre. “D.O, I believe I gave you a job to do. Did I not?”

“Yes.”

“Then go do it.” When D.O doesn’t immediately take his leave he adds “Unless you want to answer to me when more strays or enemies come through into my land.”

With a hasty bow he takes his leave.

“I apologise for my emissary. He can be quite,” he paused. “hotheaded.” The man turned his gaze to you, his gaze pinning you to the spot. “Now. Do you truly remember nothing about how you got here?”

“This room? No I don’t.  I remember going to the fruit store and talking to a strange old lady. Then I was walking back to my hotel along the street when everything swirled and then I was drowning. That’s all I remember.” You weren’t lying, you really had no idea how you had gotten here. You were sticking with the being drugged explanation because honestly? Nothing else made any sense or even seemed possible.

He sighed. “Which city were you in?” You described the city to the best of your abilities, which was mainly surface details since you were only a tourist - hotel, fruit store, odd streets, the casino… There wasn’t really any way you could know the truth of the city.

“Lankhmar? I think that’s how you say it.”

Upon hearing the town name the prince held up a hand to stop you speaking. He then called out for a messenger. When one appeared, bowing and gesticulating far more than was necessary, he gave them strict instructions. “Go to my emissary before he leaves and tell him to check the mortal plane as well, the tear must join to one of the districts in Lankhmar. One of my brothers must not have properly sealed the rift upon his return.” The messenger resumed his excessive bowing as he backed out of the room, you could hear the quickening of his footsteps as soon as he was out of sight. Seriously who in the hell was this guy and why was everyone treating him like he was the ruler of the world?

“Who are you?” You asked.

He raised a brow at you. “Very bold of you to ask me questions like that.”

You were growing exasperated with this pointless exchange. “Listen. I’m thankful that you didn’t let me drown but I honestly have no idea where I am or who you are or why everyone is walking on eggshells in your presence. Give me something to work with here. What do I even call you?” You needed something tangible to cling to, anything to keep you from thinking that you’d either died and that this was the afterlife, which if it was - it could do with a severe attitude adjustment, or that you’d snapped and gone crazy.

“You fell through a tear in reality,” Ok so you’d gone crazy, at least you could come to terms with that now. “And you appeared in my court, Luskan, though it is more commonly known as The Summer Court,” You’d gone crazy and fallen into one of your childhood fairytales. It could be worse, at least the weather was pleasant here, like a beach holiday… maybe this was the old woman’s fault after all, she’d banged on about the sea and been all weird and cryptic after all. “If I’d allowed you to pollute my pristine waters I’d have hell to pay with the seafolk.” Did the mania induced creation of your brain have to be such a dick though? “What’s with your face Iseul?”

You froze when you heard your name. Looking up at him you noticed the perplexed look he had on his face. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had to interact with mortals, is something confusing you? I forget how simple your kind are.”

You scoffed at him. “You’d think you’d be more relaxed given you live in paradise but so far everyone I’ve met here is a complete jerk. And what’s with this mortal crap anyway? We’re all people. Or are you some sort of elitist rich jerk who thinks everyone is beneath him?”

“This is going to sound crazy to you, but it is not my fault that your parents decided to shelter you from the truth. It’s actually a miracle that you’ve survived this long while being this blissfully ignorant. Humans make up roughly 60% of the world’s population. The remainder are improvements on the species.”  The way this man could say so many words without providing you with any answers was starting to piss you off.

“Is this your way of telling me that magic is real? Summer Court? What are you, a fairy prince?” You scoffed.

Your words must have hit a nerve with him since his next words were ground out through gritted teeth. “Do not call me or my kind fairies.” He took a shuddering breath to try and regain his composure. “The supernatural are real. The books you were read as a child about fantasy lands and monsters? Those are history books, dumbed down for your kind to understand.”

“What?” Surely he was lying. Magic wasn’t real. Fairies weren’t real. No, all of that was from your bedtime stories. This was all in your head, it had to be. Why would your parents hide this sort of information from you? They wouldn’t lie to you, you knew them, trusted them. This man, however, you absolutely did not trust.

“I don’t have the time for this. Follow me, and keep up.” He turned on his heel and briskly left the room. You scrambled to follow. He weaved through the outdoor corridors of what you could only refer to as a palace because, it was fucking huge and well, there were servants so you had to assume he was royalty of some sort. You followed through the terraces that were lined with plant life and glittering lights, silk draping from gazebos, flapping in the light breeze. Truly, it was like a little Mediterranean fairy tale come to life and you could only compare it to the images from your storybooks but you didn’t dare use the ‘f’ word again since it got his hackles up last time.

He came to a stop in front of a set of double doors made of driftwood, held together with golden twine. “In here is my library. You will remain here until I send my emissary to fetch you. I would suggest that you use that time to educate yourself on the working of the world that you live in. I’ll provide only one hint. My kind never lie, but we don’t always tell the whole truth.” With that he ushered you in and closed the doors behind you. You didn’t hear them lock but they wouldn’t budge when you tried to open them.

Resigned to your current fate you decided it couldn’t hurt to sift through some of the books. Books were friends, they never led you astray. It was people you’d always had issues with, never books. You wandered through the library, awestruck by its beauty. It was a mixture of ornate fixtures, gold threads and salvaged wood and plant matter. It was unlike anything you had ever laid your eyes on before.

“A Brief History of Everything” seemed like as good a place to start as any. It started much like the stories from your childhood, only with more war and bloodshed. It spoke of a great war between humans and the supernatural. The war was multifaceted, with the supernatural beings also fighting against each other. Vampires, demons, fae, changelings, ghouls, elementals, witches and wizards were just a few of the mentioned species, it was a lot for you to take in. If this information was to be true then you had to question your whole upbringing. You closed the book and searched for another. “A Breakdown in Species - The Complete Beastiary” was your next pick. This one told you the features and builds of each race and how they most commonly fit into the mortal world. Unlike the fae, most of the supernatural resided in the human world, only the fae and elementals could exist between the planes. Demons still had the netherworld but only the highest ranking could travel at will.

You continued to look through tome after tome, collecting as much intel as you could. It didn’t matter if this world was real or not, you decided, you just had to play by its rules in order to survive and if there was one thing that you excelled at, it was research.

***

“Why is the human still here?” D.O asked when he brought you down to the edge of the palace, to a small pool that met the ocean.

“The human is right here, and she has a name.” You bit out.

He ignored you as he waited for the prince to respond. You almost laughed at how frustrated he was at not being answered immediately, the prince was otherwise occupied. He was waist deep in the water, tending to a turtle. He might be a jerk but you could not deny that he had a nice back, not that you were staring. “The human shall remain in the palace until we can determine the source of the tear and patch it. I’ve yet to determine if she is a threat to the court.”

“Why not throw her in the dungeons if you think she’s a threat? Why treat her like anything that has worth?” You were pretty sure you hated this emissary. Out of the two of them, he was the bigger jerk. He seemed to want nothing to do with you and you were pretty sure if the prince was distracted long enough, that he’d kill you. Somewhere along the line he’d either been taught to hate humans or one had hurt him so much that he felt the need to take it out on every other human he ran into.

The prince turned to face the two of you, and if you thought his back was pleasant to stare at then the sight of his chest and torso was a delight. Focus. The sunlight reflected off the water, highlighting the droplets of water glistening on his skin. Focus of his face, not his abs, focus on his fucking face! He looked calm as he stood before you, as though the water was centering him. “Until I decide that she is to be treated as a prisoner I will keep her in the palace, where I can observe her. Did you know that her parents neglected to inform her of the existence of any other intelligent life?” He smirked at his emissary who scoffed and continued to look as though he wanted nothing more than to dropkick you into the ocean and never look back. “Was your time in the library enlightening?”

You nodded. “Yes, I think I’ve learned the basics. It seems there has been a lot omitted from my understanding of the worlds history. There is a lot to catch up on.”

“Su- Your Highness, can I take my leave? We have a lead on the whereabouts of the tear and I need to gather the team so that we can patch it.” D.O waited for the prince to respond.

He nodded. “You may go. Report back to me when you return.”

The emissary wasted no time, you weren’t sure if he was just eager to do his job or if he hated being around you that much that he had to disappear that quickly. “So,” You started. You’d decided you were going to attempt to breach this topic the next time you spoke. “You’re Fae.”

“Rudimentary deduction darling. Did my books not teach you anything of worth?”

“Cut me some slack, I’ve only been learning for a few hours.” He cocked a brow at you, waiting for you to continue speaking. “There are seven courts in the Fae lands. There was conjecture about the number of princes, some texts cite seven while others cite nine, though from what I could work out there are seven princes and two emissaries. Each prince has an elemental affinity, though the true nature of those affinities is not recorded but they require you to attune to the land and your presence helps it to thrive. You rule the Summer Court, and since you rescued me from drowning plus the whole expensive seaside palace aesthetic you have going on here, I figure you have a water affinity. How am I doing so far?”

“So far it would appear that your time was not wasted.” He replied as he lowered himself in the water up to his shoulders. “The texts don’t include much information on the affinities because they differ for each prince. Attuning to the land can be done in multiple ways as well. For example, I’m attuning with the land right now, as I was earlier when you startled the turtles in their nesting grounds when you appeared, and did your very best to die.”

“Hey! I had no choice in the matter, you know this.” You huffed.

“I do, the turtles however, did not. I’ve since explained the situation to them so that they could shift their nesting spot until we repair the tear that you fell through.” He dove under the water, a tail, shimmering and covered in scales that glittered in the sunlight, appeared, shocking you. It must have been written on your face as clear as day because when he surfaced much closer to the edge of the pool that you stood at, pushing his wet hair back and resting on his arms against the side of the pool, his tail shimmering beneath the surface, it was like a slow motion scene from a movie and you had to shake your head to bring yourself back to the present, he smirked at you. “What?”

“Get fucked. How can you be fae & a merman?” You blurted.

He laughed at your outburst. “It’s part of the affinity. I can change shape at will in a large enough body of water. I’m not one of the merfolk, they live on the outskirts of my court, odd bunch. The tail is simply more practical for me to move around the aquatic areas of the court.”

“Show off.” You muttered as you sat down by the edge of the pool.

He grabbed your legs and pulled you into the pool, pinning you between the wall and his body as he glared at you. “I’m showing leniency since this is your first day knowing about the existence of supernatural creatures but don’t be fooled into thinking that you can be so cavalier with me in the future. I am the ruler of this court, you’d be wise to show more respect.”

Your brain told you to shut up, baiting him further would likely result in him drowning you and you’d had more than enough experience with that for one day. You hated the way he and his emissary spoke to you but your sharp tongue wasn’t going to keep you alive if you let it get the better of you. He trailed his finger down your cheek, under your jaw and lifted your chin, tilting your face up towards him. “I think for now it would be better for you to be a little more subservient.” He leant in, his lips pressing against yours as he kissed you. All logic told you to pull away but something about his lips was intoxicating. You gave in to his kiss and felt a pulse wash over your body, leaving a strange tingling feeling. If you were smarted you would have known that the fae could control you in many ways, intimate contact was just one of the more enjoyable ways for them to do so.

***

Days blurred together after you kissed the prince. All you wanted to do was be near him, please him and make him happy. You didn’t even think about returning home. You were blissfully ignorant of the dangerous situation you’d gotten yourself into. He’d held back from further physical contact after that first day. He saw how instantly devoted to him you were and he relaxed, you would not be something he had to worry about for the time being. Unless he gave you a task to do you would follow him around like a lost puppy. He tested you by having you sit with him during one of his meetings, telling you to remain next to him but to keep yourself amused while he worked. Afterwards he questioned you, happy when you admitted that you hadn’t paid attention to the meeting, on the verge of tears when you thought that admission would upset him.

You played along as the spell wore off, keeping up the charade as best you could while you learned about how he truly felt about you. He didn’t care for you, he hardly even thought of you. No, you were simply a new toy for him to play with and you knew that you needed to find a way out before he grew tired of you. Things went swimmingly until he noticed you becoming more aware of your surroundings. He couldn’t have you learning too much about him or his court, not that you would ever leave this place alive. He thought that after the initial kiss you’d remain under his spell but it appeared that he would have to reinforce it for it to last. That night he’d brought you to his chambers and made you cum so many times you forgot your name.

When you dreamt at night, your brain would try to remind you of the life you’d left behind, of what you needed to return to and the dangers of the prince’s court, but by the time you awoke he washed those memories away as he made your body sing in ecstacy. You spent most of your time wrapped in bedsheets, writhing beneath the prince as he used your body for his own pleasure. You learned his name was Suho, he got off on hearing you beg for him. You were addicted to his touch, eagerly awaiting his return to his chambers so he could have his way with you again. You were certain that he craved you, that the sweet nothings he would sometimes whisper in your ear were true. After all, he had told you that the fae can’t lie. You were too drunk on him to realise that these words were not romantic, they were simply appreciation for how your body felt and reacted to him, nothing more.

When you had to leave the bed you loved so much you were barely dressed in anything that could be referred to as clothes. In your mind you felt liberated and sexy, desired and loved when in reality he was parading around his plaything for the rest of the court to see. The sheer pieces of fabric he adorned your body with left little to the imagination. He didn’t care for you but under the haze of his spell, one he made sure to strengthen every night, you truly thought that he loved you. He hadn’t had a human plaything before, he’d alway thought it was beneath him but his brothers had often insisted that having one was an immense amount of fun.

He was beginning to see the truth to his brothers words. He recalled the words of the Autumn Prince “When you grow tired of fucking them, the new game is breaking their minds and watching them beg for death. They are truly pathetic creatures.” He’d remembered how his brother had laughed at how one such pet had begged for the mercy of his fire to end her life, because if he didn’t love her then how could anyone?

“Suho, I have an update for you.” D.O’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“What is it?” He replied.

“The tear has been patched, it was located in the demon district, right near The Cardinal. The seven deny any knowledge of the tear but unlike our kind, they are well known for their lies.” He paused, sneering at the mention of the demons. “Regardless, it is sealed and warded on both sides of the tear. I sent word to the other courts to see if any of our brothers had visited the area but everyone who has responded has been less than polite about telling me that they would not be stupid enough to jump planes in any district other than the fae controlled one. Sehun & Xiumin were most recently in the mortal realm but they both used the bar as their means of travel.”

“Who hasn’t responded?” He asked.

“The solar courts. I sent word via their emissary but Baekhyun, Chen & Lay have not answered us. I’ll check in with Kai tomorrow. Until then, is there anything you need?” He asked.

“If they don’t answer by tomorrow we’ll have to pay them a visit.” He had no desire to see his brothers from the solar courts, they were much more eccentric than the seasonal court princes. “I’ll have you visit Chen. I’m not in the mood to be electrocuted again, no matter how funny he thinks it is.I’ll see to the other two.”

“I would normally object to setting foot in the Night Court but Chen is the least bothersome when compared to the other two.” He shuddered as he recalled his last encounter with his Day Court brother. “Will you be bringing the human?”

Suho pondered bringing you along. He was pretty sure his spell over you wouldn’t wear off before he returned, and as much fun as it would be to distract his brothers with his human plaything, he needed them to focus. “No, she’ll be too much of a distraction for them. I’ll never get an answer out of them if she’s there.”

“I’d say she wouldn’t survive Lay, but we both know that he’d restore her physical body once he finished having his sadistic brand of fun.”

“His gifts come in useful during times of conflict.” Suho reasoned.

“You’ve never had to be healed by him have you?” D.O asked. His brother shook his head in response. “He can heal all wounds in a matter of minutes, that much is true, but he can only heal wounds that, if left untreated, would kill you.” He paused, taking a breath to calm himself. Suho waited patiently for his brother to continue speaking. “In order to heal me, he had to bring me to the brink of death first and he gets very creative in how he does that.”

The two brothers continued to plan out their potential journey. Agreeing that if they had to visit the solar courts, it would be smarter to visit Day & Night separately and tackle Dawn together. Without the help of their other emissary travel would take longer. By the time he got to bed that night Suho was too exhausted to be bothered with using you for pleasures of the flesh, sleep sought him out the moment his body connected to the mattress.

When no world came from Kai the following day they wasted no time in preparing for their journey. Suho had far too many things to organise before leaving, ensuring the palace ran smoothly, leaving instructions with his second in command to leave you in his room. He was sure that his spell would not wear off in the two to three days that he’d be gone.

What he was unaware of, due to his ignorance, was that the influence he had over you would normally take weeks to wear off, given how often he had been fucking you, but it diminished at an accelerated rate the further away from you he was. The first day he was gone you did nothing but roll about in the bed, imagining the ways in which you could service him upon his return but as night crept in you started to waver, finally feeling curious enough to wander back to the library.

In there you found books on fae spells and how they had a long history of toying with humans. It made your skin crawl. For the first time in weeks you started to think that maybe he didn’t care for you, maybe he was just using you. The thought was too depressing for you to dwell on, after all, you were stuck here, and if you were going to be stuck here you might as well believe that it was by choice.

You tossed and turned all night, dreaming of home and of the strange woman you had encountered all of those weeks ago. She’d asked why you dreamt of the sea? Now the thought of it made you sick. You needed to explore, to find the one area of this court that was not by the seaside.

In the early hours of dawn you fled the palace, thankful that all of Suho’s guards paid you no attention, thinking you were wandering about in a haze. At least he’d had the decency to tell is guards that you were off limits. You were his plaything and he did not like to share. You wandered down corridor after corridor, weaving your way down to the ground, then begun your journey West. To the East was nothing but ocean, and you figured if you headed West you would eventually find a spot where you couldn’t hear the sea or taste the salt in the air.

You hadn’t realised how weak you’d become, but the lack of proper nourishment made itself clear the further you trekked. You felt dizzy and hot but you pressed on until your body gave out on you, collapsing into the soft grass at your feet. Grass, not sand. If you’d had any liquid left in your body you could have cried. You never thought you’d be this happy to see grass again, it was almost sad. You curled up, hoping that you were safe, though not really caring, and waited for some of your strength to return. You knew there was no way you’d make it back to the palace before Suho returned and once he worked out that you’d strayed from his bed… well you couldn’t be sure how much longer he’d keep you around. You’d like to think that if he cared at all he’d forgive you and let you visit home but you would be foolish to believe your own lies.

***

“You look like shit.” The voice startled you. You couldn’t even pretend to still be asleep because you’d felt your body jump at his words. Slowly you opened your eyes, expecting the worst. What you hadn’t expected was to see that it was now night time and that a short, but respectful distance from you sat a man draped in an intricate robe, tending to a small campfire. He tossed a blanket towards you as he began cooking something over the fire. Your stomach grumbled at the sight of the meat roasting. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous for a human to be out all by herself in these lands?” He asked.

You sat up, wrapping the blanket around yourself as the thin flimsy fabric of your clothing no longer felt liberating but rather, you felt too exposed. You stared at the man, trying to work out what he was and if you could tell him the truth or if that was just likely to get you killed. His eyes met yours but you did not see any malice in them. All you saw was kindness and wisdom. This man had to be older than he looked but you got the feeling, one you had no way of reasoning out logically, that he would not harm you. “I had to leave the palace.” You started.

“The clothing, or lack thereof kind of gave that away. I am not here to judge, and I am not a member of this court. I’m only here because certain plants grow here and I needed to restock my stores. Will you tell me your story in exchange for a meal and advice?” His tone held no judgement and you felt oddly at ease. It could be another trick but you were just so tired of having no one to talk to that you decided to throw caution to the wind and accept this strangers offer.

You nodded and moved closer to the fire to warm yourself. “I was visiting Lankhmar, I don’t even know how long ago… it feels like months now, and I was on my way back to my hotel after visiting the market when I fell through a tear. I landed in the ocean to the East, near the palace and started to drown. Something or someone saved me and when I came to the prince and his emissary questioned me.” You paused, unsure of how much to tell, unsure of how much you wanted to have to admit was true. “I was kept by the prince, I thought… I thought that he cared for me b-but now I’m not so sure. I left the palace. I don’t know why but I just needed to find somewhere that didn’t smell of salt, somewhere I couldn’t hear the waves crashing.” You were shaking by the time you finished telling him your story. He’d go back and ask further details as he slowly pulled the whole thing from you.

“The fae are tricky creatures. The princes especially. Some are twisted beyond repair, using and discarding human playthings with ease. Others, like the Summer prince, have not been known to use humans so for him to have kept you, he must have felt something for you. Now this is not to say that he hasn’t abused his power over you or that he has treated you with care, because he hasn’t. He has used you to satiate his own needs but clearly he did not realise that his influence over you would wear off faster when he was away.” He sat back and handed you a skewer of meat. You waited a few moments before you gave into your hunger and began eating, careful to not burn your mouth on the food.

The meat was unbelievably delicious and tender, you only wished there were like ten more skewers. The man handed you a bowl of broth and tore you off some bread to have with it. As he ate he ruminated over your current situation. “I can offer two options to you, but ultimately, the decision is yours to make. One, you can stay here and leave with me tomorrow. I can return you to Lankhmar and you can adjust yourself back into life there, or, option two, I can provide you with a charm that will negate the princes hold over you. It will not last for more than a few days but it will show you if he truly cares for you or not. I will only be in these lands until the sun sets tomorrow, after that the tear I came through will be sealed.”

“Who are you?” You asked.

“I’m just an old mage who isn’t a half bad cook.” He chuckled. “You can call me Siwon.” He smiled warmly at you.

***

You trudged back through the hills the following day as you tried to keep your tears at bay. You’d been stupid, hoping that if you gave him a chance that he’d tell you all of the things you longed to hear. The mage’s charm worked and for the first time you truly saw how Suho treated you behind closed doors. He was not soft or loving, he was selfish, taking what he needed and not caring about your desires. You’d made one simple request and he had denied you. You knew that you needed to leave, this place would be your grave otherwise.

You arrived at Siwon’s campsite with moments to spare. The sun was beginning its descent in the sky, casting a pinkish glow across the sky “Please,” you puffed, having pushed your body to its limits to get here in time. “Take me back, I can’t. I can’t. I ca-”

“Shh child. I understand.” His voice was calming. He took a step towards you and wiped the tear that had started to fall from your cheek. He spoke gently. “I’ll return you to Lankhmar but understand that it will take time for you to readjust. Food will taste bland, the colours will seem dull and you will feel empty. Time heals all wounds. I’ll ward your room against danger and I’ll leave a protection charm with you in case they come for you. I might be old but I’m not useless.” He held out his hand and waited for you to take it before stepping back through the tear.

***

Either Siwon’s protection spells had worked or no one had bothered to try and track you down because after a month of constantly looking over your shoulder as you wallowed in your heartbreak, you’d finally started to move on. You weren’t expecting the heartbreak, especially since you knew he’d used you but regardless of the spell you’d been under, you’d fallen for him. There had been moments, fleeting moments but still, the existed, where he had shown kindness to you. It was those moments that you struggled to let go of, hoping that there was a shred of decency in him.

You’d been gone for a little over five months, and when you returned you’d viewed the city in a completely different way. Before he’d left Siwon had told you how to spot tears so that you didn’t accidentally fall through one again.

You’d caught wind of a local P.I who took on cases that were too odd to be real. Most people thought she was a shark, taking hapless fools for whatever money they threw at her for their unsolvable cases. Some people even thought the cases were made up. When you heard of the disappearances of young women your interest sparked. How many of them had fallen to a similar fate as you? You spend weeks trying to find the P.I’s office, less than impressed to find it right at the border of the demon territory. You had been avoiding them almost as much as you’d been avoiding downtown. You were never going to set foot there if you had any say in the matter.

The fact that the door was unlocked should have been your first warning sign but at the time you figured if a human was investigating the supernatural then standard human locks weren’t going to be high on her list of things that would keep her safe from danger. Sophrosyne - Private Detective. No case is too strange or deranged. You chuckled as you passed the bold lettering on her door.

The office was empty, which wasn’t necessarily odd. She might have been out on a case. You wandered about, trying to find a business card to at least get a phone number so that the trip wasn’t an entire waste of your time. You just wanted to help shed some light on the missing girls. If they were taken by the fae then you might be able to provide valuable information that could help get them back. You were proof that people could return from the fae lands and you refused to believe that you would be the last.

When you couldn’t find a business card you amended your search, trying instead to locate scrap paper and a pen. You’d leave an email address, a phone number was too traceable and you didn’t want to leave the hotel’s number in case any fae were sniffing around for you.

You were so absorbed in your search that you didn’t notice the blonde man enter the office. He leant in the doorway, watching you for a few moments before deciding to make his presence known. “What are you doing here?”

You jumped, almost hitting your head on an overhead cupboard. You turned and watched him carefully. He wasn’t human, no, there was something other about him. Power seemed to ripple off him, a kind you hadn’t felt before but had been warned about. The flash of black in his eyes confirmed what he was to you. “Demon!” You exclaimed.

“I have a name for fucks sake.” He growled before straightening up and plastering a fake smile on his face. “If you’re here you’re looking for a P.I. What seems to be your trouble, I’m sure I could be of assistance. For a price.” His tone dripped with honey, meant to draw you into his web of deceit before tricking you out of your soul. Siwon’s charm had little effect here but it did pulse as a way of warning you against the danger you were stepping into.

“Please, drop the act. I am not in the mood. If the P.I isn’t here then I have no business with you.” You turned to leave, not willing to engage with the demon further. You only hoped that he was a standard demon, if he was one of the Seven then you might not leave here unmarred.

He stalked towards you, each step smooth and calculated. Like a lion stalking its prey. “Well aren’t you just no fun. Honey, no one makes the trip out to Syn’s office just because they want a chat. Only the desperate come here. Why not reconsider my offer to assist?”

“Sometimes the wicked will say things just to confuse you.” You deadpanned.

“At least you’re not as dumb as you look.” He sighed. “If you’re looking for Syn, she’s not in right now. She’s busy being a martyr, or a fucking idiot, who knows. In the meantime I’m here.”

“And what do I call you?” You asked hesitantly.

“Avarice.” He grinned, setting all of your nerves on edge.

 A/N: Thank you for reading, comments are always appreciated! They keep me going, I’d love to hear from you.

[rock-n-roll-refugee]

Ultraviolence~Chapter 1

I had to rewrite this because I forgot to save it... shoot me

PART 2 OUT NOW ON MY PAGE (I’m too lazy and dumb to link)

Peter Parker x Villain!Reader

A/N: This is something I wanna try, and I know I suck at writing and sticking to one project so let’s see how well this goes. And if y’all like this please let me know I feed off your complements :( also idk what The Hand is, i know its from Daredevil, but I'm just using it randomly. sorry

warnings: a lot of swearing lol, violence, blood

If you watched A Clockwork Orange you would know that the storyline follows a madman’s twisted descent into normality. Substitute Def Leppard for the old Ludwig Van and you have the tragic story of (Y/N) (Y/L/N). 

She had many similarities to the infamous Alex Delarge in which they both are mentally deranged and crave that sweet taste of violence. (Y/N) also took part in somewhat of a gang, but it wasn’t like Alex’s droogs. It was more of an ancient organization of assassins than a gang, but nonetheless, she was on the wrong side of the law. The organization was called The Hand and she was taken in by Bakuto, the leader, when she was only four after her father killed her mother and abandoned a very young (Y/N) on the streets. Her father was a rouge member and destroyed his family so he could escape for himself. Or at least that was the story she was told. Bakuto took her in because he saw potential, or maybe it was just her superhuman powers, for she had the ability to manipulate the elements into any weapon of choice making her an excellent weapon for The Hand. 

~

It was a typical mission, take out a corrupt entrepreneur who had got caught in a bad situation with some bad people. It was a task that she had preformed many times over many years, but today was different. It was her first solo mission. 

“Its in and out. Simple as that.” she whispered to herself.

She scaled the building, it was a large villa on the edge Lake George in New York. It was magnificent and it all came from dirty money. The atmosphere gave her a boost of confidence and she decided, why not have a little fun? Unlike the rest of The Hand, she always liked to spice up her assassinations with a little flare. Just like her idol Mr. Delarge, she was always one for the dramatics. A lot of her inspiration came from her favorite movie, as you know, is A Clockwork Orange. However, this was the only film (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has ever sense there wasn't anything to compare to. She smuggled the film into base, knowing she was forbidden to view films from the outside, and that it would disrupt her training, but it was her only memory with her previous family. Her father would watch this movie and to her mother’s dismay, she watched it along with him even though it was a movie very unsuitable for young eyes. What should be considered an awful memory according to Bakuto was something of comfort for (Y/N). Unlike most, she sympathized for Alex Delarge, and even though he was meant to be an evil “anti-hero”, she was able to relate to his strife.

She was lost in her thoughts when she heard the front doors open and close. She snuck to a new hiding spot and watch guests flow into the mansion. There was a corporate celebration being held tonight, and what better way of sending a message than in front of maybe hundreds. The hours passed and it became gradually hard to stay hidden due to the vast amount of party goers. She was ahead of the game however and was prepared for this situation. She changed into appropriate attire for the event, which was a black camisole dress layered with a mesh long sleeve dress with gold embroidery, which was provided to her. She slipped on the obligatory heels and joined the party, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

~

“I don’t understand Mr. Stark, why did you have to bring me here again?” Peter whined at Tony as the exited the car. 

“Kid, if you want to be involved with Stark Industries you need to know how to go to things like this.” Tony said waving off Happy. 

“Who is this guy anyways?” Peter said trying to keep up with Tony

“This guy is a pretty big investor in my company, and it would be rude of us not to go. He’s kind of a jackass though.”

They maneuvered their way through the crowd, shaking hands and greeting unfamiliar people. They finally found a place to stand, to be greeted by yet more money sniffing mongrels wanting to stuff their greedy hands into Tony’s pockets. Peter slouched over getting bored after only 15 minutes and waiting for this event to be over. He groaned and Tony rolled his eyes and sighed. Peter’s eyes began to scan the room for something slightly interesting, when he caught a good look at her. His posture suddenly improved grabbing Tony’s attention. He watched Peter drool over the (Y/H/C) haired girl in the black and gold dress, watching every move she made.

“Quit drooling kid and go talk to her.” Tony demanded. Peter’s eyes went large.

“Wha-what do you mean Mr. Stark?” Peter stuttered looking back from her and Tony.

“You really aren’t subtle.” Tony said face palming, “quit groaning and go over there. Gives you something to do rather than bugging me all night.”

Tony nudged Peter in her direction and he slowly and awkwardly waddled over to her. She stood in a pretty empty part of the party with her arms crossed, just staring blankly into the crowd.

“he-hey” he said softly

She looked at the nervous boy with her eyebrow raised, 

“hi” she said easily dismissing him

“um... so... cool party right?”

“right.” she said giving only a sliver of attention the the boy. Her attitude gave him a weird boost in confidence.

“So, what’s your name?” He asked throwing her off guard.

“Uhhh...” she was preparing to go unnoticed and not talk to anyone, so she didn’t even bother coming up with a fake name. She frantically scanned the room for ideas. She looked over to the bar and saw the bartender pouring a drink for a partygoer,

“Scotch...” she muttered, “Scotch uhhhh...” 

She then saw a man walk by wearing a brown leather jacket,

“Leather?” She said unsure.

“Scotch Leather?” Peter asked

“Yeah...” she said mentally face palming.

He began to burst out laughing as she joined him laughing nervously.

“I’m so sorry, I know that’s your name and its very rude of me to laugh, but no offense, that sounds like a stripper’s name.” He said as she scoffed. She realized the humor in it and began to laugh hysterically with him. 

Hours went by, and the two just talked and laughed about everything. As night fell, they heard a glass being chimed, attracting everyone’s attention. The host, and (Y/N)’s target stood up in the front of the room. 

“That’s my cue” she said to herself.

“Sorry what?” Peter said no catching what she was saying.

“Oh, I said I need to use the restroom.” she said putting down her glass of water, “It was nice meeting you Parker.” 

Peter smiled victoriously and marched back to Tony.

“You were over there for a while. How’d it go?” Tony whispered as the host began his speech.

“Amazing! She's smart, and pretty, and my age too!” Peter told him ecstatically.

“Did you get her number?”

“Crap.”

~

She had changed back into her previous attire and snuck onto the roof where she had a good view of her target. She tied her hair up into a tight bun and slipped on her mask. She had to use her full face mask due to the fact that she walked around the party for a while and enough people saw her face to be able to show it. She groaned at the suffocation and begrudgingly stuffed her head in. It was musty and smelled like sweat, and the connected goggles were scratched up and foggy. The one advantage was that her identity was completely hidden and she looked pretty freaky. She adjusted her suit, which was an all black bulletproof suit that went up to her neck, and cargo pants and boots over the suit. 

She reached out her hand and a chunk of metal melted from a bare pipe and flew into her hand, shaping into a katana once it touched her palm. she peaked through the skylight at the target, still rambling on.

“...and to all those who have been a part of my project, I’d like to thank and for the profits, we are making more than we anticipated, so I am making a proposal for the next...” 

He droned on for a long time, but she had to wait for the perfect moment. She wanted to make her first solo mission something to remember. 

She cut a hole through the skylight and swiftly hopped down right behind him, barely making a noise when her feet touched the floor. She went unnoticed until she stood up behind him. She was merely a shadow, and barely visible, but what caught everyone’s eye was the gleam of her sword. The crowd audibly gasps at the intruder and a frightened murmur is heard throughout the room.

“I know, I know. These new plans are ambitious, but trust me I have a plan to initiate a...” he says, as a reply to the gasps and murmurs.

The assassin smirks under her mask as the host turns around confused as to why the crowd looked frightened, and the moment he is face to face with her she sheaths her katana deep into his heart. The people in the crown scream and run frantically out of the building. She chuckles knowing the scene looks almost like renaissance painting, her and the target dead center, his eyes rolled back into his head, and the frenzy of the guests scattering the ironically serene and exquisite room. It was almost poetic and how she wished she could get a snapshot of the moment. She twisted the sword making the man scream out in pain and retracted her sword, taking one last look at the magnificent scene and scurrying off.

“Hey Peter?” Tony asked, not looking directly at him

“Y-yeah?”

“Do you have your suit on you?”

[a-simple-imagine]

Distraction

Requested by Anonymous:  “ Can you write an imagine for either Bucky or Natasha where the reader is a new avenger but is like really new to all the fighting so she gets private training from one of them and it gets a bit heated? :)”

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Words: 2.8k+

A/N - While writing this I watched some black widow fighting compilations and she is constantly choking people with her thighs. A lot of the fighting in this is based on different scenes throughout the movies. this whole thing is just her beating you up basically.

TRIGGER WARNING - Swearing and fighting/violence

Being an Avenger had been your dream since forever. From the outside, it looks like it's all fun and games but then when you joined reality hit you clear in the face. You'd finally gotten used to the whole idea of being part of the team. And getting to meet Tony Stark was amazing. He was a lot more sarcastic in person than you imagined and you already imagined he was pretty sarcastic. He was also a bossy son of a bitch who wouldn't let you go out and do anything. Being an avenger who spends all day locked up un the avenger's facility was draining your excitement more and more each day. After practically begging him to give you a mission, Stark agreed that once you learned to defend yourself he'd give you something to do. You insisted you didn't need training but Natasha agreed to help you as long as you took it seriously. And you hand on heart promised you would. You and Natasha had been working together for a few weeks now. You were in the training room every other day. When Natasha wouldn't show up you'd bug someone else to help you or you'd practice using your powers.

It was early but you were raring to go. Practically bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet as you practice your swing. When the door swings open, you turn sharply offering her a playful smile.

"Good morning, Miss Romanoff." you sing-song, standing to attention.

"Don't" She rolls her eyes, walking straight past you and dropping her stuff down before beginning to wrap her hands and wrist. Her eyes on you as you ooze giddy excitement. The quicker you get going, the quicker you get out in the field where you can show everyone how helpful you can be. Your powers were somewhat similar to Wanda's only you couldn't necessarily move things with your mind but you could manipulate living organisms. Almost like a master puppeteer. You could also condense your energy and use it as an attack etc. all the normal superpowers stuff. "You ready?"

"Mhmm." You nod eagerly as she comes and joins you on the mats. Her green eyes watch you for a moment.

"First of all, take a deep breath and calm down."

You take a deep exaggerated breath in and then exhale slowly. Natasha takes a few steps closer to you, flexing her hands. Circling her wrists and rolling her right shoulder and then her left. "Have you stretched?"

"Yes, so can we start?" You groan. Natasha wore a cocky smile, giving you a firm nod.

"After a quick refresh of the basics to make sure you're actually listening when I talk then I'm thinking we can spare a little."

"Okay." Sparing with Black Widow? Sounds easy enough. You could kick the ass of an ex-Russian spy.

"Alright, Y/N. Come at me." You take another deep breath, shaking off your nerves; loosening up your muscles. You get into the position Natasha had taught you. Left shoulder facing forward. Legs shoulder length apart, knees bent with your left foot turned towards Nat. You make a fist and punch using your left hand. The other woman catches your punch in the palm of her left hand like it was nothing. Her fingers wrap around your fist and yank you closer to her. She then twists your arm into an uncomfortable position before pushing it behind you back.

"Clearly you've not been paying attention. You take a step and pivot the back foot. Put your power in your punch."

She lets you go and you return to your original spot. Rolling your shoulder. You get back into position and try again. It feels better this time but she dodges with ease. Snapping it back, you punch with the other in a repetitive motion until your fist finally connects to her jaw. Your eyes widen as her hand goes up to inspect the spot you just punched. Panic takes over for you as you stare at the superhero.

"I am so sorry, Nat-"

"No, don't apologise." She shook her head, holding her hand out before you to get you to stop talking. "It was good. Now let's try it with me fighting back. Take a few steps back and then run at me."

You do as your told and walk over to the side of the mat. Natasha does the same, heading for the other side. You run at her and she walks towards you. She doesn't even look phased by the fact you're about to actually start fighting then again she's done this before. Many times. With people who already know how to fight. When you're close enough you try to punch her but she dodges. Nat attempts to hit you back and you manage to dodge as well. You spy a smile on her lips which makes you happy. Clearly, you're doing something right here. You wanted to make her proud. You wanted to impress her. That was the only way you were gonna get out of this training room and out into the big, dangerous world. Not only that but she's a badass woman who just so happens to be like hot as hell. You wanted her respect. At that moment she sweeps you off your feet. You drop onto your ass with a loud smack. You fall onto your back. As Natasha walks towards you, you scramble backwards before twisting onto your hands and knees. As you try to push yourself up you feel her foot against your back, shoving you hard against the mat.

"It's like you don't remember anything I taught you." Her foot presses into your back. Not enough to hurt but enough to make you uncomfortable.

"This isn't a fair fight," You insist. Her foot vacates your back and you roll back over to look up at her. A little intimidated by the way she was looking down on you. Your breathing hitched as she got down to straddle your hips. Both hands pressed firmly against your chest. She leans in close and you swallow hard as you stare into her beautiful green eyes.

"They never are," Natasha explains. With her so close, you take the opportunity to headbutt clear in the face. She gets off you and you quickly grab both her ankles yanking them towards you sending her to the floor as well. You practically jump on top of her with a bright smile. More than happy with yourself for getting one up on her. She definitely wasn't expecting that. You frown as your eyes take on a lilac purple glow. Natasha becomes surrounded in a purple, fog-like glow as you try to focus your mind on keeping her firmly in place.

"Pinned ya." You declare proudly although using your powers was a bit of a dirty move. You still managed to knock her down though so that was something to be proud of. The pain from the headbutt suddenly hit you like a ton of bricks now that the spike of adrenaline is wearing off. Your hold on Natasha disappears as your head throbs; one hand begins to rub at your temple. Natasha pushed you off her and returned to her spot on top of you only this time her baton was against your neck. She forced your chin up with the end. The knowledge that she could electrocute you at any moment if she wanted to, kept you still.

"You're cute, Y/N. But I've been going easy on you. If you want a fight, let's fight." She got off you and let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding. Natasha was... scary.

"Can we take a break first?"

She nods leaving you lying on the mat. You rise to your feet and head to your duffle bag for your water. Squeezing the plastic bottle so the liquid shoots into your mouth; dribbling some in the process. Wiping you chin clean you take a seat on the floor. Eyes settling on the follow avenger in the room. Compared she had no powers she was one hell of a superhero. You'd be worried if she wasn't on your side. When you notice the water bottle in her hand was a screw top you decide to have a little fun. The familiar Lilic glow returned to your iris as you froze her hand in place. You could feel her trying to break out of your mental grip but it wouldn't work.

"Y/N, stop it." She calls out. Her voice echoing a little in the large room.

"I'm not doing anything."

"I can't literally see you doing it." The look she gives you is enough to get you to stop. The bottle jerks in her hand sending its contents flying towards her face and down her shirt. You're unable to hold back the laughter that follows the incident but you almost immediately regret it.

"Mat now." Natasha snarled, wiping herself down with a small towel. You scramble to your feet and rush over to the mats scared of what she'll do if you disobey. Although your lips still fight against smiling as she comes to join you.

"Are you ready?"

"Always."

"You sure?" She asks, eyes honing in on you like a hawk stalking its prey. "I'm not gonna go easy on you this time."

You ponder her question before countering it with your own. "Can I use my powers?"

"Sure,"

"Then I'm fine." You shrug, getting into your start position.

"Okay then. I'll let you make the first move."

Natasha just stands before you; face glistening from remnants of water or sweat? You couldn't be sure. You punch in her direction but she just moves her head out the way. Grabbing your wrist before you have the chance to pull back. The redhead maneuvers so her thighs wrap around your neck and you fall under the weight of her body, rolling onto your back. Your air supply was limited thanks to her thighs while your arm was situated under the rest of her body. After a few seconds, she lets you go and you take a few deep breaths before getting up.

As she walks away from you, you come at her from behind. Just as you're about to attack, her head turns in your direction. Natasha grabs your arm mid punch and twists it behind her body, proceeding to elbow you in the face. As your hands come up to check she hasn't straight up broken your nose, it's then you realise she isn't messing around. Luckily she didn't hit you that hard, it just felt like she did. While distracted the read head pivots on one foot sending her other directly towards you. Kicking you in the side, you stumble a few steps before you fall to your hands and knees. You get that she was training you but this was starting to feel like she was going overboard. She couldn't possibly be that angry over a little joke. As you try to stand she does a leg sweep and your straight back down on your ass.

"Can you at least let me get up first?" You groan, starfished out on the mat.

"Sure, go ahead." You're extra cautious as you stand, expecting her to tackle you or for her to knock you on your ass again. But she just watches you as you rise. Finally, back on your feet, you brush yourself off but before you can even think about attacking Natasha, she sends both feet firmly in your direction. Both of them connecting with your chest and sending you stumbling backward while she just lands on the palm of her hands, using her strength to push her entire body back to its upright position. The black widow was impressive, even more so in person.

"Do you want to keep going?" Natasha wonders. Now was your chance to admit that maybe you couldn't quite match her level of fighting but your stubborn ass just shook your head.

"It's not over till it's over." You insist, stretching a little in the process. You take a deep, centering breath and envelop the woman in the trademark glow of your powers. Keeping her entirely still. You could essentially make her hurt herself but that was less impressive than you actually doing something. Tony knew your powers could be useful but he said you had to learn hand to hand combat which meant actually using your own body. You circle the woman once and then attach your arms to her waist before letting her regain control. As soon as you let up, the redhead elbows you again. The pain is a little more intense this time. Natasha wraps her arm around the back of your neck before tossing you effortlessly over her shoulder and to the floor. Your eyes and nose scrunch up as you contemplate the pain of the loss. You're not sure you even want to get up again. Natasha was kicking your ass and looking very attractive while doing it. It was like she couldn't predict your movements before you even did anything. The woman decided to get down on your level, straddling your hips in a similar fashion to before. One of her wrapped hands graces your cheek and you lean into the touch.

"You rely on your powers too much to fight effectively. Nobody is going to wait around for you to focus." She's taking a much softer approach with you now, it's almost off-putting. Makes you think she's planning something. "Until you learn to use them, you've got to start focusing on your physical."

Her hand still lingering on your cheek, Natasha just keeps her eyes on yours. Thumb brushing against your skin. It's... nice. And you don't really want her to stop but all good things must come to an end. Natasha got up and held out her hand which you took and she yanked you to your feet. On shaky legs, you get into your start position.

"I can... still take you." You state, trying to get back the wind that was just knocked out of you.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I can do it!" You growl, determined to prove you're not useless. You were an avenger. You could do this. With a long sigh, Natasha turned her entire body to face you. As she strutted in your direction she grabbed both her batons and with a flick of her wrist, they got longer. At this point, you were too focused on not ending up on the floor again you couldn't even attempt to use your powers. Your breathing was ragged and it was like your mind went completely blank. Panic took over as Natasha got closer and instead of fighting, you decided to flee. With each step, she took you took one backward until your back hit a wall. The black widow stopped just before you, sliding her instruments away.

"I'm in your head," Natasha says softly bringing up her hand and placing it softly against your cheek. Her body pressed into yours, pinning you firmly against the wall and you swallow hard. "You're too easy to distract, Y/N." You can't do anything but watch, Y/E/C eyes flickering between that of her green ones and her lips that threatened to come closer. "I like watching you fight." Her voice gets softer as she leaves a ghost kiss against your lips. "You're powerful." She insists, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Determined." Her lips move slightly lower. "You want to prove yourself." Another kiss but lower. Natasha trailed wet kisses against your skin and down your neck. "But let me give you a word of advice." She spoke in but a whisper, the words against your skin sent a delightful shiver up your spin. "If you're ever in trouble. Don't be afraid to bite." Her teeth sink into your neck sending an unexpected moan past your lips. The woman doesn't let up as she sucks and occasionally nibbles on the same spot earning an array of soft but audible noises. Your mind was lost in the moment. The woman pressed against you felt good. The way she worked your neck was making you want more.

"Natasha..." her name fell from your lips like it was the only thing you could say. It drew her attention and she immediately stopped.

"Far too easy to distract." The redhead gives you a relatively hard pat against the cheek before just letting you go and walking away. Whether it was from the brief moment you just shared or all the fighting, you weren't sure but your entire body went limp and you slid down the wall to the floor. Following her movements with your eyes as she unwrapped her hand and threw the wrap into her bag. Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she took a long swig of her water before proceeding to walk away. You couldn't help but watch the way her hips moved.

"Same time tomorrow." Was the last thing she said before you were left alone in the training room. Your hand brushes against your neck where her lips had just been. The skin was warm but tender and you knew she had left a mark.

"What the fuck just happened...?"

[despairingvacation]

welcome to a show about death! [PROLOGUE END]

Things were… quiet in the Future Foundation. 

Not that it wasn’t, in the first place. Sure, there was always going to be quite a bit of commotion throughout that made those inside… act up, but it was eerily quiet. For once, everyone inside had been working hard at whatever assignments Oswald had given them, not wanting to address anyone as of yet or distract others from their work.

Spinel had mentioned briefly the other night that she had a bad feeling something would happen, and quite a few others had found themselves agreeing with her. Though, save from that instance, no one had bothered bringing it up again - not wanting to cause any unease. Yet… the feeling was hard to shake off, no matter how hard everyone tried to ignore it. 

On top of the strange feeling everyone was getting, save from the orders Oswald had given them early in the day, nobody had heard from him since. Quite a few members would sit together and try to get a hold of him, only to be answered by his answering machine - saying that he would get back to them as soon as he can. It was worrying to quite a large degree, it wasn’t in Oswald’s character to leave an unanswered call...well, unanswered. At most, Oswald would only go two hours without returning a call, and even then - he would be quick enough to send a message saying where he was and that he would get back to them as soon as possible.

Oswald had been suspiciously quiet, one can’t help but to worry.

“He’s okay, right?” Mumbles from the Future Foundation would soon fill the building, as the overwhelming feeling of worry would soon occupy just about everyone’s minds. \

But-- their worries couldn’t be on their mind for long- as the screen that everyone stares at, whether it’s a computer, a screen within the monitoring room or just the television in everyone’s individual rooms they share with others, turns to static. 

h̶e̶l̵l̸o̵.̵.̴.̷ 

H̴̢͋̕E̵͓͕͂̍L̶̲͓̇̌L̵͖̓ ̸̫͇͝ ̵̪̇͌ ̴̗̝̇ ̷̟̇͝ ̵̡̗̽ ̷͖͚͆ ̶̛̩͂ ̴͖̏͛ ̸̝̍͝ ̵̧̈́͠ ̵̠́̚O̸̱̠̒͘?̸̥͉̔͛?̶͓̇̕?̴̢̘̾̈́?̸̧̖̈͘

The voice that comes through the monitors is distorted, hard to make out upon first hearing it. But the voice that comes through it is one that members of the Future Foundation don’t recognize, and everyone’s radars immediately go off.

Something’s wrong. 

“Aw, D̶͔̲͌Á̷̧R̷̯̅Ṋ̸̃̾.̸̱̻̌̽.̸̡̩͒.̸̫̀͂.̵̬̖͆̽… give me a sec, everyone! Looks like somethin’s wrong with the Ạ̴͕̇͗Ų̷̝̍D̸̹̈́̌Ḭ̴̌O̶͇͓͆”

At this point, everyone’s come to the conclusion that something definitely isn’t right, and they need to get out of there. 

Now. 

A few members immediately stand up, pushing back their chairs from where they sit. Rushing to the entrance of the building, they attempt to turn the knob - trying to get out of there and search for Oswald, immediately. But--

“The door’s locked, silly! No way out. Fun, ain’t it?” The voice that speaks through the monitors catches everyone’s attention. The distortion of the audio that was once there no longer lingering in the voice- but, the voice that speaks is masked. Pitched to several different frequencies at once- it sounds like it could be anyone, yet- nobody that those in the organization would know. Those in a room with someone else each turn to look at everyone surrounding them, before turning their gaze upon the screens nearby them. 

Their hearts racing, the sound of a chuckle - distorted and twisted, comes through the stereos surrounding them. Yet, the monitors continue to display nothing but static. Whoever was talking to them, nobody had a clue. 

“Ah, it’s great to finally have yer attention. You can hear me fine, right? No more bugs? Perfect! Really, it’s cute that you think just because you’re apart of this Future Foundation, or whatever, you’re excused from having to experience D̴̦̯̋̉Ę̴̬́̃S̵̙̕P̸̙̐Á̷̳͓Į̴͕̈́̿R̶͍̝͛̒.̶͕͆!”

Everybody just about knew where this was heading. Suddenly being locked up with no way of escape, a mysterious voice - one that nobody knew of, telling them that they’re going to experience despair… This felt all too familiar. Everyone takes a glance at each other, before their eyes glaze over to the screens, still filled with nothing but static - 

They were going to be forced into something they don’t want to be a part of, huh? 

“Good evening, Future Foundation members! It’s real cute what yer tryin’ to do. Tryin’ to eradicate the world of despair an’ bring it back to what it used to be...yeah, real cute. But I gotta tell ‘ya… I ain’t really feelin’ it, y’know? So, how ‘bout I make a proposal… Keep me entertained, and I can assure ‘ya that you’ll get out of here perfectly fine.” There’s a chuckle behind the voice that speaks, and immediately - everyone feels that the person behind the voice isn’t being exactly...well. 

Truthful.

“Let’s play a game! It’s pretty simple, an’ I’m sure you’ve all heard of it by now and know exactly what to expect. Kill someone, get away with it, an’ you’ll be set free! I know, I know, I said you’ll get outta here perfectly fine, but really, I’m only talkin’ ‘bout one’ve ya.” A chuckle rings through the speakers, and before anyone gets the chance to speak, the voice continues on with their thoughts. 

“Ohhh, but I don’t want to kill, you say! Well, boo-hoo, I’ll make sure ‘ya do. It doesn’t matter WHAT you’re feelin’, really- ‘cuz every other week, we’re going to be introducing a brand new game for you to play. I’m sure you all will know the rules when it’s time to play it- besides, I’m sure you’ve all played them at least one point in your life. Makes sense, right? Sounds like a whooooole-lotta fun- R̸I̸G̷ ̴ ̷ ̴ ̷H̷ ̶T̷T̷T̶T̸T̴?̶?̸?̸” 

The voice crackles and distorts again, as the sound of laughter fills the halls and rooms of the building. Everyone turns their attention to each other, trying to find something- anything to say in response - but nothing comes to mind. Is this really what’s going to be happening-? It can’t- they’re SURE Oswald will come and get them out of it soon. Maybe this is some kind of weird dream? Shit, who knew. 

The intercom clicks - signaling that whatever--whoever was on the other side, was done speaking. Mumbles fill the room, and some frantically try to pry open windows or get the door open, thinking that this must be some sort of sick...twisted prank by Oswald, or something- even though he was never the type to play pranks, specifically pranks with such an extreme statement on anyone. He was always talking about getting work done, and that there was no time to play - so even if this was him… It felt specifically out of character.

Everybody is busy trying to find a way out, trying to find a way to get the door open so they can just get out of the building and return home where they...wouldn’t be entirely too safe, but it’d be safer than being here, of all places - only to find that yes: 

It’s true. 

Everything is locked. None of the keys given to each member works in unlocking the door - it’s almost as if someone had gone out of their way to seal the door shut, making it impossible for anyone to leave, and impossible for those to enter. Everybody is so preoccupied, trying to see if they can find anything that can get them out- they don’t bother to look up and notice some type of smoke spilling from the vents ever-so-slowly, yet, quickly at the same time. 

It doesn’t take much longer for the effects of the mysterious smoke filling each and every room in such a fast pace to take lead, as those exposed to it fall to the floor- 

and each falls into a deep slumber, the silence being almost deafening. 

It hasn’t been this quiet in the Future Foundation in ages. 

……

…..

…

“UH, COULD YOU ALL GET TO THE CONTROL TOWER? WE GOTTA TALK.”  

It sounds suspiciously manipulated. Something from within the depths of their consciences tells them not to listen; to continue on with trying to find a way out. 

But, no. They decide to go against their intuition and obey. It’s Oswald, isn’t it? They can trust Oswald, right? They can put your faith in Oswald, and thus they go.

... 

>> CONTINUE?

[thanagariansnarebeast]

Top ten fallen heroes

These are not reformed villains, though they may go into that role after, or at least an anti-hero, but most of these I prefer as villains.

10. Ozymandias (Watchmen). While you don’t see him do his heroics much in the comics, because he is pseudo-retired at this point, you do know what he did in the past to some extent and you know he’s still trying to make the world a better place. (spoilers for the comic that you really should read because there is a reason why it is considered a masterpiece) Ozymandias sacrifices his own morality to try and stop the world from destroying itself, its an awful thing that he does and thinks its for the greater good, and he clearly feels the weight of what he’s done but still stands by it; which is what makes him a fallen hero.

9. Griffith (Berserk). Now Griffith has many heroic qualities, but he always seemed to have a bit of a dark and selfish nature; but that being said his betrayal still really hurt both the audience and the few surviving main characters; and what he did was so profoundly selfish and evil that he becomes a fantastic villain.

8. Light Yagami (Death Note). Light does his fall really hard and really fast, but it takes a bit before he becomes completely evil. His mental chess game with L is one of my favorite story arcs in all of fiction, and it all started because this seemingly innocent boy found a notebook. There are definitely times when you are rooting for him even though you know you shouldn’t be, and I think that makes for some of the best villains. I was going to put Walter White on here, but I feel like Walt was always just a likable villain, you just didn’t know he was an egotistical dick until much later in the show.

7.Artorias the Abysswalker (Dark Souls). Artorias in any other game would probably be a hero you follow the footsteps of, or just play as; but in Dark Souls you slowly piece together the tragic story of a hero that tried as hard and as long as he could to win an unwinnable fight and in the end succumbed to the very abyss that he was fighting. Having to fight his best friend and protector of his grave is just heart breaking, and fighting him in the DLC was almost as bad. He’s not a character that I prefer as a villain, but he is a fun boss.

6. Angelus (Buffy/Angel). Now Angel is my favorite main character in my all time favorite show, but Angelus is a lot of fun to watch. He just loves being evil so much, he relishes it and is almost cartoonish at time with how fucked up he can be; but he has done far too much damage to the main characters of both Buffy and Angel to be taken lightly (I mean most villains in the show ether respect or fear him, and that’s pretty impressive when he’s been gone for hundreds of years). Having a main character who can go so completely evil if pushed is such a fun dynamic and when he gets to come out and play for real in season 4 it is a hell of a show. He’s such a good villain because he gets to sit and watch in agony watching Angel and friends do good all the time, but the whole time he sees how to push buttons and manipulate people so that when he gets free he can get what he needs out of them.

5. Jason Todd/Red Hood (DC comics). Jason was not a well liked character when he first appeared, or even after Crisis on Infinite Earths, but his death was still tragic and made people really question how good of an idea having a teenage sidekick really was. It was only after he came back to life and starting messing with Batman that I really liked him. Most of the villains on this list have questionable at best motivations, but if I was Jason and Batman didn’t kill Joker to avenge me, I’d be pretty pissed off to. He’s a great foil for Batman because he knows him so well, knows how to hurt him, and is pissed enough to really hurt him. He did eventually become an anti-hero and sort of DC’s answer to the Punisher (though they already had Huntress for that) but I like him more as a villain than I do an anti-hero (though he can be written well when he’s not in New 52). I was torn between him and Winter Soldier, but I think Bucky’s story isn’t quite as tragic because of the amount of time that had passed between him dying and him showing back up, and I like him more as a hero; both in the comics and in the MCU.

4. Two-Face (DC comics). From this entry and the last one you might think I’m a Batman fanboy, but I’m not; he just has damn good villains. There are many Spider-Man villains that were good guys to some extent before something terrible turned them into a villain, but Harvey Dent has the edge for me because of how much good he was trying to do before he became a villain. In his many incarnations you can always see a dark side to him before he falls, but seeing him actually become evil is still painful to watch. He is a fantastic villain because he’s so twisted and evil, but there is still a chance for him to be redeemed. He’s a constant reminder to Batman of his failure to help his friend, and he also has a very unique visual style to him that a lot of different creators have had a lot of fun playing with.

3. Arthas Menethil (Warcraft series). Arthas had your classic heroic backstory; young, handsome, talented prince who cared about his people would stop at nothing to protect them. He was brave and a very powerful paladin, but his arrogance would prove to be his undoing. He started down a path of doing worse and worse things to try and accomplish his goals, and eventually became fully corrupted once he got Frostmorne. Once he got his armor and became the Lich King, he became one of the most powerful villains in all of Warcraft, and the sword and armor he had made him very cool (no pun intended). His role as antagonist for a whole World of Warcraft expansion just shows how powerful he was, and being able to piss off pretty much everyone shows how good a villain he was.

2. Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars). Now the prequels are very flawed films, but I don’t find much fault in Anakin’s characterization throughout them. He starts off just a sweet and innocent child longing for adventure, but the next time we see him he’s a cocky teenager with enough power to back up his attitude. He’s very high on this list because while he did do some evil things before his actual turn to the dark side, he was manipulated into most or all of them; that doesn’t excuse him completely because in the end he still had agency over his choices, even if it wasn’t full agency. Some people say that his turn was too quick, but I think what happened is after he made that split second decision to protect Palpatine, he realized he was pretty much stuck with what he did. He did what he did because he was naive, manipulated, and wanted to save his wife and child. I’m also a sucker for a Greek tragedy and a self-fulfilling prophecy. Everything he did after the death of his wife and supposed death of his child was because of his rage and sadness at what he had lost, and clinging to what little he had left. He’s one of the best villains in all of fiction, and is so incredibly visually striking that even if you’ve never seen a Star Wars film, you know just by looking at him who he is.

1. Superman (Injustice games/comic). Who could possibly be a more tragic fallen hero than the symbol of hope and peace losing all hope and becoming a fascist, murdering dictator. Superman needs no introduction, but the Joker tricking him into murdering his wife and unborn child, and blowing up Metropolis sure is a different take on the character. Its not entirely surprising that something so tragic could make the Man of Tomorrow loose what made him a hero. As you read the comics you see that he started off just wanting to kill supervillains, and slowly he had to compromise more and more to get what he wanted. He never completely lost his morality, just slowly changed and warped his view on it until he became so scared of losing what he had left that he became a dictator.

[klunkcat]

We can be stronger, now

After months of dating, Zira finally introduces Crowley to his family. Crowley is, understandably, less than thrilled about the whole thing.

(Takes place in my snake vet human AU featuring: an established relationship, a lot of soft tender feelings, and some not so great emotionally manipulative content from the Upstairs Gang, with bonus comfort and general tooth rotting fluff to make up for it!) 

“It’s a dinner invite,” Zira announced, with a lot less than actual announcing and more feigned indifference and carefully hushed tones. Crowley’s imaginary hackles were already rising.

“Someone mailed you a dinner invite? As in, sent the whole thing over through the post. With a seal?”

Zira huffed with a genuine modicum of indignance, “some people do prefer the written word, you know.”

Crowley rolled his eyes good naturedly and flourished a hand Zira’s direction without bothering to stand from his strewn position on the old couch. “Well, lets have a look at this awe-inspiring penman ship then.”

Zira acquiesced and shuffled into the kitchenette to set the kettle, tittering quietly about dying arts and the old days and what not. Crowley smiled to himself, a little sickeningly sappy, bundled up with thoughts of slow mornings in dewy sunrises and warm mugs. It was fine that he let himself become absolutely overrun by his constant soppy gooey feelings, so long as no one was around to witness it.

Oh, we definitely have to go to whatever this event is, he’d decided, taking in the flowing script and very official looking parchment. They’ll have the little prawn cocktails and all the cheeses the mind could comprehend. Zira would love it. He’d developed himself a nice daydream of crashing fancy dinners with Zira, all flustered and giggly, just to show him off a little. Have everyone in a tizzy over the dashing man with the bleached white hair, absolutely spoil Zira with the little appetizers and drinks. So enveloped in the absolute sticky, syrupy sappiness of it all, he’d nearly missed the name attached at the very end. Not that it was particularly legible, all over done with loops and twists like that. Seriously, those rich types must have a different alphabet entirely. Bit like doctor’s handwriting, but he’d learned to decipher Anathema’s.

Signed, The Phael Estate

“That’s funny, isn’t it?” He called towards the kitchen. “Having a last name like that. Here I’d thought yours was strange.” Then again, he was the one who adamantly refused to be called anything other than his last name. Glass houses and rocks and what not.

“P-H-A-E-L. Huh. What are the odds of that. Switch two letters and you’d be practically family!” He snorted and glanced up towards Zira as he brought their tea over. Oddly, Zira didn’t look all that amused. He looked almost uncomfortable, in fact. Nervous, even.

“Something like it,” Zira agreed, smiling weakly.

Crowley sat up straighter.

“Angel,” he said, a bit blankly. “Is this a dinner invite. From your family?”

Zira winced. “Afraid so.”

“Your family. As in, Michael, the sister that called you on your 21st birthday to tell you that you were being financially cut off? The one that returned your Christmas gift in front of you? That sister?”

Zira sipped his tea, “Water under the bridge, really, dear.”

Zira didn’t talk about them much, or ever, really. They’d been properly dating for about four months, friends for a while longer, and the only snippets Crowley had managed to steal were all vague and distant sounding. Something about a family company, about moving out fairly young. A throw away comment here and there. Boring stuff, sounded like.

He’d always sort of assumed they were that uppity classical type of people, the ones with wire gates and a refusal to look beyond them. A miracle in itself that someone as passionate and curious as Zira had come out of it in one piece. So he thought.

“Alright,” he said, easy as you please.

Zira blinked up at him with a touch too much of surprise for Crowley’s liking. Meeting the parents was a right of passage of some sort, he figured. A step in a long list of eventualities he would dive head first into just to hold Zira’s hand a little while longer. He wanted to do everything with Zira, whatever he wanted to do.

Although Zira was trying very hard to appear completely neutral, Crowley had gotten quite good at picking up on the smaller details. The nervous twitch of his fingers, the overly casual short sentences paired with wide earnest eyes. Picking up on the context of these sorts of things sort of just came with the territory of staring adoringly at him whenever he got the chance, he supposed. Sappy. Eugh. He knew enough though to see that Zira absolutely wanted to go, or at least felt obligated to and didn’t know how to shuffle that particular responsibility off.

If there was anything Crowley excelled at, it was being irresponsible. Something for another day, for all the infinities of days he’d fight to spend with Zira. Stuffy and uncomfortable family dinners be damned. At the very least, they could go down swinging.

“So, which tie should I wear then?”

“Didn’t fancy dressing the part? I told you a good haircut would do wonders for those bags under your eyes, darling.”

“How’s your book store struggling on these days, hm? I thought for sure I’d heard about a ‘for sale’ postage, happy to hear you’re still keeping it afloat.”

“Really, you should ask about your cousin Urie, makes a pretty penny in the industry you know. Messing about with hobbies is all well and good until you need to think of settling down.”

Crowley regretted this evening beyond his capacity to regret anything else in his life. And he’d once had the great idea of picking an 8am class in college, before he’d dropped that whole thing.

Stuffy and uncomfortable clearly hadn’t met the Phael family, or they’d up their game.

The dining hall they’d found themselves shoved into unceremoniously could not possibly be dripping with more chandeliers and dazzling bits of metal and glass if it tried. Despite wearing his best suit, having Zira fret over his tie and spend hours debating which one best complimented Crowley’s hair (a debate that had neatly been side tracked by a whole lot of snogging), and despite Zira’s absolutely manic desire to press every seam and steam every wrinkle, he still felt wildly underdressed. The feeling had spawned when they’d rolled up through a private gate onto a tree lined roadway, escalated when Crowley had seen the massively sprawling plot of land, and only increased since.

None of which would be remotely bothersome, of course, if Zira hadn’t been growing increasingly quiet throughout their evening. Crowley could handle snobs, could handle the side glances and the frowns at his tattoos and piercings (Zira had half vaguely warned him they were on the conservative side when it came to body modifications. Conservative as in, preferred amount being none, actually), hell, he could handle the weird and invasive insinuations about dating Zira for his ‘connections’ (whatever that meant). It wasn’t like he hadn’t been through that inspiring jaunt a time or two with his own family.

The comments about Zira, on the other hand set his teeth utterly on edge. If they made it out of this evening, Crowley was going to buy them both the fanciest wine they could afford. Actually, he’d buy it either way. They’d probably need the respite, alive or otherwise.

“Brother, really. Have you lost all sense of self image? Phael’s do not slouch.” Michael frowned at him from across the table, and Zira’s ears turned red. He said nothing, but slowly and forcibly slid his shoulders down from his ears and sat up primly. “Although, I suppose you want nothing to do with the family, regardless. Buying a legal name change, and all.” She scoffed, loudly.

“Now, now.” Gabriel chuckled. “It’s not like he changed it entirely. Speaking of changing, I had wondered if you had reconsidered my offer?”

Zira visibly tensed, as though he’d almost instinctively pulled his shoulders back upwards. He cleared his throat after a long moment, a practiced smile firmly in place. “Oh, I… I certainly considered it! Unfortunately, that is. Er. Selling the shop is quite impossible, at this current venture.”

“Hemming and hawing is unbecoming, Zira,” Uriel said from farther down the table. Zira’s smile read more like gritted teeth. Crowley fantasized about throwing the entire table over, just to get more than a placid blink in reaction from Uriel.

“I am quite firm in my decision, that is to say… well. No. I have not reconsidered, Gabriel.”

Gabriel, who up until this point had seemed like the most disconnected nonplussed of the family, frowned. Then his features flattened entirely. “I commend your decisiveness, if nothing else. Well then, onto other news! Brother, we haven’t seen you in a few years. Gosh, not even sure how many.”

“Three,” Zira said, into his dinner more than anything else.

“Yes, of course. Three long, very interesting years. Tell us what you’ve been up to, hm?”

“Well,” Zira started, and paused. Surreptitiously, Crowley slid his hand onto his boyfriend’s knee, squeezing gently in support.

“Um. Actually, I adopted a snake.”

Michael looked positively horrified. Gabriel’s expression crumpled inwards. If Crowley wasn’t so furious about the entire thing, and desperately attempting to keep the evening at a level pace to get them both out as fast as possible, he might have laughed.

“A snake?!”

“Yes,” Zira brightened, unfolding himself from his stiff posture. “He’s quite the handsome snake too, a lovely shade of deep brown and this dark blue. His name is Oscar, after Oscar Wilde of course. He’s a rosy boa, and. Oh, it’s an excellent story come to think of it, but Oscar’s the reason me and Cro-Anthony, got together! It was because he escaped one night and—”

“Zira,” Gabriel interrupted, looking for all the world like he was talking down to a small, particularly hyperactive child. “You’re telling me you keep that creature, in your home?”

“Well, yes. Where else would I keep him?” Zira asked with a strange half laugh.

“Can’t exactly let him keep on living in the vents,” Crowley added. “Dirty in there. Might come out as a dust bunny instead, then what would we do with all the mice?”

Zira snorted, loudly.

Oh, the look on Gabriel’s face was priceless.

“Well, good to see your severance package went to good use then,” Michael cut into her stake, pointedly. Crowley achingly wanted to go into detail about the amount of customers that just adored Zira’s work, about the donations from the nearby locals aiming to keep his store open as a ‘vital part of the local scenery’ when the income had been sparse one winter. Zira had made him promise not to, though. Something about them preferring things small and unobtrusive, although Crowley was starting to think they preferred to think of Zira that way, more than anything else.

“I do wish you had found. Better coping methods. Rebelliousness isn’t an inherited trait, after all.” She gave a long level stare Crowley’s way. Ah, subtlety thy name is certainly not Michael Phael.

“I suppose snakes aren’t for everyone,” Zira smiled, uncomfortably, shooting confused glances Crowley’s way. Easy enough for Crowley to reign in his self defensive habits, he hadn’t even flinched. He’d much rather she go on poking at him than making that awful shuttered look appear on Zira’s lively face, anyways.

Dinner seemed to carry on with similar fashion, little pointed passive aggressions here and there, barbed words snuck in behind compliments. It was an emotional wasteland if Crowley’d ever seen one, and he’d thought his family was snarky. At least with his adopted siblings there’d be a straight-faced insult one could snap back at, maybe a punch or two if they were particularly heated. Not that any of them meant it, of course. Growing up in ‘rough circumstances’ had just given them all a particular coded language of their own. Wildly unhealthy, sure, but there you go.

Verbal sparring matches were entertaining only so far as they didn’t sink in too deep. Crowley was beginning to see that these awful ice picks of words and insults had been hacking for years.

The distance and vague cold sentiments made perfect, horrible, sense.

They’d almost made it to the end of the evening without too many emotional scars, the bottle of wine in Crowley’s mind nearly tangible with reality. Finish line practically within arms reach, clock hand ticking down to the ‘Acceptable Time Spent With Awful InLaws’ territory, when the sucker punch came.

And what a wallop it was.

“Sandalphon, why don’t you tell them about your business? He’s made amazing headway with his business degree, graduated with honours.”

Sandalphon’s smile slid back, “We’re talking to investors in New York.”

“New York, he says!” Gabriel guffawed. “I can’t wrap my head around it. All that from a few years in school, hm? Speaking of, Anthony, what did you say you did?”

Crowley took a large sip of wine (awful stuff, no taste in reds at all, this lot). “I work at a vet clinic.”

“Is that a difficult path? Veterinarian school is quite the under taking from what I’ve read,” Michael swirled her salad around casually. ‘Casually’, air quotes added via Crowley’s internal bullshit detector.

Zira’s lips had thinned. Crowley was definitely missing a particular puzzle piece here, and he tread carefully.

“Can be. If you finish it,” he shrugged.

“Oh? And you didn’t?” Gabriel’s eyes were a little too wide, sparking with something devious like he’d sensed a spot in his armour. Crowley’d been through this song and dance a few times, however. One didn’t get through life without an unwarranted opinion or two with as many visible piercings as he did.

“Wasn’t for me. Went all the way to the final practicum, though. If you’ve got a sick pet anywhere I can probably suss out where things went wrong. Work as a receptionist with a brilliant vet, Anathema’s the best of the best. I’m the one who’s got all the discounts and tips, keep in mind.”

Gabriel tutted. “How long did you say you’ve known each other?” He gestured at Zira, almost as if he were taunting him. If Zira had heat vision, Gabriel would be melted on spot.

“I’m quite proud of him, actually. Besides, Anthony has nothing to do with my decisions, Gabriel.”

Gabriel leaned back, the picture of innocent confusion, complete with a pout. “You’re a Phael whether or not you want to be, Zira. We just want what’s best for you, and I’m concerned you may have fallen into the wrong influences in our time apart,” he held his hands up, palms out. How the bastard had managed to pronounce the spelling difference in his last name so pointedly was a real magician trick in itself, Crowley’s eyes narrowed.

This one was definitely the brown-nosing teacher’s pet type growing up, Crowley figured. The bastard that spread rumors just to watch other people fight it out. Jumping to claim martyrdom wasn’t in this season, Gabriel.

“Wrong influences?” Zira squeaked out.

That wicked glint appeared in his gaze, “Well, people of his… type don’t exactly give the best impressions.”

Well, that wasn’t particularly creative, was it. Type as in, what. Drop out? Pierced? ‘Alternative?’ Come on, at least have the bollocks to call me out on what you’re really thinking, you right prick.

Crowley was about to zing back a hilariously witty retort, when Zira slammed his cutlery down. “I will not have you speak of my boyfriend that way, Gabriel.”

“He’s only saying what we’re all worried about,” Michael added, in a tone like she was completely baffled by a teenagers irrational outburst. “I mean, he is wearing sunglasses to a dinner party.”

Crowley scoffed out loud, rolling his eyes loud enough to hear as well. He’d been wondering when that remark would crop up, if he were to be honest. Was usually the first thing on any tetchy relatives mind.

“I suppose you’d rather have me curled up with a migraine, then?” Crowley leaned backwards slowly on his chair, watching her eyes widen. “Poor service, that’d be. Not getting that five-star host rating.”

“I am entirely fed up with your judgements!” Zira stood up, abruptly, clanging the plate in front of him. The room fell silent. “It’s one thing for you to nitpick my every move, to-to call attention to any mild flaw, to insinuate time and time again how much I’ve failed the family name.” His voice trailed off slightly, a bit hoarse. Crowley was nearly steam rolled by a desire to Get Him Out Of There Immediately. Ice cream was likely in order. With all the toppings. Double the wine.

Zira’s expression steeled itself. “It’s quite another to belittle and insult a guest in your home! Crowley is the most cunning, brave, and selfless person I’ve ever met, and-and if you won’t take the time to appreciate that, then I don’t believe there’s any point of carrying this charade on any longer.”

He turned to Crowley, eyes blazing. Crowley never felt so achingly pained, inspired and awed, and wildly turned on in his life. He looked every bit like an avenging angel, with the chandelier light fanning behind him. His heart lurched and skipped in a confusing upset-and-absolutely-smitten sort of way.

“My dear, I do believe we’d best be leaving.” He held a hand out for Crowley to take, lifted him out of his seat, and kissed him gently. People talked of sparks and lightning but this, with the awe and hurt still roiling in the air, was purely embers and simmering brimstone. Crowley was maybe just a little beyond dazed.

“I’ll be out at the car,” he said, before storming down the hallway.

Everyone stayed utterly still for one long, unending moment. Crowley let out a breath, leaned forward and finished his wine in a single gulp.

“Well, wish I could say it was lovely to meet you all, but. You lot really are the worst.” He wanted to say something along the lines of ‘if you won’t love that man out there, I’ll do it for you, and I’ll do it twice as well’. Maybe something like ‘he’s the best person I’ve ever met, and he loves me, I almost feel sorry for you. Missing out on something that extraordinary’. Instead he just looked Gabriel in the eyes, slid his glasses down his nose enough to make sure he caught every word.

“None of you deserve him.”

The wine really was all around terrible, couldn’t be helped if he accidentally knocked it all over their fancy tablecloth on his way out. Not like it was a waste.

The drive home had been quiet. Not so much tense as… processing. The rain splattering against the windows, and the wipers pushing back and forth was enough ambience, besides.

Crowley wasn’t so much worried, either, as he was.... unsure. Zira looked drawn and stoic against the dim grey light, and he’d kept his eyes firmly in front of him, on the road, the whole way to his shop. There wasn’t the usual stress induced furrow between his brows, or the nervous fidgeting of his hands. Zira was still, withdrawn.

Alright, so he was worried.

The man had just stared down his entire array of siblings and cousins and told them to stuff it. Wildly impressive, that was. Crowley didn’t exactly have an excellent frame of reference for the emotional fall out, mind you, but he imagined it was likely spectacular in and of itself. Zira truly and deeply needed a proper hug and a good cuppa, if he was amendable to either idea.

Crowley was slightly afraid Zira would tell him to go home, mind blowing kiss and heart warming words aside. After all, he’d just sat there and let it happen, like a thorough pillock. Some boyfriend that made him.

He waited until they’d parked, shuffled inside, and locked the doors behind them, before placing a hand gently on Zira’s shoulder.

“You, erm. Want to talk?” He winced even as the words left his mouth, weak and not nearly wide enough to envelop the enormity of everything.

Zira didn’t look at him, and walked stiffly to the cupboard.

Crowley felt a little lost by the doorway; he’d decided already he wouldn’t be leaving Zira alone tonight unless the man asked for it, but he didn’t exactly know where he was needed, either. Zira was always the energetic one of the two of them, loudly unimpressed or visibly pleased, he’d never seen him anything but. This was new territory, a new song and dance. Another task on his list of infinities he wanted nothing more than learn the steps to.

Zira was leaning on the counter heavily, shoulders high around his ears, back turned. He practically radiated unhappiness, and it ached.

“Angel?”

“I’m sorry you had to see all of that, my dear,” Zira said, in a strange soft voice. “I really should have torn up the infernal invitation. Probably should have not gone at all.”

Crowley frowned. “No sorry, I don’t need a sorry. Not looking for one.” He shook his head, exhaling slowly, attempting to work through what Zira needed to hear. “Not like they’re a lovely bundle of peaches or anything, but.” He shrugged, maybe a little self consciously. “Glad we went.”

Zira glanced towards him, eyes wide and just on the side of too glassy for Crowley’s liking, before returning to fumble through cabinets with trembling hands. “You are? But… but, oh, I made such a mess of things.”

That was enough, more than enough. That was too much, in fact.  He snorted. “You?” He stepped forwards, dropping his coat on the armchair. “You were incredible. I think they had the mess side of things covered from the start. You just helped, you know, point it out.”

“Please, dear,” Zira’s voice was shaky, Crowley realized with an awful lurch.

He dropped his voice into something softer to match, gentling his expression. “Zira, what do you need?”

Zira closed a cupboard with a little too much force and whirled towards him. “I need you to. To... To be exactly- well, you!” His face screwed up, eyes closing. “What they implied of you was. Quite wrong, and you mustn’t believe a word of it, Crowley! You- they never have had a grasp on what things were worthwhile. You mustn’t listen to- to, well. What they said at the end was… it was bullshit. To be frank. And I’m sorry you had to hear it, along with the rest.”

Crowley’s heart did a funny thing, he had the very stark feeling then that he was missing a page or so from his script. “Angel, you know I can handle it. Slid right off me, you know.”

Zira shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to!” His whole body was trembling slightly, Crowley took another cautious step forward. There was something almost defensive about Zira’s expression, as though he was bracing for something. Crowley tried very, very hard not to be hurt by the implications there. He wasn’t sure if he fully succeeded.

“You shouldn’t either, you know.”

Zira’s lower lip trembled, and he caught it between his teeth, looking down. “Oh, it’s so terribly selfish. To think of my own pride when you. When they’d been so awful to you. You must know how wonderful you truly are, and, oh…. In comparison, I know, truly how I must seem, it’s only that…I hope your view of me hasn’t changed.” He shrugged a little, a helpless rise and fall of unsteady shoulders.

Crowley couldn’t help but move in, crowd Zira against the cupboard. He pulled the wineglass Zira had managed to snag from his hand with a patient delicacy, pressing his palm along the curve of Zira’s chin.

“Zira, angel. Do you really think that little of me?”

Zira’s eyes were impossibly round. “I… no! Oh, my dear, never, I’ll tell you every day how much I… I’d—It’s only. The things they said, about my failings—”

Crowley pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Nothing anyone could say would change that I know you, angel. They’re wrong.”

I would never think less of you, he thought, I want to know all of you. Difficult to think less of the entire bloody galaxy anyways, with how gone on you I am.

“They’re not,” Zira said, miserably.

Crowley’s next kiss was a gentle rebuke. He moved his other hand up to cradle Zira’s face between his palms, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone. Crowley frowned. “Mmmmn. Let’s check that, shall we? Let’s see...I love your curls, I love your books, I love your shop. That’s at least three things they got wrong right there.” He emphasized each statement with a press of his lips to Zira’s temple, his forehead, his nose.

Zira looked away, his ears went pink. Crowley pressed another kiss to his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I love your stories, I love hearing about every thought that travels through your wonderful, fussy brain. I love when you’re bossy, when you’re particular, when you’re endlessly brave. I love that you chose your happiness over their stuffy money and rules. I love that you stood up to them, that you care. They don’t even know a good wine from a bad one, all that wealth and no sense anywhere in that whole sodding house. Zira Phale, they are wrong. Couldn’t be more wrong even if they told me Oscar was a bloody pigeon, in fact.”

Zira’s eyes were glowing, he looked awed and enraptured and something else that made him look almost ethereal. “Crowley,” he gasped.

Right, sappy. This was why he didn’t let his useless heart do the talking.

“It’s true.” Crowley grumbled, sweeping his hands down to Zira’s shoulders instead, just as Zira’s hands curled themselves against his lapels and dragged him back in for a searing kiss.

His brain went a bit soggy, for a moment his heart and head were in perfect unison.

“You forgot one.” Zira laughed, a tiny overwhelmed noise. “I love you, Anthony J. Crowley,” he added, a bit breathlessly, eyes twinkling.

“Oh,” Crowley said, dazed and feeling a bit like he could do with a good pinch but utterly refusing to wake up from whatever dream he’d stumbled into. Reality be damned. “That too. Me, uh. You. Also.”

Maybe he’d let his heart do the talking a bit more often, then.

Zira smiled, a full and beautiful thing. “So, which tie should I wear?”

Crowley wasn’t sure if his brain had entirely given out on him, or if this was the usual amount of Zira inspired confusion but all he could manage was a ‘ngh?’

“For meeting your family, I rather think we’re on a roll.Two birds one stone as they say, after all.