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titan-fodder · 3 years

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Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys.

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable.

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party.

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that.

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now.

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought.

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!"

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening.

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?"

More cheers, more hollers.

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!"

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day.

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse.

Again—you fucking hate frat boys.

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst.

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer.

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt.

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team.

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!"

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell no!"

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike."

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving."

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed.

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?"

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly."

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer.

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little.

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?"

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along.

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though.

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?"

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer."

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers.

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in.

He does, and you let out a breath of relief.

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?"

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?"

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you."

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs.

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue.

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?"

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself."

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon.

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip.

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice.

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach.

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum.

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!"

"Ayyy, waterfall!"

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced.

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch.

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up."

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game.

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards.

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace.

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup.

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you.

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely.

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you.

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before.

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team?

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you.

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out.

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult.

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes.

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses.

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way.

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls.

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you.

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc.

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover.

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall.

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster.

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him.

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them.

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it.

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms.

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees.

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested.

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins.

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?”

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away.

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him.

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave.

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning.

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you.

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too.

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was.

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips.

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble.

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere.

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out.

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb.

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper.

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind.

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind.

“Holy—”

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs.

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass.

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately.

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress.

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan.

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you.

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it.

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to.

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door.

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias.

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again.

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot.

Is still hot.

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong.

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner.

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits.

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face.

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you.

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago.

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head.

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick.

God dammit, why is he so sexy?

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so...

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body.

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face.

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted.

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip.

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock.

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat.

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion.

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth.

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue.

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you.

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward.

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot.

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit.

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to.

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine.

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts.

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight."

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you.

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed.

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach.

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression.

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support.

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot.

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?"

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee."

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out.

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side.

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth.

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like.

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?"

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!"

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together.

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave.

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it.

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove.

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?"

And, there's that point.

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request.

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea.

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times.

But, it needs to stop.

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth.

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer.

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call.

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven.

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it.

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them.

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious.

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before.

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods.

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated.

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself.

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee.

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much.

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully.

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?"

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?"

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to.

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point.

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you.

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie.

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?"

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal."

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended.

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards.

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day."

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face.

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias."

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps.

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick.

"You have any classes?" You ask.

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place.

"Sucks," is all you can come up with.

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?"

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself.

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'.

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?"

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals.

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it.

"God dammit."

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear.

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to."

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan.

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole.

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane.

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name.

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit.

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air.

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess.

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat.

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate.

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

#miche zacharias x reader #mike zacharias x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #mels prima vista #mels frat house

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

- Chapter 7 -

“Why are you covered in feathers?” Jiang Cheng asked, and then immediately afterward added, “On second thought, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

Lan Wangji checked himself over and brushed off the few feathers that had ended up on his shoulder. “Are there any others?” he asked solemnly. “They might be evidence.”

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched, as Lan Wangji had intended. “I don’t want to know,” he repeated, and Lan Wangji believed it about as much as he’d believed it the first time Jiang Cheng said it – which was to say, not at all. “I don’t want to…okay, fine, tell me.”

“You don’t want to know,” Lan Wangji informed him, and Jiang Cheng looked as though he was considering strangling him. “I will explain later. For the moment, it is best to pretend as if you know nothing.”

“I really don’t know anything,” Jiang Cheng said.

“That will make pretending easier.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at him, but stopped arguing, and Lan Wangji felt warmth in his belly at the instant capitulation. All of his life experiences had conspired to make Jiang Cheng an untrusting person, suspicious almost to the point of paranoia and constantly afraid of losing everything to the unknown, and yet he chose to trust Lan Wangji without question.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Jiang Cheng asked with one of his friendlier scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or not know, as the case may be?”

Lan Wangji considered for a moment. “Don’t count the number of Jiang sect disciples leaving with you,” he suggested, and Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows shot up. “Consider storming out in a fury the next time someone insults you.”

“You were right,” Jiang Cheng said. “I didn’t want to know.”

Lan Wangji heard footsteps and put his hands behind his back. “Naturally, Sect Leader Jiang is entitled to change his mind. I understand it happens often.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed. “You must be struggling with coming out of seclusion, Hanguang-jun,” he remarked. “To come mucking around with the rest of us after spending so long on - avoiding worldly matters, let’s say.”

The sect leaders passing by sped up with expressions suggesting that they were dreadfully curious but did not want to get involved in a repeat of the fight that was rather infamously had throughout the Lotus Pier, with all of the attendant property damage (that they’d paid for later, but still).

Once they’d passed, Lan Wangji gave Jiang Cheng a look that suggested he did not appreciate the joke. Jiang Cheng appeared undeterred.

He also appeared, on closer examination, somewhat tired.

Lan Wangji frowned and stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You have not slept.”

“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng said, and realized his mistake at once – such excess vehemence meant that he was lying, and badly, too. “It’s your fault, anyway.”

“My fault?”

“Entirely your fault. I can’t eat my lunch without wondering why you’re not plucking away on your guqin the way you normally do at that hour, I can’t finish my paperwork without trying to find you to ask for your views, I can’t sleep without hearing you making noise next door…who made you fit yourself in so well at the Lotus Pier?”

“You,” Lan Wangji said dryly, ignoring the warmth he felt. Surely it was wrong to feel touched when someone’s unhealthy co-dependence with you was mentioned. “When you kidnapped me.”

“It was only technically kidnapping,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “And only at first, anyway…really, it’s no big deal. Just had a few bad nights.”

Jiang Cheng’s nights fell on a scale between decent, mediocre, bad, and genuinely horrific, and he generally only conceded that something was ‘bad’ when it fell toward the lower end of the scale – when his thoughts kept scattering like a flock of bird being chased off their perch, returning to circle around sore subjects and drill worries into his skull, when there would be blood and bile and panic and his mind would linger on anxieties he had long ago put aside in the light of day.

He hadn’t had one of those in months – and now he had had a few?

“Because I…?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “A-Ling had a temper tantrum last week,” he explained, voice low and more than a little helpless. “I think he misses you and A-Yuan, and he’s at the age for pushing his boundaries, too…he told me that his Wei-jiujiu wouldn’t have made him eat his vegetables.”

He would have, of course, Lan Wangji reflected. He remembered how Wei Wuxian had been with A-Yuan, always mercilessly teasing him. Wei Wuxian had a spine when it came to children, one that wouldn’t crack into a thousand pieces at the first sob – that was Jiang Cheng, who was all bluster and bark without the slightest bit of bite.

But that wasn’t the issue, not when Jiang Cheng’s soul was a patchwork of ragged wounds and insecurity, a lifetime of being second-best and second-loved, and on his worst days he would voice doubts that he’d even been esteemed as much as that.

By his father, by his mother, by his sister, by Wei Wuxian himself –

“Maybe he would’ve done better,” Jiang Cheng murmured, his eyes already blank with self-hatred – no doubt this was what had kept him up on those bad nights, the angry whispers of a too-fragile mind that said why did he leave me, why wasn’t I good enough, he said he’d stay by my side and then took the first chance he could to leave me behind, that said it couldn’t have been him that did all those things and betrayed me like that, no, he must have died earlier on and it was my fault for not noticing, that said if it’s all my fault then it all makes sense, it’s always because of me, no one ever stays with me.

That said if it’s my fault then it’ll happen again.

Lan Wangji did not like those nights.

“Mm,” he said mildly. “And then A-Ling would also know how to hide dirty pictures in awkward places.”

Lan Wangji had never been good at comforting people, having always been the one being comforted, and his failure to convey his feelings to Wei Wuxian during his life spoke volumes regarding his ability to communicate – but he knew Jiang Cheng.

After so long living together, he knew him.

(Jiang Cheng wasn’t the only one who had difficulty sleeping without those familiar sounds next door.)

Sure enough, Jiang Cheng choked, his eyes clearing up, and he spent the next few breaths struggling not to burst out laughing. “We’re supposed to be arguing,” he hissed at Lan Wangji, who smirked – from a distance it would certainly look as though they were arguing, Jiang Cheng’s cheeks all red and his shoulders shaking in what a stranger might mistake for rage. “You stone-faced bastard, that’s not funny.”

Lan Wangji disagreed. Jiang Cheng’s reaction was, in fact, extremely funny.

“We will need to diversify our collection of such things,” Lan Wangji said thoughtfully. “Given the inclinations of our future house guest…”

“I am not buying Mo Xuanyu pictures of – ! He can buy it himself if he wants…wait, you’re really planning to have him come with us?”

“He will die if he remains,” Lan Wangji said simply, because it was that simple. Their conversation, however brief, had been extremely informative. “And so he must not remain. We have concocted a plan.”

“We? I wasn’t involved in this.”

“Myself, and Nie Huaisang.”

Lan Wangji was expecting some sort of reaction to that – what, he wasn’t sure, possibly disbelief or ridicule or even panic that they were entrusting themselves to the most useless fop to grace the current generation of cultivators – but instead Jiang Cheng relaxed, looking pleased. “Oh, well, Nie Huaisang,” he said, as if that explained anything at all.

“You trust him?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “I don’t not trust him?” he hazarded, and seemed rather helplessly puzzled by his own ease with the situation. “He’s terrible at anything a sect heir ought to be good at, but he’ll come up with the wildest sort of things if it’s nonsense he’s after, and he usually gets his way in the end. He’s a pretty good judge as to how likely his chances at success are, too.”

“He’s smarter than he looks,” Lan Wangji agreed, his voice neutral.

“Don’t tell me you fell for his ‘who, me, a person capable of doing anything, surely not’ act,” Jiang Cheng said, looking vastly amused. Lan Wangji might normally object to such teasing, but if it got Jiang Cheng away from his dangerous self-hatred, he’d take it – even if the idea that Jiang Cheng, master of obliviousness, had correctly judged a person that he himself had misjudged seemed just plain wrong. “He just does that to anyone he thinks might squeal on him to his brother.”

Lan Wangji probably would have, too. Still, he felt that Jiang Cheng should have warned him better.

He glared.

“Second Young Master Lan has no grounds for complaining at his own lack of perception,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji noted again the presence of people in their vicinity. “It’s all that navel-gazing you do in the Cloud Recesses, no doubt – should I start to worry about A-Yuan?”

“Lan Yuan,” Lan Wangji said snippily, then added, “Lan Sizhui.”

Jin Rulan, Jiang Cheng mouthed at him, and both of them were forced to briefly avert their faces in sheer amusement. Poor Jin Ling – no one would ever call him by his courtesy name, not if even his two guardians weren’t able to keep a straight face.

(Well, comparatively speaking. Lan Wangji was well aware that his own expression of deep amusement looked, to the uninitiated, exactly like his neutral expression but for a very slight narrowing of the eyes.)

The footsteps passed, and Jiang Cheng relaxed once more. Lan Wangji was pleased to see it, but acknowledged that if they were to keep up the pretense of disliking each other, deplorable political necessity that it was, they would need to do better in the future.

“Today will be a disaster,” Lan Wangji murmured, a warning. “But beneficial in the long run. Do not take what they say to heart.”

He would not have said it if Jiang Cheng was not more fragile than usual. Normally, Jiang Cheng could, after years of practice, let insults flow off his back like water from a duck, unmoving and uncaring – he was a flawed man in many ways, Lan Wangji acknowledged, but he generally only had to make a mistake once to learn from it.

For instance, he would never again allow the poisoned words of others to interfere with those he loved.

Not when he still tormented himself for not having done more for Wei Wuxian, as if there had been more Jiang Cheng could have done without losing everything else he held dear – not even Lan Wangji, who was helplessly and hopelessly in love with Wei Wuxian and couldn’t keep himself from sometimes playing Inquiry in search of him, summoned his ghost into their lives so often as Jiang Cheng did.

“Sometimes I wonder what goes through your head,” Jiang Cheng remarked, glaring at the perceived commentary about his lack of emotional resiliency no matter how accurate. “And then I realize I don’t want to know.”

“Lying is forbidden.”

“I am not a Lan. And, yes, fine, it’s a lie. If I could crack you open and crawl into your head, I probably would, but that doesn’t make you special or anything. I’d do that to most people.”

Lan Wangji believed it – Jiang Cheng was just that insecure.

He didn’t let Jiang Cheng change the subject, though, continuing to stare at him until Jiang Cheng shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll prepare for a calamity and storm out as quickly as possible. What are they possibly going to say about me now?”

They said he was like his father.

It was usually meant as a compliment, but not always. In this case, it was the latter: the implication that Jiang Cheng would, like his father, eventually forget to care for the child he already had when another, better one came along put an especially ugly expression on his face.

As Nie Huaisang had gleefully predicted, Jin Guangshan was enraged to the point of maddening by the prank they had pulled and framed Mo Xuanyu for. Nor could he be blamed, the prank was positive infantile, and highlighted Mo Xuanyu’s relative youth and immaturity, losing his father and sect face in the process. Everyone had wanted to talk about that, about how extremely obvious it was that Mo Xuanyu’s only use was to humiliate the already legitimized Jin Guangyao, but in deference to their host they turned their conversation onto past examples like Jiang Fengmian – and, of course, the more recent example of the ongoing fight between Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji over Lan Sizhui.

Jiang Cheng had had no choice but to ignore it, no matter how his face purpled in rage at the suggestion that he might neglect either Lan Sizhui or Jin Ling in favor of the other. Still, no one had really questioned it when he left in a huff not long after in response to an extremely unfortunate comment by the ever-feckless Nie Huaisang (of course: Lan Wangji shouldn’t have doubted him) about the ability of young men to handle child-rearing, returning to the Lotus Pier in a fury with a parting shot about how the Lotus Pier, at least, did not follow the Wen sect in encouraging the indoctrination of children – a vicious and unwarrented smear regarding the Lan sect’s lectures that made Lan Qiren almost visibly see red and Lan Xichen frown but which Lan Wangji thought was rather useful to their ultimate goal.

When later it was discovered that Mo Xuanyu had apparently run away – and based on the clues that had been left behind, that he must have pulled off his escape by disguising himself as part of Jiang Cheng’s retinue – Jin Guangshan was so angry that smoke nearly poured out of his ears, to the point that Jin Guangyao hastily came up with some excuse to briefly remove him from the scene.

Nie Huaisang winked at Lan Wangji from behind his fan, looking pleased with himself, and he looked so ridiculous that Lan Wangji had to forcefully remind himself once again of his personal revelation that the second young master of Qinghe Nie was far away from being the useless waste that he presented himself as.

Far more effective a reminder, though, was Jin Guangshan’s announcement later that day that he would indulge Mo Xuanyu’s desire for a little bit of freedom – natural in a boy of that age, he’d chuckled, playing the indulgent father – by requesting that Jiang Cheng keep him for some time at the Lotus Pier to tutor his young cousin Jin Ling in the ways of Lanling Jin.

Just as Nie Huaisang had so enthusiastically and confidently said he would.

“And with Hanguang-jun there to supervise, there will be no question of misconduct,” Chifeng-zun said, nodding in approval at the proposal. “Your son and grandson will benefit twice over! I think our younger generation is stronger for having all gathered together in one place, whether learning at the Cloud Recesses or resisting the oppression of the Wen sect…”

“That requires there to be a younger generation,” someone in the crowd interjected, as they almost always did when someone of their present generation mentioned the next. “Sect Leader Nie, don’t you think it’s time you settled down?”

“Why are you looking to me?” he demanded, looking annoyed. “Zewu-jun is equally unattached, and he ranks first on the list of women’s hearts, doesn’t he?”

“On the list of young masters, of which I no longer count,” Lan Xichen stressed hastily, holding up his hands in a vain attempt to ward off the discussion topic. “At any rate, I’m far too busy to be interested in courting at the moment – anyway, wasn’t Sandu Shengshou trying to set up a match some time back?”

“Didn’t he get blackballed?” Sect Leader Qin, ever Jin Guangshan’s faithful dog, interjected, always on the look-out for a way to denigrate the other Great Sects. “I didn’t even know that was possible –”

“At least he’s demonstrated the ability to care for a child –”

Lan Wangji decided that that was an excellent time to make his escape. This was one situation in which he especially did not want to get held up as a positive comparison.

His uncle went with him.

“Very cleverly done,” Lan Qiren remarked as they strolled into one of the many gardens that peppered Lanling City and Jinlin Tower in particular, and Lan Wangji looked at him sidelong. “Matchmaking and children are the favorite subjects of old men; by the time the noise dies down, Sect Leader Jin’s decision as to his newest son will be considered as settled and unquestionable. It was good of your brother – and Chifeng-zun, of course – to throw themselves on their swords for you.”

Lan Wangji put his hands behind his back, uncomfortable. “I did not ask them to act.”

His uncle said nothing. He didn’t need to – if perhaps Chifeng-zun was somewhat opaque to them both, his sheer straightforwardness ironically enough serving to conceal any subtle thoughts he might have, Lan Xichen was as clear as a calm lake. He had jumped into the conversation at just the right moment, saying words that would only inflame the situation rather than calm it, displaying just enough dismay to be humorous without actually appearing, to those that knew him well, to be surprised at all.

“It was Nie Huaisang’s idea,” Lan Wangji added, and that did get Lan Qiren’s eyebrows to rise up in surprise. Probably wondering, just as Lan Wangji was, when exactly Nie Huaisang had had the opportunity to rope the Venerated Triad into his scheme – as far as Lan Wangji could tell, he hadn’t had any opportunity to speak to them.

Still, however intriguing the speculation was, it wasn’t enough to dissuade his uncle from his target.

“The motivation was yours,” he said, the question implicit.

“Mo Xuanyu requested Jiang Cheng’s assistance,” Lan Wangji explained. “He is – unhappy, in Lanling, and ill-suited to it. Jiang Cheng feared that he might one day bring harm upon himself if he remained.”

His uncle nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “Having him at the Lotus Pier to teach Jin Ling the ways of Lanling Jin also means that there is no urgent need for Jin Ling to return to Lanling himself. He can remain with Sect Leader Jiang.”

“Yes.”

His uncle huffed out a breath and leaned down to smell one of the flowers. “I will give you some books before you return to the Lotus Pier,” he said. “Mo Xuanyu is already past thirteen; it is not at all the same as dealing with small children. You will need to be prepared.”

Lan Wangji looked at his uncle, a little surprised. He had expected more resistance to this scheming plot, which was not at all in line with Lan sect principles.

“Mo Xuanyu is old enough to make his own decisions,” his uncle said, his eyes still fixed on the flower. “If he cannot happy here, he should go to where he can be.”

Lan Wangji’s heart trembled within his chest. He’d thought – his uncle, who had led the charge at the Burial Mounds, who had been the most disappointed at all of his choices–

“I am sorry that we did not suit you, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji exhaled, hard, feeling a stinging feeling in his eyes and nose.

He had not expected an apology.

It didn’t change everything all at once, of course. He was still angry, still spiteful, still furious, fill of bile and bone-deep rage at how his own family had so thoroughly failed to trust in him that they would take away even his right to choose. His belly was heavy with his resentment at how they disapproved of him, how they were ashamed of him, and it would take more than mere words to liberate him from it.

But still, he had to admit – there was something more complicated about it now.

It had been easier, he thought, to be merely angry.

“It was not you,” he said, a small concession. “If the circumstances were different, I could have lived my whole life at the Cloud Recesses with no dissatisfaction.”

“But they aren’t,” his uncle said, bowing his head in understanding. “And you can’t. I – do not understand, and I do not like it, but that is not necessary. It is still my dearest wish for you to be happy and safe.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure that being truly happy was possible in a world that lacked Wei Wuxian – a world his uncle had helped bring about with his own two hands – but he knew that the life he had built with Jiang Cheng in the Lotus Pier, warm and tightly packed and full of worries as it was, was as close as he would come, and a life of solitude and distance and tranquility at the Cloud Recesses would only be worse.

“I have another month left before I return,” he pointed out, seeking to change the subject.

“Not after that conversation,” Lan Qiren said, looking reluctantly amused. “You will be sent to the Lotus Pier as soon as can be managed to make sure that everyone is being properly supervised.”

“Jiang Cheng can supervise.”

“Jiang Wanyin won’t.”

Lan Wangji bowed his head to hide a smile. His uncle wasn’t wrong.

And he had to admit - he wouldn’t miss Jiang Cheng dealing with a teenager for the world.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #lan wangji #lan qiren #nie mingjue #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #delight in misery

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cozyenigma · 4 years

Text

Idle Hands

FLOOF TIME (hopefully lol 😅)

Pairing- Raeder/Darkiplier

Word Count- 1139

Request?- Yes!

Summary: You were left to your own devices for once, which usually lead to trouble later. Namely, when you got caught in the act of your latest bout of shenanigans.

Tag List- @cookielover0001010

(New to doing tag lists and whatnot so let me know if you’d like to be included!)

There was no way around it. You were bored.

Yesterday was your day off and you had intended to spend it right by doing absolutely nothing. You had slept in, gotten cozy on the couch with your favorite show, even chatted with your friends a bit. It was glorious. Your days off were usually unplanned ones; your work schedule in general was hectic. So it came as a shock when you got a rare second day off in a row.

But, shortly into the morning, you needed something to do beyond watching TV. You heaved yourself up with a sigh. Deciding to at least try and be productive, you go to do some laundry as the show droned on in the background.

Unceremoniously chucking dirty clothes into your laundry basket, you paused before a closet. The one Dark had seen fit to make his own. Though the two of you never really talked about it, it seemed like it was a natural change. You hummed, fingers drumming against the side of the basket.

He'd been away on 'business' for the past few days. What kind of business was anyone's guess considering he was about as forthcoming as a brick wall despite your curious prodding. Still, you didn't expect him back for a couple more days at least.

You figured it wouldn't hurt. Plus it might even help the boredom situation. Sitting down the basket, you threw open the closet revealing Dark's clothes inside. Meticulously neat and organized, not a single item was out of place. There wasn't even any empty hangers in there.

You ran your hands over the fabric of one of his suit jackets, matte black and softer than you expected. Maybe you could convince him to try a new color sometime? At the very least a different neutral colour. Carefully, you took it off the hanger. The thing probably wasn't machine wash so you didn't want to mess with it too much.

Slipping it on, you found it didn't fit quite as well on you obviously. The length was off and the fit on the shoulders was weird. That didn't stop the silly grin on your face though.

It was even better once you found a mirror. The look was kind of ridiculous. You hadn't taken off your shirt before hand so it was peaking through, your pants weren't doing the outfit any favors either.

You adjusted the lapels and button it up. The next few minutes were spent trying to get a passable impression of Dark. Every time you make a face into the mirror you ruin it by smiling. You couldn't help it! This was the silliest thing you'd done all week!

Finally you decide to put the jacket back, still a little scared of ruining it somehow. You were walking back, undoing the buttons on the way, when the hairs on the back of neck stand up. Before you can even react, a pair of arms snake around your waist.

Dark chuckled at your startled yelp, chin resting your shoulder. "I see you've been busy, love."

Still trying to calm your racing heart, you grin sheepishly. "Well, you did leave me to my own devices." You glance down at the jacket. "Sorry, I was just going to go put it back."

Dark hummed, not commenting and slipping his hands into the jacket pockets.

"It suits you," he said simply.

You snort. "It really doesn't. It doesn't even fit, Dark."

He presses a kiss to your cheek before letting go and you can finally turn around to see him properly. Giving you a small, tired smile Dark gives you a glance over.

"Don't think I'd ever object to you being in my clothes."

You felt your ears turn red as he pulled you forward by the lapels, giving you another kiss. Pulling away, you smile.

"Just wait till you see my impressions."

Eyebrow raised, he stepped back and crossed his arms. "Oh really?"

You cleared your throat, schooling you expression into something similar to Dark's usual glare. At first you couldn't tell what his reaction was. Maybe something just to the left of exasperated.

"Yes," you said, pitching your voice a bit lower. Was it really a good impression of the man if you didn't get that broody rumble? "I think I'll just be stuck glowering at people like this."

"Really?" He asked, tone deadly flat.

Undeterred, you continued. "Maybe I'll go give Wilford a piece of my mind. End the day with-" you snorted, "telling some kids to get off my lawn perhaps?"

By the end your already mediocre impression was crumbling. You were tacking on increasingly ridiculous things, only barely managing to keep from losing it completely. Everything cartoonishly out of character. Dark just watched with narrowed eyes as you steadily lost your composure.

You broke off with a laugh, covering your mouth and looking up at him. It wasn't often you tried to get a rise out of him. Most of the time he kept his cool, betraying nothing. Now he just looked on in disbelief.

"Right," he said, slowly, "if you're going for complete accuracy however-"

The squeak of surprise you let out as he snatches you around the waist was one you probably weren't going to live down. Even though you put up a token resistance, it was clear you weren't going anywhere. Dark seemed pleased with himself.

"Is this really necessary?" You asked.

You could practically feel him laugh from how he was holding you. "Oh of course. I haven't had the pleasure of being home for some time so naturally I'd want to spend it correctly."

"Gotta be accurate," you said. "Dinner then?"

"Naturally."

You glanced back at him. Whatever he was doing while he was gone was taxing, considering how beat he looked. On that note, you didn't feel much like cooking either.

"Take out?

A pause. Then Dark sighed. "I suppose this once."

He gently let you down on the couch before fishing out his phone. The jacket you were still wearing was thoroughly wrinkled now. When you tried to apologize though Dark didn't even know what you meant at first.

Waving a hand, he turned back to his phone. "It's an easy fix, love." He rubbed his eyes and sighed, "The headache isn't unfortunately."

You leaned over, grabbing his phone much to his chagrin. "I'll pick this time."

"Fine. But I'm paying."

"Sure you are," you said with grin, scrolling through the little menu.

The evening was a quiet one. If you hadn't noticed Dark was wiped before it was extremely obvious now. He had propped his chin up on one hand as the two of you talked. You were happy to take the lead, talking about your day, what you had planned for later.

It was a quiet evening but hardly a boring one.

#dark x reader #darkiplier x reader #writersofmark #darkiplier #youtuber ego #reader insert #markiplier ego x reader #ego fanfic #My writing

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sunshineandcybertronians · 4 years

Text

Buffer - Knock Out x reader

Word count: 2, 503 Warnings: none A/N: Was washing a car, decided to write this and did a TON of research.

"(Y/n), you need to wash me and buff out these scratches. Earth is fun to race on, but can be a pain when dirt gets all over my finish!" Your friend, Knockout complained while brushing himself off as he entered the medbay. "And it doesn't help that the Autobots have to scratch me whenever I'm just doing my job.”

A while ago, when you were minding your own business, simply walking on the outskirts of Jasper, you spotted a fight. But not a normal fist exchange, giant robots who you would learn were called cybertronians. Knockout was in that fight. Before the other bots could, he grabbed you, transformed into an Aston Martin, and pulled you through a green-blue, swirling portal.

When he changed back when on the Nemesis, you, being the perfectionist you were at times, pointed out a nasty scratch and that he'd need to get that buffed out. To that comment he agreed. He told you that he captured you so you wouldn't run and tell all of your human friends about him, and later when their leader, Megatron questioned keeping you alive, he also said that you would be a good bargaining chip if the Autobots had something they wanted. Now you weren't a hostage. You helped Knockout with injured Decepticons, which you noted that he was actually a fairly good teacher. And, of course, you aided him with his cosmetic needs.

You smiled upon seeing him again, but it faded to a look of concern when he came closer and you could see the marks. The worst spot was above his right headlight. It had several small, horizontal cuts where the pain had been stripped off as if someone had taken a rock and swiped while dug it into that area.

"You're right." Then you remembered your act. "But I just buffed you two days ago," but even as you stated it, you were already getting out the wash mitts and buckets. The truth was, you loved Knockout's appearance and his paintjob, and would do anything to keep it looking as shiny and clean as Knockout always kept it. Plus, he was your friend. Even so, you would often pretend to resist because if he knew how willing you were to help him, he would have you doing it every three hours.

"Three days," he corrected. "And you're my assistant, thus you help me when I need it. Plus you never seem to mind once you're doing it."

You rolled your eyes playfully and made your way down to the floor, using the makeshift human sized stairs, holding a bucket of soup and water. "I think you forgot to mention that I'm your friend," you didn't even pretend to be upset in anyway.

"I didn't think I needed to." He lifted an optic ridge slightly and gave you a look that made your face faintly warm up.

"Okay, transform now so I can actually wash you," you set down the buckets and loosely cross your arms.

He complied and you got to work. Letting the blue, soft wash mitt around your hand soak into the soupy water, your thoughts wandered to when you got it.

You were standing at the counter with a wash mitt that had soft tassels covering it, along with soup and various other objects.

"That's a lot of stuff for washing a car," the balding middle aged man in the store's uniform commented. "It's going to look like you have a furry paw with this thing on," he joked, holding up the mitt before setting it down again.

"Maybe, but it's very absorbent and has chenille microfibers, making cleaning more efficient and will not scratch like a sponge or cloth would. Plus, wearing it will make it easier to move and get the correct motion," you blurted out a fragment of what you learned while googling the best materials to make Knock look even more perfect.

The man whistled and shook his head. "Wow. That's a lot of research. You must really love your car."

You thought about it for a second and nodded with a smile, "Yes, I do."

Now, you focused on the present, wiping the mitt full of soup smoothing over Knockout's hood. It was a task you always poured yourself into, being sure to clean every part of him aside from the undercarriage. You took care and extra time on the scratched area, absent mindedly admiring the paint that was still flawless, soup suds now adorning it.

"Is that good enough?" you asked, slipping off the wet wash mitt and setting it into the bucket. Although you were fairly certain you had done well enough, you wanted his opinion. The hand mirror that was sitting nearby was picked up by you and you held it up so Knockout could observe your work.

He hummed in approval. "Not bad, but I think I'll judge after you rinse and dry me."

"Will do," you agreed. You quickly grabbed the hose. Water spouted from the nozzle poured over him, washing the bits of white soup off of him and onto the floor. Once the bits of white disappeared, you twisted the hose until no more water leaked out of it. You stared at the paint intently to make sure you didn't accidentally leave microscopic scratches when cleaning him. The result satisfied you. Without any further delay, you whipped out a towel. Not just any towel, you couldn't use a normal one for drying off a car, especially not Knockout. It was a microfiber waffle weave towel. You began blotting off the water like you always would. Wiping could result in picked up dirt and scraping it along the paint, which was the last thing you or the medic wanted.

As soon as the rest of the water was picked up, you draped the towel on your arm and said, "Finished with the washing." Your mind was already making a list of what you needed next to buff him out.

He transformed back into bot form to inspect your work while you spun around to get the rotary buffer and other supplies."Not bad. Like always." He turned his arm over to check the door with its gray pattern. "And to think I once thought a human could never do something like this."

"Well I had to learn. I can't do a mediocre job on the great Knockout," you added with a playful smile.

"Where did you learn all of this? You certainly didn't know at first."

A lot of time on the internet, you were tempted to say. And you meant A LOT of time on the internet. Instead you settled for with a shrug, "I just picked it up."

His optics caught the area where the paint was torn off from the battle and he scowled. "But now it's time to get rid of THAT."

"On it," you carried the buffer, compound bottle, and bucket of paint as best you could. "Now that it's clean, I can reapply the paint."

Since Knockout would have to face the possibility of his paint getting ripped off whenever he encountered an Autobot, he had tons of his paint, so you wouldn't have to jump through hoops to find the right color and make sure it was made out of the right material so it wouldn't react badly with the rest of the paint.

You began to mask the headlight below the area you would repaint, as to not get anything on it that wasn't supposed to be there. There was no scratches in the primer, so you didn't need to add primer. With Knockout always keeping himself in prime condition, you didn't need to remove any rust since there was none. That removed two possible steps. You applied the wax and grease remover to the gray area before using a 220 grit sandpaper to smooth out the area for the paint to stick.

While doing this, you heard Knockout grunt from the slight pain caused by the sandpaper. "Sorry, are you alright? Should I be more gentle?" you asked with concern.

"Yeah. It's just a little uncomfortable. I'll be okay, just keep on doing that," he answered as his lights flickered at his words.

You nodded. Once you were done sliding the sandpaper back and forth, you washed that spot again to remove any debris. Next was the actual painting. The can hissed from the seal being broken as you slowly and delicately opened it. After mixing it, you painted on several thin layers. While waiting for each layer to dry, you would either talk to Knockout or he would transform to get some work done if it was semi dry.

When that was done, you pulled out three pieces of sandpaper to even the new paint that stuck up a little. Starting with the 1,000 grit sandpaper to get off the majority, then moving to 2,000 and after 3,000 as you got close to the level of the rest of the paint and needed more fine sandpaper. The next step was to add top coat, which was easier then the previous step.

In other words the whole thing was a long, tedious process. You understood completely why Knockout got so irritated whenever his paint was scratched. Especially since you were the one to fix it most of the time. Plus, you knew it made Knockout upset and you wanted him to look his best.

"Okay." You wiped off your forehead with your wrist. "Now time to get to the actual buffing. Would you like to do this part?" You sincerely hoped he said yes, because no matter how much you wanted to help him, you were getting tired.

"Mmm, I think I'll let you do it," his smooth voice answered. You could tell by his voice he didn't need time to think about it at all.

Sighing, you shook your head with a smile. "Of course. I'm just glad most of the time I'm polishing you and, less frequently, washing you."

"I'm sure you want my paint to look perfect just as much as I do, considering how much effort you put in."

"Maybe," you replied, tongue in cheek.

Now you needed to cover the windows and anything you didn't want compound on. Choosing the appropriate buffing pad and compound, you got right to it. You got the soft circular piece wet and squirted the cream onto it. Slowly and carefully rubbing the spinning pad in circles, making sure you got every spot. It took little effort for you to keep the pressure constant, considering how many times you had done it. The only time you had to think about it was when you reached an edge.

It was beautiful the way it made light swirls at first and make it disappear to reveal shiny paint. You absent mindedly tuned out the whirring of the motor as your brain wandered. Mostly thinking about Knockout, his finish, and how great he looked.

When that was over, you sighed and bent over with your hands on your knees, knowing you had to rinse and wash him all over again. If it weren't for the fact that there were lots of times you had to wait a certain amount of time after a step, you would have been completely winded.

"You're doing a great job, doll," he softly encouraged. "After you wash me off again, I can dry myself."

"Really?" you looked up and smiled at his kind offer that was much appreciated.

"Yep. Although, you'll need to get the parts that are difficult to reach."

"Deal," you almost laughed and felt your smile grow and energy returning.

You practically skipped to the hose. Once you finished spraying the crystal clear water onto him, wiping suds onto him, and rinsing him off all over again, you began to walk over to the corner to relax. A sharp, cool object touched your shoulder and you turned around to see Knockout with his helm tilted.

"I believe I need something." A smirk adorned his handsome face.

You remembered the towel. "Oh." You rushed to get it and bolted back over to him.

He held out his servo for the waffle weave towel. You smiled and nearly fell into a daydream as you stared up at him and handed it to him. Your heart skipped a beat when the edge of your hand brushed against the cool metal of his servo. After a few seconds, you managed to snap yourself out of it before he noticed. You turned, paced over, and flopped into your chair.

Sitting down in the bean bag chair, you bit your lip while you admired Knockout reaching all around his frame to dry himself off. You wished that you could wash and buff him while he was in bot mode, but then you wouldn't be able to reach very far with how small you were.

The daydream and staring session only ended when Knockout tossed the towel to you. It softly hit you in the face and dropped into your lap, leaving a shocked expression on your face.

"Now it's your turn." Knockout winked and shifted back into an Aston Martin.

A low laugh vibrated in your throat, but never left your mouth. You quickly inspected him and got any spot he missed. After that was completed, you got another pad and wax. You set it on low speed and smeared and smoothed the wax onto him. It took a good amount of time, but it seemed faster with you spacing out. As a final touch, you wiped him down with a microfiber cloth to take off any extra wax that didn't need to be there.

When you were finally, completely done, he looked absolutely gorgeous. His paint was a thing of beauty. You had gotten a lot of practice at that kind of thing by being around Knockout, and it showed. You could see your reflection on him. He seemed even more attractive and shiny after transforming.

He whistled while admiring your handy work. "You're a master at this."

"Why would I give you any less except my best?" You threw your extra hand into the air as you used the other to put the rotary buffer away.

His optics looked it over another time. "This is nice. Can you do this again another time?

You let out a laugh before you could stop yourself. "No. I just did it." part of you was exhausted and never wanted to do it again, but another part was completely okay with it because, well, he was Knockout.

"C'mon, you know you love me." He set a servo on his shining hip, showing off his signature, amazing grin.

A smirk crept onto your lips. "Yes, I do."

Extended ending: "Argh!" you heard Starscream's voice from behind the door after Knockout walked out. "Your finish is so bright, it's hurting my optics! Did you make (Y/n) buff you again?!"

You gently held your hand over your mouth and giggled.

#TFP #Knockout x reader #Knock Out x reader #Knockout #Transformers Prime #tfp x reader

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funkylittlebard · 3 years

Text

Hey, @mayastormborn you know how I said maybe a week ago that I had something for you? TA DA!

Sorry it took me so long, woops

Here is some platonic fluffy nonsense featuring Aro Jaskier and Vesemir. Also Lambert briefly, but this isn't really about him.

CWs: none that I can think of this time.

edit 18/05: Ao3 link

Jaskier sighed contentedly, snuggling in closer. Vesemir was running a hand through his hair so gently, at such a leisurely pace, that he thought he might fall asleep at any moment. A sleepy smile spread across his face- this had been a wonderful idea. They were sat by the fire in the Keep’s library, Vesemir in a worn, comfortable armchair with his legs covered in furs, and Jaskier leant back against him from his place on the rug. It felt soft beneath his fingers where he tugged gently at the strands, the sensation comforting. He could always relax better when he had something to do with his hands. Vesemir ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair, letting it fall through his fingers.

Jaskier shuffled even nearer to Vesemir, smiling widely as the other man hummed as he buried his fingers deeper into Jaskier’s hair. The calloused tips felt incredibly good on his scalp, so good that Jaskier could feel himself practically purring. Vesemir actually did purr when Jaskier did this for him- it was a Witcher thing, apparently, though Jaskier had yet to try it on any of the others.

The fire cracked loudly in front of them, startling Jaskier from his thoughts. Vesemir chuckled at him, legs shaking as the laugh reverberated through him. Jaskier looked up, pouting. He didn’t have to say anything before Vesemir smiled at him and stroked his cheek fondly, before going back to petting his hair.

Jaskier closed his eyes and leant back. Over the last few years of visiting the Keep, he had established that it was definitely much better than seeing out winter marking mediocre essays in Oxenfurt. Here, he had a friend who would show him affection openly and had never once mistaken their friendship and its resulting closeness for any kind of romantic arrangement. It was nice to be understood. Especially without any awkward explanations about how he “simply didn’t feel that way”. Poor Valdo, Jaskier thought, it wasn’t his fault I suppose. Just as his eyes were slipping shut, sleep calling to him, there was a heavy knock at the door.

“Oy! I’m coming in,” came a yell from outside. Vesemir tutted and tugged his furs closer to him.

“Don’t know why he bothers knocking when he doesn’t even ask if he can come in. No bloody manners that one,” he muttered as Lambert charged through the door and came to stand in front of them with a tray.

Jaskier blinked his bleary eyes open, not quite able to understand what Lambert was saying. His eyes were drawn to the pair of steaming mugs the younger witcher had on the tray. There was a slight smell of spiced rooibos emanating from them and Jaskier sighed happily, wriggling his arms out from under his blanket. He reached out towards Lambert, waggling his hands at him. He still hadn’t heard a word the man had said but that didn’t matter- Lambert had tea. The witcher frowned down at him and his sentence stuttered to a halt.

“Impatient bastard,” Lambert mumbled, leaning down to pass Jaskier the spiced tea. Jaskier let out a happy little squeak and snuggled back into Vesemir’s legs with his cup. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the warming sensation. He could vaguely register the deep grumbling sound of Vesemir talking to Lambert, but he was blissfully ignorant of what, exactly, they were talking about. He took a sip of the tea and was pleasantly surprised at the combination of spices. Witchers weren’t always too keen on strong flavours, he had noticed, as they bothered their strong senses. He flicked his eyes back open, staring at the fire and its comforting orange hues again. Lambert had settled himself on the window seat with a book, his warm breath fogging up the glass.

Vesemir looked at Lambert for a long moment, and then stood up, making to walk over to the fire, but Jaskier grabbed his ankle.

“Wait, Ves, I have something for you,” Jaskier rummaged around under the chair and Vesemir frowned at him fondly- the space wasn’t that big, so it was impressive that Jaskier had managed to hide anything there at all. Jaskier produced a brown package, tied up tightly with string. He held it out to Vesemir, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. Vesemir tore open the package carefully, smiling at Jaskier as he pulled the object loose from the packaging. It felt soft in his grip, and he ran his thumbs over it for a moment, enjoying the feel of the fabric. It was a dark, forest green colour, made with beautiful tight-knit lines of wool. He looked down at Jaskier, who smiled up at him sheepishly. “I tried to make one for you myself. But uh, it didn’t turn out so well.”

He pulled out another package- equally well- wrapped, but when Vesemir opened it he found a fluffy green hat, lopsided and with several large holes in it. There was a loose line of wool trailing down the left side, and Vesemir felt like his heart was going to burst. He slipped it onto his head, and let out a chuckle when it fell to cover his eyes. Pulling it back just far enough that he could see out again, he looked at Jaskier.

“Thank you, Jaskier, for the two lovely hats.” He paused to pull the too-large knitwear off his head and stopped when he heard a sniffle. “Jaskier, wait no, why are you crying?” The snuffling continued as a few tears started to fall down Jaskier’s face. Jaskier wiped a hand across it and blinked wet eyes up at him.

“I picked out the decent one in Ard Carraigh, the lady told me it was the best for the snows and the cold weather, and- Vesemir what’s that?” The older man was now holding a parcel out to him, which Jaskier took with shaky hands. He tore it open hastily, shreds of paper flying over his shoulders. He pulled out the soft fabric with wide eyes, a look of awe on his tear-stained face. “Did you make this?” Vesemir nodded. “What the fuck? Why were you so nice about my knitting when this is what you can do?” Jaskier scrambled to his feet and threw himself at Vesemir, clinging desperately to his friend’s shoulders. “Let me take mine back and you can pretend you never saw it,” he finished, hiding his head in Vesemir’s neck, and he felt a hand pat his back.

“And why would I want to do that? When one of my dearest friends has made something for me, how could I possibly want to get rid of it?” Jaskier sniffled again, and Vesemir hugged him tighter. They stood there for a long moment holding each other. There was a sudden loud noise, and they startled apart in surprise, glancing around for the cause. The tension was broken when the noise rumbled through the room again and they saw Lambert, now sound asleep by the window, snoring loudly. Vesemir chuckled quietly at the sight of his youngest pup slumped against the glass, and Jaskier had to hold a hand to his mouth to keep the laughter back. “I think that’s our cue to go to bed, bard,” Vesemir said, stepping up to Lambert and lifting him into his arms with ease. They headed out of the library and Jaskier walked up the stairs, wrapped tightly in his new scarf. He never wanted to take it off again.

#my writing #the witcher #witcher fic #vesemir #jaskier

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 4 years

Text

Extra Part 9

U.A. a school for students to learn how to become the best Pro-Hero. When young Y/n Midoriya returns from her traveling to be accepted through recommendation. What awaits her when she meet the explosive blonde Katsuki Bakugo

Words- 3062

Katsuki Bakugo x Midoriya!Reader, Izuku Midoriya x Cousin!Reader

Warning-Spoilers from show and Hero license Arc, and fighting scenes.

Series Masterlist

You had followed Bakugo around the city-like district for a while with no encounters with any other examinees. “Bakugo you shouldn’t just run off.” You called after him as he began climbing up a ladder to a highway.

“Hey Kaminari why did you follow us?” Kirishima asked right behind you as you all climbed.

“I dunno. Cause you guys started running then Y/n followed. I didn’t wanna end up alone” Denki answered. “Where are we going?”

“SHUT UP.” Bakugo yelled not wanting to be with you all.

“Why you always gotta be so mad?” Denki complained.

“I told you to chill out Bakugo.” Kirishima scolded the blonde, “Looks like there’s a lot of people up there.” Bakugo was the first to get onto the street with you following and Kirishima and Kaminari behind you, “So I think the four of us should work together.” Kirishima states.

“Go die.” Bakugo huffs

“Come on man.” Kirishima groans.

You sigh following the blonde “We just need to find someon-”

“LOOK OUT!” Kirishima yells as he pushes you forward out of the way of an attack. He grabbed by some flesh like blob

“Kirishima!” Denki cries out you watch in horror as he is smushed up into a ball of goop and that’s when you see that you're not alone. In front of the three of you is a student from Shiketsu holding the Kirishima blob surrounded by more blobs of other students. ‘I think his name was Shishikura’ you thought “What the crap. Did that really just happen?” Denki looks at the blobs of students.

“All I know is that bastard looks like he’s to blame.” Bakugo growls out stepping forward, “So I’ll kill him.”

“I’m from Shiketsu. Please notice my school keeps our hats on when we’re working,” Shishikura stated, holding the blob of Kirishima that twitched and moved every so often. “Why’s that because each and every one of our movements is crowned by the legacy and honor of our school.” He drops Kirishima, him falling, lying with the other blobs. “This is a demonstration. Proof of the difference in level between my peers and your vulgar class. We value obligation and dignity things that appear to be sorely lacking among you.”

Bakugo smirks back at the student in front of you three “I really hate your type.”

Kaminari pales and glances at you “He’s hard to follow. Makes me feel kinda dumb.”

“He said his beady eyes are full of tears, so he can’t see how strong his opponents are” Bakugo mocks him making you chuckle.

“My eyes are dry and handsome, thank you!” He yells

“Hey. Maybe don’t provoke this guy?” Kaminari tries to warn Bakugo, “Look what he did to Kirishima!” A ‘tch’ comes from Bakugo as both him and the Shiketsu student glare at each other.

“U.A High I have respect for your school. I take pride in the fact that our institutions are treated as equals.” He leans forward flesh coming from behind his back, “But your class is shameful, you act in ways that disgrace heroes.”

“He’s attacking again! I don’t wanna be gross!” Kaminari hides behind you as you watch to see what Bakugo is going to do.

“Bakugo don’t do anything reckless.” You warn him

“Shut up! ‘Obligation?’ ‘Dignity?’ you just like to hear yourself talk. I don’t see any proof. Show us with your actions, not your cheap words. If you can.” He taunts him a grin on his face.

“Beast. You’re worst of all, Bakugo!” He yells kneading five fingers out of thin air and launches them towards you all. You get ready to defend a red haze surrounding your hands, while Bakugo uses one of his special moves.

“AP Shot. Auto-Cannon!” Little explosions are sent flying towards the fingers destroying the flesh some of the explosions hitting Shishikura. “I had to make a weak version so I didn’t kill anyone.” Bakugo smirks as Shishikura gets back up

“You know what, this is why everyone’s terrified of you- you’re way too hardcore!” Kaminari watches his friend in fear. The flesh that Bakugo had destroyed started floating back to Shishikura’s arms.

“So those weird flesh things just float back to him?” You question as his arms go back to normal.

“I see now. I’ll teach you a lesson by breaking you.” He calls out more flesh leaving his arms surrounding him.

“Uh Bakugo you better think of something or we’re gonna end up like Kirishima.” You called out ready to fight.

“This will show you what it means to be dignified and behave like a hero!”

“What is up with this disgusting dude?” Kaminari shivers grossed out by this whole situation.

“He thinks he’s better than us,” Bakugo rushed towards him, “But I bet he’ll shut up when I-”

“Hey, wait don’t forget we’re in the middle of a test!” Kaminari calls out as you both watch as the blonde goes to attack,

“That’s exactly why I’ll kill the guy!”

“Bakugo stop, we have to focus on the task at hand.” You yell out.

Flesh shoots out towards Bakugo as Shishikura yells, “Absurd!” You and Kaminari both rush to fight as you use your quirk to hold pieces of flesh while Bakugo explodes them.

“Ugh let’s get this fight over with,” Kaminari puts some projectiles into his new gear and fires towards him, “Maybe this’ll speed things along.”

Shisikura dodges. “You should work on your aim.” He comments sending an attack towards Kaminari but you stop it sending the flesh back to him creating a shield in front of you and Kaminari as more flesh heads towards the two of you. “And your look. Maybe I can make you something more appealing.”

“Enough talk. Die!” Bakugo yells, sending another AP Shot towards your opponent. A huge explosion happens, smoke covering your field of vision clearing to show him covered with flesh in front of him as a shield.

“You’ve left yourself open.”

“Kacchan!” You yell but are too late when there is a lump of flesh on his shoulders.

“What the-”

“You weren’t paying attention. I had a piece of flesh sneak beneath us. You saw Kirishima earlier once I touch you, you’re my plaything.” Bakugo struggles to free himself as he begins to get smushed into a lump

“Bakugo!” Kaminari and you both rush to his rescue.

“Hey! Idiot! Fix this!” Bakugo yells at you, tossing something to you, and you both have no choice but to watch him turn into a lump of flesh like the others.

“Pathetic. You must be remade from scratch.” You both look at the blob that is Bakugo that squirms.

“No way!” Kaminari eyes widened and you look at Shishikura with disgust.

“This is a demonstration. The test has an unusually low passing rate at first this seemed counterintuitive given our current world. With All Might retired, wouldn’t it make more sense to flood the streets with heroes? And so, I must assume that their goal is to weed out the riff raff. We can surmise that they’ve starting to be more selective in order to bring the profession of hero to a higher level. And I agree with this way of thinking so I decided to thin the herd myself.” Shishikura rattled on about the reason he was here.

“You’re not even focusing on the test.” You frowned.

“You’re ignoring the test because you think you’re superior? What are you, a crazy person?” Kaminari looks at the guy across from the two of you in confusion.

“I’m simply separating the mediocre and extraordinary,” He brings his foot up pressing down against the lump of Kirishima, “By the way, your comrades here still feel pain in this form. Your untamed electricity will torture your friends if you use it.” He points out and he was right Kaminari quirk can sometimes go out of control when he uses it.

“Ugh you’ve been doing nothing but hurling insults at us this entire time. I’m kinda starting to take it personally, ya know.” Kaminari sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Then perhaps you are more self-aware than I thought I’d take time to reflect on your failure.” He sends flesh fingers towards the two of you.

“How about you reflect on this!” You yell, throwing the object Bakugo had given you a explosion happening, sending his attack halting.

Both you and Kaminari dodge a piece of flesh heading towards you, “Those ugly-ass gauntlets of his aren’t just some kind of fashion statement. He can use that gear along with his nitro sweat to create simple grenades.” You replied, getting ready to retaliate.

“That’s it! He tossed it to you.” He put the pieces together. You and Kaminari both stood fully a red haze surrounding your hands as the same red followed your eyes.

“By the way, big shot.” Kaminari called out holding out his hand that had sparks coming from it, “You stumbled into a really killer spot.” Shishikura tries to run away but you use your quirk to keep him in place as Kaminari fires electricity at him. He falls down sparks coming from him, it all made sense with Kaminari new gear he would be able to attack without hurting his teammates. That was the same thing with Bakugo; he had used smaller explosions not because he wanted to test out a new move, so he wouldn’t hit Kirishima, Kaminari, and you. He actually had you all on his mind.

“Listen up. Bakugo might seem like a total jerk on the surface, but he’s actually trying really hard to be a pro hero.” You defend the blob of a friend in front of you and you could see that Bakugo was slowly going back to normal. “He threw that grenade to me while being attacked. That was a result of calm judgement and planning and Kirishima is a such a good dude that he rushed into enemy territory for his friends, even thought it was a totally stupid thing to do.” you continued on as Kirishima started going back to normal. “You only know bits and pieces of these guys. Don’t insult what you don’t know!” You yell a ball of red energy forming at your hand and Kaminari readies his electricity.

“I’ll teach you both to be more aware of your place. You degenerates!” He yells and you both get ready to attack but a punch to the gut by Kirishima stops him followed by an explosion sends him flying back.

“The more damage he takes, the more people get released.” Kirishima points out.

“No wonder he was only using long-distance attacks.” Bakugo replies and they both turn to the two of you.

“Thanks for the save you guys.” Kirishima nods.

“You idiot. What took so long?” Bakugo yelled, flicking your forehead “Oww I just saved you guys.” You rubbed the spot he flicked.

“Why are you so mean?” Kaminari cries, “No one’s ever gonna like you if you act that way! Woah, look behind you!” Kaminari points behind you three. “Those other flesh balls are all waking up.” You watch as the other capture students turn normal getting up. Bakugo licks his lips looking at the multiple students

“We’ve got targets.”

The four of you standoff to the new opponents. One opponent looks and sees the four of you standing across from them. “Hey! They’re from U.A.” They yell and everyone else notices as well and gets ready to fight.

“So game plan?” Kirishima asks, hardening one of his arms.

“We fight.” You yell running past them going straight into fighting, knocking down a few students with a blast of energy using hand to hand combats mixed in with your psionic energy.

“You heard her.” Bakugo smirks rushing after joining in on the fight. You and Bakugo work in tandem you using your quirk to weaken them physically then sending them Bakugo way to finish them off with his quirk. You also used your quirk on the defensive stopping people from hitting your friends targets and you own as well. Bakugo and Kirishima were able to get their two targets with Kaminari following right after. You made you way over to one of the students that were knocked out going to get your final person.

“Y/n watch out!” Kaminari yells and you turn just in time to see someone rushing towards you trying to hit your target. A red haze surrounds their body as they almost touch you but you bend backwards, one of your arms going to the ground as the other flings over your head. The person follows right as you bend back flying right over you hitting one of the walls getting knocked out. You stand upright getting your final person the target on you lighting up blue and you turn to look at the three guys all of them shocked. Some are better than others at hiding it, Kaminari’s jaw is on the floor as you go over to them.

“That was so cool Midoriya.” Kirishima compliments you and you smiled.

“Cool! That was so badass you were like woosh and then that guy went right over you. How did you even do that?” Kaminari was fanboying over what you just did making you laugh and Bakugo huff.

“Relax Denki, I’ve just been training a lot now that’s all.” You patted him on the shoulder heading off toward the designated area for people who passed. Kaminari turned to the other guys

“She called me Denki.” He freaked over a girl calling him by his first name,

“That is your name though Kaminari.” Kirishima pointed out.

“Yeah but she didn’t call you guys by your first name huh.” Kaminari pointed to the two other boys.

“Shut up Spark Plug.” Bakugo growled explosions popping from his hands.

You had finally made it away from the city area and was heading towards the anteroom when an announcement went off “Oh. 4 more one after the other our total’s at 83.” The voice droned off continuing to announce.

“Whoa, this entire arena’s going insane.” Kirishima said as you could see fighting happening off in the distance.

Kaminari looked forward before pointing “Hey, look, some of our classmates.” You could also see that Izuku, Uraraka, and Sero had passed as well. “Aw, yeah! Class-A represent!” Kaminari cheered heading over to the three of them.

“Oh you know it! Our class is amazing! We did it!” Uraraka smiled and her and the three other boys began to dance leaving you, Izuku and Bakugo on the side.

“Hey Izuku! What happened to your face?” You rush over to your cousin looking at the cut on him, coddling him making him turn red. You both saw Bakugo making his way over to you two.

“So you passed, too. How’d you manage that, Deku?” His face showing hidden anger

“Kacchan. Hey!” Izuku greeted him and you could see he was getting nervous.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised with that Quirk you got.” He grumbles walking past the two of you and you hear Izuku gasp and begin to freak out. “It looks like you’ve made that borrowed power your own.” Bakugo said, walking off to the anteroom.

You look over to your cousin and he seemed deep in thought at what Bakugo had said. “Izuku does Bakugo know about your quirk?” You both begin to make you way out of the arena with the others following behind you.

“Uh that’s complicated.” You both enter the anteroom seeing more of your classmates there.

“Oh, hey! What a relief. I was starting to get so worried.” Momo smiled as you guys walked up to her.

“No need to worry about us, Yao-momo.” Kaminari answers, “What’s up? When did you guys pass? You been here long?”

“We just finished as well. Todoroki beat us.” Shoji pointed over to where the bi-colored boy was sitting.

“I was kinda shocked Bakugo wasn’t here already.” Jiro added seeing him arriving with the group. “But I get it now. It’s because you were with him.”

“Oh come on! Why is everyone dragging me today? Y/n and I actually helped them!” He cried out in frustration.

“Oh I know she probably had to watch over the three of you to make sure you passed but surprised you did something.” Jiro looked over to you.

“They were completely helpless.” You tease them and Bakugo is ready to beat you up will Kaminari cries feeling dumb. You head over to where Izuku is and there he was talking to Todoroki.

“Looks like only twelve from our class have passed.” Todoroki gets a headcount of the people you’re with.

“So nine more to go.” Izuku states and Momo walks up to the group. “And the announcement said only 17 spots left.” You all look at the tv where it was showing live footage from the arena. Come on guys you can do it.

Ms. Joke and Mr. Aizawa watch from the bleachers as the fight continues on. “Wow. seven people just passed at the same time. That leaves only ten open spots.” The announcement goes off. Ms Joke laughs standing up seeing the people heading towards the anteroom.

“Ha! Those seven were all from my class! See e’m? They’re heading into the anteroom.”

From inside the anteroom you see more people come in all not from your class.

“Looks like our class,” Momo trails off.

“Still has nine people who haven’t passed.” Jiro finishes for her as the time begins to run out, “I hate to say it, but it’s not sounding good for us.”

“Come on guys you can do it.” You whisper to yourself watching the tv. You all watch as UA comes together taking out a swarm of examinees and then you hear the alarm go off.

“The last students passed! Every stop is now filled. One hundred students will advance! The end is finally here! Wah-hoo” The announcer yells excitedly.

“Yeah!” Kaminari and Kirishima cheer as you class freaks out.

“Our entire class passed the test, I’m so excited!” Uraraka beams, throwing her hands up

“Aw, man! I am so proud of us!” Sero cheers.

“We all made it!” You smile looking around at your other classmates.

“We really pulled it off, you guys.” Izuku sighs out in relief as your classmates on the field begin to join you all. A step closer in getting our licenses.

#bmha #mha quirks #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha bakugou #Katsuki Bakugō #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo x midoriya!reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #extra series #izuku x cousin!reader #x midoriya!reader #katsuki x midoriya!reader #katusuki bakugo x midoriya!reader #my hero academia

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engie-ivy · 4 years

Text

So, I have been listening to too many Jane Austen audiobooks lately, and needed to get this off my chest!

Summary:

The time had come for the fortunate heir of the most ancient and noble house of Black to secure himself of an advantageous marriage. A feat which should not be proven difficult for the handsome and becoming young man, were it not for the young Mr. Black to dismiss all his admirers' attentions.

The only person he seemed to find agreeable was the young Mr. Lupin, a boy solely dependent on what was bestowed upon him out of charity by Mrs. Potter, but with no fortune and no prospects of himself.

A matter of the heart

The ball was a tasteless affair. The music was awfully loud, while the band was mediocre at best, and the guests were too numerous. Lord and lady Black highly preferred gatherings with a more selective company. The only thing that was to their taste, was the fact that nothing was to their taste, which enabled them to revel in their own sense of superiority.

And superior did lord and lady Black appear. Lord Orion Black, a large, handsome man with broad shoulders and an impressive beard, wore a classic dark suit made of rich velvet, with his golden pocket watch alone being more valuable than the full attire of any of the other guests. Lady Walburga Black wore a long, dark-red gown, that was deceiving in his simple elegance, as it was hand-made from luxurious fabric and personally fitted to her ladyship. Her long, slender neck was decorated with a tasteful necklace containing a locket engraved with the weapon of the house of Black. While the lady undoubtedly possessed beauty, with her slim figure, pale skin, light eyes and dark hair perfectly crafted in a hairdo suited to the occasion, one could not quite call her lovely. It could be the coldness in her eyes or the conceitedness of her deposition, but she instigated fear as well as admiration.

Her eldest son, and heir to the Black family fortune, was a sight to behold. The young Mr. Sirius Orion Black was the personification of a true gentleman. Handsome beyond believe, with the same pale skin, light eyes and dark hair as his parents, but with a much more cordial demeanour, and also in his manner he expressed nothing but grace and elegance. His attire was equally tasteful, but of a more modern fashion than his father’s, made of a supple fabric, with a light-grey waistcoat in the same colour as his eyes. A silk scarf was tied around his neck, which was a trend among the youths. His slightly rebellious nature showed by the way he had rolled up the sleeves of his blouse to his elbows and left his top button unbuttoned, giving way of the slightest inclination towards impropriety.

His brother, the youngest Mr. Regulus Arcturus Black, was dressed in a classy and simple light-grey suit, with all his buttons neatly buttoned and an ascot around his neck, as he was strongly opposed to any unnecessary deviations from propriety. Where his elder brother wore his hair in a long, elegant braid, the youngest Mr. Black kept his hair short, partly because he had come to find long hair to be a nuisance, partly because no matter how much attention he spent on his hair, he could never get it to equal the effortless elegance of his brother’s. No one could deny that the brothers looked alike, but neither could anyone deny that the youngest Mr. Black could not quite live up to his elder brother, in either charm or appearance. While you might have expected the youngest Mr. Black to have some feelings of bitterness towards his elder brother, he has always held him in the highest regard.

Despite their general dissatisfaction, attending such societal gatherings was of utmost importance for lord and lady Black. Not only did they assume their presence to deeply honour the host and hostess, their eldest son had recently become of an age in which he was expected to further the wealth and esteem of the family by entering into an advantageous marriage. Now, you might have expected that to be a simple feat for the handsome and becoming young heir of one of the most high-ranking families in England, and indeed, young Mr. Black could have made any young lady his object, and she and her family would have been delighted to accept his attentions. No, the problem lay with young Mr. Black himself not showing an interest in any of his admirers.

Regulus had understood when Sirius had rejected the advances of Ms. Alecto Carrow, as, while coming from a respectable family, she possessed neither intelligence nor beauty and propagated an off-putting combination of ignorance and insincerity. But ever since, his brother had been dismissive of the attentions of Ms. Druella Rosier, Ms. Lysandra Yaxley and Ms. Violetta Bulstrode, all of which were agreeable young women with substantial fortune. Regulus was unsure how much longer their parents would continue to tolerate this behaviour. His brother would have to form a proper attachment soon.

“How can Mrs. Prewett allow her daughter to wear a garment like that? It is highly unsuitable, but I suppose befitting of her status.” Lady Black let her eyes wander through the room while sipping her wine, which was, naturally, not to her taste.

“Mother, please,” Sirius spoke. “Must you see fault in everything? There is no pleasing you when you are like this.”

Lady Black simply smiled, though there was no actual joy in her expression. “The truth must be spoken, even when it is displeasing.”

Sirius had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, which would have been a great breach of propriety. “If you will excuse me, mother, father. I shall go and pay my respects to Mrs. Potter.”

The Potters were generally considered to be an old and respectable family, although they were never of great fortune. Their income mostly came from a chain of pharmacies in their family's possession. However, in his younger years, the current head of the family, Mr. Fleamont Potter, invented a hair lotion that gained great popularity among men and women in the entirety of England and even beyond the English border, which quadrupled the family’s fortune. To the Black family, whose income, estates and grounds had been in the family for generations, the vulgarity of this type of profitmaking was highly reprehensible. However, Mr. Potter’s wife, Mrs. Euphemia Potter, with her commitment to charity and unparalleled hospitability, was a favourite in society, and even lady Black could not afford to scorn her.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter had been childless for a long time, and they had already been at a more advanced age when at last their only son and heir, young Mr. James Fleamont Potter, was born. Last spring, when Mrs. Potter wrote to lady Black with an invitation to have young Mr. Black spend a summer at the Potter estate, as their sons were of the same age and it would be a valuable enrichment for them to get acquainted with a fellow youth from the peerage, lady Black was in no position to refuse without causing affront to the Potters.

Lady Black mistakenly assumed Mrs. Potter wanted her son to form a connection with the Black family heir to improve his situation. In truth, Mrs. Potter could read people like no other, and when she first met young Mr. Black, she could see the goodness of heart and openness of mind hidden underneath layers of rules of propriety, societal conduct and cultural impositions. When young Mr. Black first arrived at the Potter estate, young Mr. Potter was rather displeased about having to spend his summer with the haughty, stiff and reserved aristocrat. But over the weeks, young Mr. Black progressed into an engaging young man brimming with energetic eagerness and good nature, brightening up the whole estate. Young Mr. Potter and young Mr. Black both came to find the other quite agreeable, and a warm friendship was formed.

When Regulus followed his brother to pay his obligatory respects to Mrs. Potter, he noticed she was accompanied by her ward, the Lupin boy. The boy’s father, Mr. Lyall Lupin, used to be of minor nobility, with little esteem. He had, however, lost his claim to nobility when he had a child, Remus John Lupin, with a poor, common woman. The family’s misfortune was amplified when the Lupin boy was attacked by a lost and frightened young wolf, when he was barely five years old. The boy survived, but has since been covered in unsightly scars.

Normally, that would be the last ever heard of the Lupin family, were it not for Mrs. Potter. The Lupin boy had worked in the kitchens of the Potter estate to help his parents by contributing to their income, when he caught the attention of Mrs. Potter herself with his keen spirit and pleasant deposition. She had made him her ward, giving him the opportunity to take lessons alongside her son at the estate, a great act of charity considering the boy’s poor situation. In the best of cases, he would even be able to secure himself a position as a tutor at a wealthy family’s estate, a great improvement of his prospects.

It was known that Mr. Potter was not very keen of attending balls, and usually, Mrs. Potter would be accompanied by her eldest son. It was, however, quite astonishing that she would allow her unfortunate ward to accompany her to a gathering such as these. The boy looked hopelessly out of place, anxiously fidgeting with the sleeves of his ill-fitting suit, very unbecoming of a gentleman.

“My dear Sirius!” Mrs. Potter’s face lit up the moment he came to her notice. “What a delight to see you again! Look at you, you are quite the gentleman.”

Sirius smiled at the warmness of her greeting and bowed to her. “Mrs. Potter, I can assure you that the delight is completely on my part.”

“I must convey my apologies that my dear James could not attend this evening. It was a great grievance for him to miss a chance to see you.”

“No apologies necessary. I have gathered from his last correspondence that he will be paying Ms. Evans a visit? Am I to expect a joyful announcement soon?”

Mrs. Potter chuckled. “If I have raised my boy properly, and I am quite convinced that I have, his confession shall not await long. Oh, it will be such a wonderful attachment!”

Regulus had never heard of Ms. Evans, so she could not be from a very high-ranking family. He wondered why Mrs. Potter would perceive such a connection as wonderful.

“Pray, Sirius,” Mrs. Potter continued. “I dare say you remember my ward, the young Mr. Lupin?”

“Of course!” Sirius spoke, with a charming smile, followed by a most gracious bow. “How could I ever forget such an accomplished young man?”

The Lupin boy blushed and casted his eyes downward. “You flatter me, Mr. Black.”

“Upon my word, I am not!” Sirius said. “I merely speak the truth, and if the truth is flattering, well, that is none of my doing.”

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Potter said. “I believe Mr. Lupin has attended some lessons with yourself and my James over the summer?”

“Indeed, he has,” Sirius replied, his expression displaying fondness at the memory. “And I was put to shame in comparison with the sharpness of his mind!”

The Lupin boy looked up at Sirius through his lashes. “I do not believe anything could ever put you to shame, Mr. Black.”

Regulus had seen enough. Mrs. Potter might have been notoriously good at reading people, but he knew his brother. He stepped forward and gently touched his arm. “My dear brother, pardon my interruption, but I do believe our presence is elsewhere required,” he spoke, and thereby obliging his brother to, for the time being, conclude his conversation with Mrs. Potter and her young ward.

Sirius made another bow. “So I must go, but hopefully I shall be seeing more of you this evening, if I shall be granted such pleasure.” His attention during these parting words was mostly focussed on the Lupin boy.

Regulus gave a short, cordial nod to both Mrs. Potter and her ward, before leading his brother away to a quiet corner.

“Well, brother mine,” Sirius asked. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what the meaning is of this?”

Regulus folded his arms over his chest, not afraid to reprimand his brother for the sake of propriety. “I could ask the same of you, for I do not understand you, brother. Why would you be so inclined as to approach the Lupin boy with such familiarity?”

Sirius simply raised an eyebrow. “For I do not see any reason to not be cordial with him.”

Even though it was clear to Regulus that his brother understood him very well, he had no problem in clarifying. “His acquaintance holds no advantage, neither in means, nor in connections.”

“I do believe, my dear brother, that a person can have merits outside of means and connections. Mr. Lupin is a good man, worthy of my esteem.”

“I do not doubt that he can be quite agreeable, and even that you derive some pleasure from his company, but you must be apprehensive of keeping a certain amount of reserve and constraint in your demeanour towards him, for you must remember his situation is indefinitely inferior to yours.”

“I dare say that I have obtained a great appreciation for Mr. Lupin, and I think highly of his character. Therefore, I cannot perceive him in any way inferior-”

“Regardless of whether you perceive it or not, it is how society will perceive it. Even if you ignore how it will reflect on your person, and by extension on your family, it will do no favours to Mr. Lupin either. He will be seen as to be taking great liberties in his conduct towards a person of much higher ranking, which his place in society by no means warrant, and can only be looked upon as impertinent.”

“The people I hold dear will not be led by such misconceptions.”

“Do you think our parents will not perceive it so?”

Sirius made a dismissive gesture. “I have long since given up on trying to appease our parents.”

Regulus shook his head at his brother’s naivety. “That is not a notion you can afford to uphold, as your income is entirely dependent upon their good will. Perhaps you could act according to your own wishes regarding the choosing of your company once you have secured yourself of an advantageous marriage.”

Now Regulus did not miss the grimace that swiftly passed over his brother’s face. “Allow me to speak freely to you, brother,” he continued in a much calmer tone of voice.

“Such a thing is always allowed between brothers.”

“I have to tell you that I am worried. Worried that your... regard for Mr. Lupin might make you prone to forming an attachment to him.” Regulus held up his hand when it appeared as if Sirius would interrupt him. “As you and I both know how unbecoming such an attachment will be, it hardly needs to be said that it will bring you nothing but sorrow. Therefore, I think it better to prevent such an attachment from being formed, than to break it once it is formed, which you will surely agree with me upon. For your own good, brother, and for the sake of your own happiness, I must urge you to keep your distance from Mr. Lupin.”

Sirius just looked at Regulus with an unreadable expression on his face, before he finally spoke. “You must not worry. I can assure you that any decision I will make, shall be made with great care and consideration of its consequence.”

Regulus was put at ease. He knew his brother to be stubborn once he had set his mind on something, but he also knew him to possess a great deal of common sense. He trusted his brother to act with decency. No, Regulus was not worried.

Perhaps the youngest Mr. Black would have been more worried had he realised that his brother’s affliction had nothing to do with his mind, but everything with his heart.

The ball went on and the Black brothers fulfilled their duties as representatives of the most ancient and noble house of Black as they were taught, with charm and elegance. They were the perfect exemplifications of decorum and propriety, engaging in polite conversation and leading young ladies onto the dance floor with unmatched grace, all the while never showing even the slightest inclination towards imprudence.

No one seemed to notice that none of the conversations sparked their interest, and during each dance their only thought was how they wished for it to be over.

When the evening was getting late, Mrs. Potter approached lord and lady Black to bid them farewell, as she had just instructed a servant to prepare her carriage for her. Talking to lady Black about what a delight it had been to receive Sirius over the summer, she promptly fell into a long discourse of all the pleasant sceneries that surrounded the Potter estate, which were all the more pleasant during the summer months. In a rare moment of silence, lady Black managed to address Regulus, as Sirius was nowhere to be found. “Regulus, please go and inquire whether Mrs. Potter’s carriage has been prepared. I would hate to keep her longer than she ought to.”

Regulus stepped outside, and as he did not immediately spot the carriage belonging to Mrs. Potter, he walked away from the crowd of departing guests towards the side of the building, where he knew the carriages to be parked. However, the sight his eyes landed upon rendered him in shocked astonishment.

The young Mr. Lupin was leaning against the wall of the building, with young Mr. Black standing right in front of him, their bodies a mere inch apart. Sirius held Mr. Lupin’s hand in his, and had it securely placed over his heart. It was, however, not even the intimacy of this gesture that made Regulus feel like an intruder. It was in the way they were looking at each other. Their eyes filled with such vulnerability, such affection, that it ought not to be seen by the rest of the world.

Regulus had been wrong in fearing that his brother would form an attachment to Mr. Lupin, as it was clear that such an attachment had already been formed long ago.

Since this got way longer than expected, keep reading on AO3!

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #regency #the most ancient and noble house of black #my tumblr writing

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charlthotte · 4 years

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Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 13

I tried to brace myself for my mother's inherent rage as soon as the door parted from its frame - almost shivering with fear, I shuffled back into my own house - which was something the average person wasn't afraid of. I was close to cowering away.

But, of course - she wasn't there - she'd probably left for work without giving me a second thought, as usual. Normally, a child's closest bond is with their mother, but not me. I couldn't fully remember a time where she had actually been there for me. It was almost as if my dad was a single parent - single-handedly raising me where she took every opportunity to leave the house; alienating herself from myself and Dad.

However, just as he always was - Dad was sat at the dining table, ready with a humble breakfast - but the gesture of it making it seem like a decadent banquet. A bright, warm smile plastered itself upon his face when he saw me, like a dog seeing their owner for the first time in the while. "Hey, kiddo," he beamed, "how was last night?"

Taking the seat next to him at the table, I turned to him, ready to converse and partially unwind with him. "It was... Complicated to say the least. But I think that I helped someone yesterday." I stretched my arms out, looking up to the ceiling, releasing a large sigh as I did so.

"Oooh, do tell me more..." He jested, jiggling his eyebrows playfully.

"Well," I hesitated for a while, "you've probably guessed where I was, so I'll just say it straight. Aone came here yesterday and told me that his dog was sick. Then, I went to the vet's with him and they said that his dog had around a week to live. And... I feel absolutely terrible for him: he thinks that it's all his fault. I'm just so worried about him." I looked down at my lap, tears pricking my eyes.

"Come here, kiddo." Dad suspired, holding his arms out for a hug. I almost fell into him, letting my tears fall. "(Y/N), don't cry, you've been a great friend, a truly amazing friend. I'm really proud of you, kiddo." Clinging onto him tighter, I started sobbing much harder - to the point that I could hardly form sentences. "You should eat something, okay? Then, you can go to bed and lay there all day. You deserve some rest." Feebly, I nodded, unlatched myself from our hug, wiped my eyes and began to eat. I hadn't eaten since dinner the day before. And as always, Dad's cooking was immaculate.

---

After having my fill, I slowly slumped up the stairs. In the adjacent few minutes I'd changed into my pyjamas before flopping straight onto my bed, burying myself in the covers. Drifting off to sleep in a matter of minutes. The sleep was dreamless yet peaceful, and also rather refreshing.

Arising as I heard a knock on my door, I rubbed my eyes - yawning as I did so. "Yeah?" I asked lethargically.

"Hey, kiddo. Can I come in?" Dad poked his head through the crack in the doorway, his face entertaining a warm yet goofy smile on his face.

"Mhm..." I hummed, sitting myself upright.

He sauntered into my room, plopping himself on the foot of my bed, "Are you feeling any better?" he inquired, letting his eyes wander around the posters and paintings on my walls.

"Just about," I replied, "I probably just needed some sleep." I too, let my eyes wander around my room, until they fell upon a photo frame of my parents and I - looking happy - a rare sight to see now. Dad seemed to notice me staring dejectedly at the picture, he piped up...

"About earlier..." rubbing his chin, he began to hesitate, "About your mum... I'm sorry that she left before you could even greet her."

"It doesn't matter," I acquiesced, "I'm used to it all by now."

"Oh kiddo, she's your mother, she should at least hold some conversation with you, let alone acknowledge your presence."

"I guess all families are different..." Flopping back onto my mattress - sighing.

"Maybe you should try and organise a little get together with her, once she gets out of work." He suggested, taking notice to my apparent apathy towards that conversation.

"But she's never not at work, though. She probably wouldn't even agree to it." Feeling alienated from my own mother, I sighed once again.

"Well... I'll see what I can do." He chirped, a mischievous grin rising on his cheeks, he had always had a certain penchant for scheming. Jumping up from my bed, he headed out of my room. But I didn't move until the pitter-patter of his feet on the stairs came to a halt.

I didn't care to move - only in a mood to lay on my bed, bundling myself in the covers again.

---

I awoke again in the late afternoon, having seemingly fallen asleep yet again. But that time, I made the gut-wrenching decision to leave my room - for the downstairs.

Not bothering to change from my pyjamas, I slumped down the stairs and plonked my body straight onto the sofa, flicking on the television without caring to flick through the channels. Dinner went by as usual, just myself and Dad, sticking to the status quo. So did the night, sleeping a dreamless slumber, until it was time for school on Monday morning. Two days until the fated Tokyo trip.

I wasn't exactly excited for school that day, and surprisingly, neither was I excited for my overnight stay in the capital. As I trundled down to the station with my feet close to dragging behind me, a looming grey was cast over the sky - thrusting the atmosphere into a dreary aura of despondentness.

Drab air hung low, stagnant - the clouds threatened to release their lamentation - hurling it upon the earth. I walked as fast as I possibly could towards the station, holding a certain desire to shelter myself from the heavy weather before me. Once under the station shelter, the skies opened, pouring their woes onto the world before me, emptying their sorrows into the atmosphere.

Little before the scheduled time for the train's arrival - it came, chugging along the tracks steadily yet rapidly - coming to a stop right before my feet. Unusual for a Monday morning - the train had little to no passengers - as if our little town had morphed into one for ghosts. But to no surprise of mine, Aone sat in his usual seat - gazing out of the foggy window - casting a void glance to the pavement outside. His eyes were hollow, accompanied by hefty bags underneath them. Pallor more gaunt than normal, offering a truly despondent image to whoever let their gaze fall upon to that poor wreck.

He barely smiled as I seated myself beside him.

There was nothing.

He was truly empty.

Needing to distract him, I brought up a topic for conversation - it wasn't exactly light, though, "Did something happen?" I questioned, my voice close to breaking. However, he didn't respond - he simply shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with me. Burying his head further into his shoulders. I sighed, "Hey, I'm here now, you can tell me whatever is on your mind," Pausing, I gazed at the floor, "You do know that don't you?" Once again, rather than responding - he hummed in affirmation.

That boy was a wreck, I needed him to talk to me - I needed to let him breathe freely for once, "Please, talk to me, Takanobu. Please just tell me how you're doing" He simply sunk his head further down, as if he wished to dematerialise on the spot.

In between the cloth of his collar, he hummed a simple response, "Not good." He softly yet bluntly spoke. However, he finally turned towards me - his eyes beginning to prick with the spirits of tears - nothing fell down his cheeks. Offering me a 'grin' that was really a pained grimace. Succeeding that action, he swiftly brought my hand inside of his - endeavouring to find himself the smallest amount of comfort that he could muster.

Suddenly, I froze - my body perplexed by his abrupt action. I wasn't flustered - I was simply shocked.

Taking myself out of that reverie, I began another conversation, squeezing his palm lightly, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I left you yesterday. I shouldn't have done that - just look at you now - this could have all been avoided." Beginning to ramble and panic - my heart rate rose. Takanobu seemed to take notice of that and gave my digits a warm squeeze in return, before completely letting it go, letting the drab, coarse air run along my skin.

"No..." He averred, almost breathlessly, "Don't say that."

Subsequently, I too, hummed in affirmation, giving only the word 'Okay' as a reciprocation. But further after that, following several moments of comfortable silence, I enounced, "Don't be afraid of asking me for help, Takanobu. You know I'll always be there for you." Saying that was usually a promise which I never made, simply in trepidation of being unable to follow through with it. What if one day I wasn't present - and someone really needed me?

Just like every other time, he stayed silent - a comfortable silence - telling me that he had comprehended my assurances.

For the rest of the journey, we remained marinating in the serene silence, not feeling a need for a soliloquy or verse. And during that time - Takanobu's eyes became warmer and fuller with life's essence than they were when I had first laid eyes on him that day. Even the leaden bags under his eyes had considerably lessened in their protuberance.

Something about what I had avowed during those short and sweet moments of conversation seemed to have lit a miniscule spark in his soul, reminding him of the tiny rays of light that still shone upon this world. Maybe there was hope for that wreck of a human.

All remained in that sense until we entered the gates to the school, only to be bombarded by the all too familiar presence of Futakuchi sauntering towards me. Before either of us could greet him, he spoke up, "Sorry to bother the both of you, but may I steal their royal highness for a moment or two?" Bearing his infamous smirk, turning me away from Takanobu before I could object or comply. Leading me a mediocre distance away, before stopping completely, "Sooooo..." He began, "I heard about what you did at the weekend and I just want to tell you about my absolute gratitude about that. Your majesty, you truly treat your royal subjects stupendously." Turning me back around swiftly, he offered me no chance to reply - as if he had planned the entire conversation word for word. I began strolling back towards Takanobu, ready to start the day as soon as possible. "Now then, get back to your royal duties, your majesty." He really was idiosyncratic.

Every scheduled situation went by as passably as it should have been, each lesson bearing no differences or defining qualities compared to any other. Hiroko and Rea were as distinct as always, each of them the Ying to the other's Yang. An excitable puppy with a rather aloof feline. Even the weather beheld nothing remarkable.

The train ride and walk home also held no similarities, but not until a request materialised inside my mind, and unlike me - I released it unto the outside world immediately. "Hey, Takanobu - would you mind if I gave Shiro a visit?"

As usual he gave no demur, simply nodding in ratification - letting me follow him towards his home, towards his best friend whom had been fated to leave everyone earlier than he should have.

Once the door stood ajar, a four-legged creature bounded towards us - his face scrunching up in pure delight, unaware of his dwindling clock. In an instant, Takanobu's face lit up considerably, the bags under his eyes completely disappearing - as if a miracle had arisen right in front of his eyes. Shiro howled, also enamoured with the sight of being reunited with his best friend. However, beside Shiro stood another figure, a woman - tall and plump - streaks of white running along her raven hair. Even though she had the traces of age running along her face, a youthful glow still exuded from her. Her mouth trailed from side to side in a permanent smile. Upon seeing me, her smile seemed to grow even wider. "Ah, hello. It's very nice to meet you, I'm Ejiri Aone, Takanobu's Aunt. My, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my dear?" The effervescent woman beamed - striking her arms out for a hug, and without a warning - she scooped me up into the warmest hug I had felt for the longest of times.

"It's nice to meet you too, I'm (Y/N) (L/N) - you could call me a friend of Takanobu's." I giggled, demurely - as it took her several eons for her to release me from her vice.

"Nonsense!" Chuckling vigorously, she motioned for us to step inside, "Anyone that my Takanobu can trust is instantly a member of our family! So, would you like anything to drink, my dear?" Honestly, it surprised me that someone so outwardly convivial could be so closely related to Takanobu - someone whose insides were bound by his exterior. So much so, that he had somewhat lost jurisdiction over many aspects of his life.

"Just water if I may." I replied - heading over to the sofa where Shiro sat, wagging his tail in diluted ecstasy. His fur appeared to be more scarce than it was when I had last laid eyes on him - even if that was less than forty-eight hours before. That simply delineated how quickly he was falling in a downwards spiral. Not a single thing could stop him from doing so.

In less that a minute, Ejiri had brought me a glass of water, sitting down nest to me after she did so. “(Y/N), would you care to tell me about yourself?" She questioned, a genuine smile of reassurance stretched across her cheeks.

Taken aback, I answered, "Well... I used to live in a little town in Northern Hokkaido until recently. At first, Miyagi seemed strange and alien to me, but it's a welcoming place now. I can’t say that my life's interesting - I'm an only child and live with my Mother and Father. I'm the manager for the school's volleyball team, and other than that - there's nothing much to me." Expressing that was made me truly uncomfortable - talking about myself always seemed rather bizarre to me - especially to someone with whom I had recently met. However, there was something about Ejiri's aura that made her exude a sense of welcoming and enticement - calming those who were gifted with her presence.

Beaming back at me, her eyes softened, glazing over with a sheen of humanity and compassion, "You know, (Y/N) - I only moved back to Miyagi recently after spending just over thirty years abroad in Denmark - Ærøskøbing specifically. During that time - I've fostered close to fifteen children; each from a different side of the world. I wanted nothing more than to benefit them entirely - each one of them deserved the world. But, after moving back to Japan, I had to put that entire life behind me, for the sake of my family. And now, I am almost always at the hospital, working. It's not often that I can spend time with Takanobu, so it's consoling to know that there's someone there for him. You're a good kid, my dear." Her words took me by shock - how she had laid her life's discrepancies bare to me - even within an hour of meeting me. It was like she knew exactly what to say.

While I sat, playing with Shiro - Ejiri and I carried on conversation - simply chatting about whatever subject she could dream up, and it made me realise - how much I craved a loving mother figure. Ejiri worked tirelessly to provide for her nephew, still managing to scrape enough free time to spend time with him. Whereas, my mother worked relentlessly - never letting herself rest - but even when nothing occupied her - it seemed that she would go out of her way to avoid even looking at me. It hurt, terribly.

As soon as I knew it, nearly two hours had passed and I bid the three farewell. Meeting Ejiri certainly wasn't expected, however I couldn't complain about that escapade - in that little amount of time, her influence had cast an almost enlightening shadow over my life, as her welcomed me into hers completely. Takanobu was truly fortunate to have an Aunt like her, perhaps too fortunate...

#aone #aone takanobu #aone x reader #aone takanobu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years

Text

Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything subclass Tier List

(Artwork from Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything. Posted by @robmichel_art on Twitter. Copyright Wizards of the Coast.)

I was going to make some comparison posts between the UAs and the full release of Tasha’s but other more qualified people are doing that, so instead in my continued effort to pretend that this account is for more than just me satisfy my character building obsession I decided to make a little tier list ranking the subclasses from Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything from my least favorite to my favorite.

This list is going to be comparing the subclasses from Tasha’s to each-other, but is also going to be comparing the subclasses to the other available subclasses for the class they’re from. So even if I really like a subclass it’ll lose points if the class already had better options. I’m not going to talk about any of the reprinted classes from Eberron or Ravnica but I will talk about the reprinted Theros subclasses (Eloquence Bard / Glory Paladin) as for many people this will be their first time seeing them.

Also it goes without saying but this is just my opinion! So sorry if you really like the next class you’re about to see because it’s at the bottom of my tier list!

F TIER

Psi Warrior (Fighter)

Well something had to be the worst. Truthfully I really wasn’t interested in the Psi Warrior during UA but wow its full release leaves a lot to be desired.

First let’s get the obvious out of the way: “Worse Battlemaster LUL!” It is laughable how bad this subclass is when compared to Battlemaster. BM gets to give itself advantage, give allies advantage, move allies, fear enemies, grapple enemies, give enemies disadvantage... and by comparison Psi Warriors get to do a little more damage or reduce a bit of incoming damage.

The fact that this subclass requires Intelligence confuses me to no end. They changed both Rune Knight and Soul Knife to not require intelligence (even though Rogues are kinda expected to have good Intelligence to help with skill checks) but Psi Warrior still needs INT? It amazes me that Battlemaster, Rune Knight, and Echo Knight are all SAD (single ability dependent) yet Psi Warrior of all subclasses is the one they consider too strong if you can min-max.

The biggest problem with this class by far is the Psionic Energy Die. Having your main class resource only come back after a Long Rest is insulting. (It’s the problem that Samurai Fighter has had since it was printed and it’s really sad that Wizards of the Coast didn’t learn from that.) While Battlemaster gets bigger die that have more effects which come back on a short rest Psi Warrior can only recharge one die per short rest. Honestly this subclass would be so much better if you regained Psionic Energy Die when using Second Wind (as well as having a dedicated action for it) so at least then you could have more than one die per short rest.

The only good level in this subclass is level 7, entirely because you get to Fly when you Dash. I mean, sure the UA Dragon Monk can also do that but at least this is in the official rules. Everything else that this subclass gets is weak: Telekinetic Thrust lets you do what Battlemasters were doing at level 3, Guarded Mind is just bad (Monk? Never heard of ‘em!), Bulwark of Force is mediocre at best (I know like 3 people who actually understand how cover works in 5e), and Telekinetic Master is a laughably weak capstone. Your capstone as a Fighter is a situational 5th level spell that takes away your ability to attack? Meanwhile actual spellcasters are casting 9th level spells, and other martials are doing upwards of 50 damage per turn.

At first I was largely indifferent to the Psi Warrior but after reading over all its abilities its laughable how bad it is. It at least surpasses Purple Dragon Knight in terms of mediocrity (ironic considering that the two of them are beside each-other on D&D Beyond) but it’s the only true stinker of Tasha’s, and it gets the honor of being the second weakest Fighter subclass and the weakest subclass in this book.

D TIER

Aberrant Mind (Sorcerer)

This is the best subclass to play if your only desire is to cast spells, and I mean that in the worst possible way. While every other Sorcerer has a defined class role Aberrant Mind feels like the most generic milk-toast subclass that you pick simply because you didn’t know what to play. While Clockwork Soul defends, Divine Soul heals, Draconic Bloodline blasts, Shadow Magic sneaks, Storm Sorcerer evades, and Wild Magic does memes Aberrant Mind’s only major strengths come online at level 14+.

Telepathy at level 1 is a joke when compared to the other Sorcerers. CS can negate advantage, DS gets Super Bless on top of access to the Cleric spell list, DB gets free Mage Armor, SM gets super Darkvision and the Half Orc racial trail, SS gets goddamn flight, and WM gets to kill the party at level 1 with a level 3 fireball. Meanwhile AM gets the Message cantrip with a longer range.

Psionic Sorcery is okay. Getting cheaper* (citation needed) spells that you can Subtle Spell for free is alright. The subclass spell list is good and seeing as you can sub out the spell to take better ones if needed you can really get some useful magic for your kit.

SPELLS TO LOOK AT AS AN ABBERANT MIND SORCERER

LEVEL 1

Dissonant Whispers is honestly a really good spell to have, but Arms of Hadar is a bit situational. If willing you can swap it out with: the utility Divination spells (Detect Magic / Identity - remember that Sorcerers can’t Ritual cast so it might be better for someone else to take these), Hex, Sleep, or Tasha’s Hideous Laughter.

LEVEL 2

Gift of Gab from Acquisitions Incorporated is either going to be a complete joke of a spell or the most useful spell in your arsenal. Hold Person is the most obvious choice from second level. Tasha’s Mind Whip is a great single-target damage spell with some added utility, and is almost objectively better than Mind Spike because it doesn’t require Concentration.

LEVEL 3

Both Hunger of Hadar and Sending are great spells, and there really aren’t a lot of Divination / Enchantment spells at third level. The only one I can really recommend is Tongues if you need the utility.

LEVEL 4

Evard’s Black Tentacles and Summon Aberration are both extremely strong spells, but if you want to replace them for some reason: Arcane Eye is essentially just a better familiar, Confusion is a great AoE disruption spell, and Locate Creature can be useful in a pinch.

LEVEL 5

Honestly the spell list really opens up at 5th level. Just about any choice is good, so look on D&D Beyond to see what to take. If you know me I’m going to recommend Synaptic Static.

Psychic Defenses, like with Psi Warrior, seems to have been taped onto the class because WoTC realized how weak it was so they just threw more situational garbage into its kit to compensate.

Revelation in Flesh is pretty much the only good ability you get. And granted there’s some insane utility with this ability. Not-quite-Blindsense, fly speed (best one), swim speed (worst one), and the folding ability that I’m sure will result in some interesting stories on Reddit. Warping Implosion is also a great escape-utility ability but like it’s your 18th level capstone of course it was going to be good.

If I was going to play in a level 20 one shot I’d perhaps roll up a level 20 Aberrant Mind. (Or more like a level 18 Aberrant Mind with 2 levels in Warlock because Sorcerer’s level 20 capstone sucks lol.) But unless I knew the campaign was going to at least level 15 I wouldn’t even bother.

Oath of the Watchers (Paladin)

It was boring in UA and it’s boring now. I feel bad that I have so little to say about Oath of the Watchers, especially after writing massive paragraphs about Psi Warrior and Aberrant Mind. But Oath of the Watchers feels like the worst parts of Arcana Cleric to me. Only difference is that while Arcana Cleric gets Wizard spells you get Moonbeam and help with Initiative. This subclass feels more campaign-specific than PHB Ranger and that’s really saying something.

Swarmkeeper (Ranger)

It’s certainly the most unique Ranger, both in terms of concept and in terms of abilities. It actually has a lot of utility with a good spell list and the Gathered Swarm feature providing a lot of great utility to a martial character. The thing is that in all honesty this subclass is kinda boring until level 15. And the other big problem is that the fantasy and roleplay that this subclass provides is so strange. When you think “Ranger” do you think master of the hunt, traveling through multiple dimensions and slaying powerful foes from the shadows with a tamed beast at their side? Or do you think “hurr durr bugzzz”?

This subclass feels like the one you pick when you've played literally every other subclass available, or when you get them from a random character generator. Ironically enough I do actually have a friend who made a Swarmkeeper for a one-shot I ran back when this subclass was in UA. But the fact that they made the character just to test UA shows just the type of characters that will be made with this subclass.

Way of Mercy (Monk)

You either love it or you’re completely indifferent, is what I have found the general opinion of Way of Mercy to be. Guess which camp I’m in. This subclass literally just feels like a Cleric with mobility whose healing comes back on a short rest. Time will see how OP “I can heal every turn and get my Cure Wounds back on a Short Rest” not-Cleric will be, but until then the subclass is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. For the people who wanted to play a healing Monk I’m happy for them.

Path of the Beast (Barbarian)

If I can sum up Path of the Beast in one word it’s “underwhelming.” Form of the Beast gives you three above-average weapons to choose from, Bestial Soul gives you some movement buffs, Infectious Fury lets you do some decent crowd control or damage spiking, and Call the Hunt lets you buff your party.

The thing is... you’re fighting against “resist all damage” (Totem Warrior), “protect your allies with your JoJo Stand” (Ancestral Guardian), “smite with the wrath of God” (Zealot), or “shoot lightning out of your goddamn chest.” (Storm Herald.) It’s not a bad subclass and honestly compared to some of the existing Barbarians (Beserker, Battlerager, and honestly Storm Herald is bad too) it’s pretty strong. But it’s just so, so boring.

I need to preface this by saying that Barbarian is probably my least favorite class in 5e and for what it’s worth I’m certainly more interested in playing Path of the Beast than say Battlerager, but I can’t help but feel that this subclass just lets you hit things better as the class that does nothing other than hit things. The only real positive I see to this subclass is the flavor, which absolutely carries it above the likes of Totem Warrior and Zealot. (Both of which I think are objectively stronger than Beast Barbarian.)

Clockwork Soul (Sorcerer)

It been mostly unchanged from playtest even though as I stated Clockwork Soul was one of the subclasses I was a little worried about. But even then the subclass just feels so boring to me. It seems like this subclass is entirely designed to be the “no fun allowed” character who just says “No U” to everything the DM does. Don’t get me wrong it’s certainly a strong defensive subclass but I feel like if you want to play a defensive spellcaster you’re more likely to play an Abjuration Wizard or a Cleric in general.

And the lore just doesn’t really click for me? I can understand how you’d have dragon blood magic, shadow soul magic, and celestial infusion magic. But how the heck do you get a Clockwork Soul? I know Mechanus is a thing in D&D but I feel like for the average normie this won’t make any sense.

Also RIP in piss Heat Metal from the subclass spell list. Here’s my suggestion for spells if you want to play a CSS:

LEVEL 1 - Absorb Elements, Armor of Agathys, Featherfall, Mage Armor, Shield

LEVEL 2 (Aid and Lesser Restoration are good but Aid chews through your spell slots) - Enhance Ability, Enlarge / Reduce

LEVEL 3 - Blink, Counterspell, Fly, Gaseous Form, Haste, Slow

LEVEL 4 (Tasha’s Summoning Spells are good but Freedom of Movement is highly situational) - Banishment, Polymorph

LEVEL 5 - Animate Objects, Passwall

C TIER

College of Creation (Bard)

It has a lot of interesting abilities. Performance of Creation in particular is arguably one of the strongest abilities for someone who knows the equipment page well in the PHB. The problem is just that unless you have a very specific build in mind I don’t really know why you’d play the College of Creation? It feels like a Conjuration Wizard... but it’s a Bard. Perhaps the biggest irony is how much stronger this subclass feels when compared to the Conjuration Wizard, but you really have to be in the mood to play a conjurer.

Oath of Glory (Paladin)

Having some experience playing this subclass in a one-shot (Theros yay!): it’s very hit-or-miss. The spell list is amazing, the Channel Divinities are mediocre at best, the aura is garbage (10 foot +10 movement aura LUL), Glorious Defense is insane, and Living Legend is a capstone ability so of course it’s going to be good.

I think the main reason you’ll pick this subclass is for their subclass spells. And don’t get me wrong: Guiding Bolt and Haste are crazy good. But considering that Paladins usually want to blow everything on Smites?

When I played this character it was a 9 level dip into Paladin with a 3 level dip into Warlock. I didn’t use a melee weapon and opted for Eldritch Blast spamming. And that’s essentially this subclass as a whole: it wants you to be a spellcaster, which is great if you multiclass into a spellcaster (Aura of Protection is always good) but it feels bad as an actual Paladin.

The new Fighting Style that lets you get some cantrips as a Paladin might make this subclass better, but you’re still stuck being a half caster. Can’t escape the feeling that an actual caster would be better.

Path of Wild Magic (Barbarian)

It’s fun, is all I can really say. The subclass is built almost entirely around the Wild Surge table you get at level 3 and all the effects are strong. (Thankfully none of them are OP like in UA.) Unstable Backlash means that with luck you should eventually get a good Wild Magic effect.

The use of a d3 for Bolstering Magic is still a crime. It should just be a d4, with the spell slot restoration thing being “reroll on a 4.” (Or better yet: “roll a d4 and take half the roll, rounded up.” I still think having an RNG chance to get back a Haste or Fireball is a bit too strong.)

B TIER

Fey Wanderer (Ranger)

All I can say is thank god this subclass got better. It went from a weird pseudo-Paladin to a subclass with its own identity and theme. The only ability that’s really weak currently is Dreadful Strikes since it encourages you to spread out your damage for no particular reason. Horizon Walker had a similar problem but you could still focus damage as Horizon Walker. And you were doing more than a d4 of extra damage.

But beyond that this subclass is great! The subclass spell list is very strong. Otherworldly Glamour gives you some utility as a party face. Beguiling Twist... is honestly a little hit-or-miss. But it’s made up for by Fey Reinforcements and Misty Wanderer. Having a non-concentration summoning spell along with near-unlimited Misty Step is so insanely powerful to keep out of harm and to keep your DPS up.

Fey Wanderer seems really good at a lot of the things a Ranger wants to do. It’s a good skill monkey (being good at Charisma which other Rangers usually aren’t), a good damage dealer, a strong defensive support, a great single-unit summoner, and incredibly slippery and mobile. I don’t know if it’s enough to make me play the class (Ranger’s flavor is still iffy for me overall) but it’s definitely on my list for subclasses to try someday!

Order of the Scribes (Wizard)

Order of the Scribes is the best default Wizard, which is its biggest strength and its largest weakness. Getting a free colored pen is fun and flavorful, being able to get all your spells back if you lose your spellbook is insanely useful, always having an Arcane Focus is great, being able to replace the damage type of your spells is MASSIVE, getting to cast a Ritual Spell with its normal casting time is situationally fantastic.

Getting what essentially amounts to a free familiar is amazing. Getting what essentially amounts to a free spell slot (to upcast a second level spell) is great, and is honestly worth multiclassinging into for a lot of classes. Being able to negate incoming damage as a Wizard (IE squishy d6 hit die baby) is huge, even if you lose a lot of spells in the process. (I assure you by level 14 you’re going to have some useless spells that you’re never going to cast.)

But the problem with Order of the Scribes is that it has to compete with Divination, Evocation, Chronurgy, and War Wizard. If you have any specific build you want to go for then the specific schooled subclasses are better. But if you “just want to cast spells or whatever” Order of the Scribes is a lot of fun.

I actually have a character who’d fit Order of the Scribes very well, it’s just that Chronurgy feels so much more fun even if it doesn’t fit him as well. And that’s literally the exact problem with Order of the Scribes summed up in one anecdote.

Peace Domain (Cleric)

You may be forgiven for thinking this subclass is just a Life Cleric that doesn’t wear Heavy Armor, but the Emboldening Bond and the upgrades it gets are incredibly useful. Protective Bond in particular is such a massive power boost to the tanks of your party, giving them mobility and letting them take damage for squishy allies.

Peace Domain is by far the best party buffing spellcaster. They make everyone else amazing, and while that may not be fun for everyone I’m a garbage Yuumi main so it’s right up my alley.

Circle of Wildfire (Druid)

“iT dOeSn’T hAvE fIrEbAlL aNyMoRe It’S bAd BeCaUsE nO fIrEbAlL” oh get over your Fireball fetish Reddit. Circle of Wildfire is carried pretty much entirely by its flavor. It’s such a unique take on a Druid it’s impossible not to find at least some build to make with this subclass.

That’s not to say that it’s a bad subclass! The summon feels weak but you get two of them per short rest. Having a powerful subclass feature tied to short rests is really nice as a spellcaster. All your other features are very useful and flavorful, though my one complaint is that Cauterizing Flames is hard to use in Theater of the Mind.

It’s just a very fun and unique subclass that offers a unique flavor to Druids that they don’t normally have. I’m sure a lot of players will be motivated to try a Druid just to take a crack at this class. Hopefully they realize that only you can prevent forest fires.

A TIER

Phantom (Rogue)

I’m actually surprised how much I like this class to be honest. I made a Phantom Rogue once as a joke for a one-shot and to my surprise the subclass is actually very powerful and fun! It surprisingly just feels like a better Rogue, but considering how strong Rogues are normally that’s all the better for Phantom Rogue. You can easily fill any skill proficiencies your party needs thanks to Whispers of the Dead, and Wails from the Grave really lets you increase your DPS.

Tokens of the Departed got a major boost from UA since it now lets you use Wails from the Grave more, but the flavor of being able to ask the souls of the dead for information is also great. Ghost Walk is just insanely useful in general, and Death’s Friend lets you do double Sneak Attack damage every turn! Imagine how much damage you’d do with a crit!

The flavor is the one thing that I think hurts this subclass, as it’s really hard to make essentially an undead Rogue without immediately being labeled as an edgelord. But if a party ever needs a Rogue to do all the things that a Rogue does this character is perfect!

I’m personally awaiting the day to bring back Bill, the Undead Kobold Detective.

Way of the Astral Self (Monk)

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JoJo subclass. I like JoJo. This subclass was overpowered in UA but the final release manages to capture the same feeling without being broken. Let’s go over the features one by one:

Arms of the Astral Self gives you a JoJo stand rush against everyone close to you, letting you recreate the flavor of JooJ without breaking action economy too much. But being able to prioritize Wisdom is huge to keep your Stunning Strike DC high while still getting good attack damage. But it’s still not OP since Dexterity is tied to your AC. It’s perhaps a little strong for multiclass builds (you can use your spellcasting modifier to attack) but multiclassing into Monk has always been kinda iffy, and Shillelagh has existed since the PHB was released. It should also be said that having Reach weapons as a Monk is huge, since you don’t have to get the Mobile feat to do hit-and-run.

Visage of the Astral Self is a nice social feature for a subclass that doesn’t normally get social features. Body of the Astral Self gives you more defense and offense. And Awakened Astral Self just further increases your defense and offense.

Excluding weeb shit this subclass just has awesome flavor. I’m actually planning on playing this subclass soon. (I’m playing a Cleric / Monk multiclass and I’m only level 2 in Monk currently.) I’m surprised myself that my first Astral Self character isn’t a fucking JoJo OC, considering that I already have a grand total of about 5 JoJo OCs.

Twilight Domain (Cleric)

Twilight domain also surprised me with how interesting it is. I don’t really have much to say other than it has a good mix of defensive, offensive, and utility abilities. Your subclass spell list is very strong for the most part. Eyes of Night and Vigilant Blessing are both just generally useful. Twilight Sanctuary isn’t insane but it’s consistent and it’s nice. Steps of Night is very strong and has a nice aesthetic. And Twilight Shroud is a good boost to your Channel Divinity.

The honest truth is that Twilight Domain feels kinda weak by comparison to some of the other Clerics. It’s no Forge, Grave, Life, or even Order Domain is all I can say. The fact that all your features only work in the dark is iffy if you don’t have shadows to sulk in. But along with just generally having good abilities the flavor is really what carries this subclass.

Here’s a meme:

Armorer (Artificer)

Artificer is one of my favorite classes so it’s no surprise that a new Artificer subclass excites me. Armorer fills a niche that I think Artificer didn’t have, and surprisingly it’s not the “tank” archetype. Armorer is still a good tank but the Infiltrator armor also gives you an option to play the subclass at range.

What I like is that Armorer is a subclass that doesn’t have a summon and puts more focus on your infusions. Armor Modifications is such a great feature that really brings the customization to Artificer. It truly lets you make your character your own instead of focusing on concrete class features. It doesn’t surpass Warlock Invocations for customizability, but it’s still great to get two personal magic items of your choice.

Yeah this subclass is going to be used a lot for min-maxing. Giving Wizards easy access to Heavy Armor is a little scary. But really if a Wizard wants to take a 3 level dip just for armor and the Guidance cantrip let them. Let the squishy boys have some AC for once.

Circle of Stars (Druid)

Full disclosure: I’ve been wanting to make a Stars Druid after the Rise of the Mountain expansion came to Legends of Runeterra. My first Druid had Telepathy (I took the Telepathic feat as a joke since I had a floating ability score) and it helped me realize how crazy a Druid with telepathy was for espionage. After seeing The Trickster celestial card from LoR I felt the artwork hit all three of my qualifiers for a character: class I want to play, great theme, and furry.

(Artwork by Kudos Productions. Made for Riot Games.)

My personal interest in this subclass aside: it has such a wonderful aesthetic that’s perfect for any character who wants an astral connection. The features are also great: Guiding Bolt is a strong spell to have as is Guidance, and having reactionary Bardic Inspirations is nice for a spellcaster.

But of course the main feature of Starry Form lets you still play the game normally while also benefitting from your Wild Shapes. Stars Druid is probably the second best Wildshape Druid despite not actually Wildshaping. Free Bonus Action attacks is huge, extra healing is always helpful, help with concentration (and Flight later) is really swell, and resisting all damage while not-Wildshaped is very helpful and lets you play as a pseudo Frontliner.

Stars Druid just does so many nice things and I think it’s a great subclass that can fit into any team comp. Druids are already insanely useful (arguably one of the strongest classes in 5e) so to have one that can do so much is massive.

Soulknife (Rogue)

Much like Phantom Rogue this subclass feels just really good in general. You can boost your skill checks and also add not-Bardic Inspiration to your attack rolls to do more guaranteed damage. However this subclass is by far the best Rogue for infiltration. Yes: even better than Assassin. (Though I’d perhaps suggest learning how to use a Disguise Kit.) 1 mile telepathy, teleportation, and invisibility all seem to be built for infiltration. If you have a DM who likes infiltration, espionage, and other encounters that don’t involve combat then Soulknife is by far the best subclass on offer.

But of course you aren’t picking Soulknife just to sneak around! The Psychic Blades are easily the most useful feature not just for Rogues, but for many builds! Having an unlimited supply of thrown weapon suddenly makes a lot more builds viable. My dreams of a ranged Paladin or ranged Barbarian are somewhat crushed by RAW, but there are still some niches that can be filled with unlimited throwing weapons.

Fun fact: you can’t do extra Rage damage with thrown weapons, but you can use Reckless Attack on thrown Finesse weapons. What’s more interesting is that you can’t use Divine Smite on thrown weapons, but you can use Improved Divine Smite on thrown weapons. But of course you can always talk to your DM to see what their final ruling is.

Rune Knight (Fighter)

You can become Giant which makes my stupid furry ass horny for Volibear and Nasus.

I mean I’ve gotta be honest like 75% of the reason I’m hyped for Rune Knight is to become a giant. But the runes are also very strong, giving the subclass some Battlemaster-esque gimmicks that have a bit more magical flavor than the other martials. I also really like that the subclass gets boosts to their skills, allowing you to help out of combat as a Fighter.

There isn’t much I can specifically praise about Rune Knight because the whole subclass is fantastic. It’s a very good mix of defense, offense, and utility both in and out of combat.

The Fathomless (Warlock)

Sheeyutu Nagakabouros. Nagakabouros-shee-shok.

Having played a Fathomless Warlock in UA I can safely say: it’s a good subclass. Having a consistent source of Bonus Action damage is nice, and being able to use it defensively is also great. Extra spells known as a Warlock is nice (and Evard’s Black Tentacles is a great spell!) And a teleport with a mile distance is rather crazy.

So much of the subclass is built around the tentacle which is great because the tentacle is such a great Bonus Action damage source. I really wish I had more to say but the power of this subclass starts and ends at how great having what amounts to an extra Eldritch Blast as a Bonus Action every turn is.

S TIER

College of Eloquence (Bard)

Yup. One of the best subclasses in this book was also in Theros. It helps that my favorite D&D character of all time was a College of Eloquence Bard.

This subclass got so much better since UA. Reliable Talent for Charisma checks at level 3 is fucking nuts! And on top of that Unsettling Words is a great way to soften enemies up for devastating spells. Universal Speech at 6th level pretty much singlehandedly enables the “peaceful” route with a lot of enemies, allowing you to talk your way out of problems.

But this bard is the king of inspiration! Unfailing Inspiration fixes the biggest problem with the Bard class, and Infectious Inspiration multiplies your Bardic Inspiration to a ridiculous degree. This Bard is just so reliably fantastic at Bard things, all while still being a full spellcaster that can make it harder for enemies to deal with spellcasters. It doesn’t get anything special from its subclass but you only got 3 features from your subclass as a Bard anyways. Baseline Bards are amazing and the insurance on your features from this subclass makes it all the better.

The Genie (Warlock)

If the fact that I stick Warlock levels into literally every build didn’t prove it I really like Warlocks, and Genie Warlock is easily the best Warlock subclass. Period. I actually have a post in the works where I go in-depth as to why Genie Warlock is so good. But in short:

Being able to choose between four subclass spell lists is crazy good. Like ridiculously good. A single level in this subclass gives you a Bag of Holding, a (single person) Leomund’s Tiny Hut, and a damage boost to all your attacks every turn!

6th level gives you damage resistance which is always good, but I seriously can not stress how ridiculous non-concentration Flight is for a Warlock. Your spell selection and spell slots are already so limited, and this subclass lets you get all the utility of flight pretty much whenever you please. Just think about how strong Aaracokra are and then consider that this is basically the Aaracokra’s only racial trait.

Sanctuary Vessel lets you upgrade your Leomund’s Tiny Hut power to affect the whole party. By this point you can indeed Long Rest in the lamp, and I need to stress how less suspicious a lone lamp is to a giant bubble of magical force. You could easily hide the lamp somewhere and (if the party is traveling light) be practically undetectable.

Oh and Limited Wish? So you know how the best feature of the Bard is their Magical Secrets? What if you got to choose (practically) any spell of 6th level or lower whenever you please? The only “problem” with Limited Wish is that you have to know every spell that you can pick from, but whenever “too much choice” is a problem in a game of infinite choices you know it’s a good feature.

Genie Warlocks do everything that Warlocks want to do so well. More damage on all your attacks to maximize the value of cantrip spamming, mobility to keep safe without spending spell slots, more high level spells, and giving the party a safe place to rest and recharge. I played a full Genie Warlock and absolutely loved it. I highly recommend this subclass to anyone who wants to play a Warlock. It’s just so versatile and useful I’m sure anyone can find a way to enjoy playing it.

#Tasha's Cauldron of Everything #ranking #tier list #dnd #dnd 5e

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olderthannetfic · 5 years

Photo

Let’s take a break from specific fandoms to talk about:

Platform Wars

In 2020, we’re all asking what’s next after Tumblr. This is nothing new. “Is thing X killing thing Y?” is a question fandom has been asking since long before Escapade. But these panels offer comfort and insight into our current fear of change.

They’re also fucking hilarious.

So, without further ado, here are some past Escapade panels on the subject of Change Is Scary:

1997 - Effects of the Internet on Fandom & Slash (On the upside: more fans, more conventions, more excitement and a 24-hour party. On the downside: are the connections more shallow? Are the changes made to "fandom as we knew it" change what we enjoy? Do print fans have something to fear? Or is this simple another wave?)

2000 - Less is More: Gluttony & the Decline of Quality in Fanfic

2004 - Amusing Ourselves to Death (Fannish Discourse in the the Age of the Internet By sheer quantity, has the quality of our conversation declined to predominantly static?)

2004 - LiveJournal, Boon or Bane? (Has the advent of LiveJournal brought about the demise of mailing lists? Has it splintered the venue for discussion to the point where it's impossible to have meaningful conversation? Is the LJ phenomenon just one big egotrip? Come join us to discuss these and other questions.)

2007 - Is F’locked the New Black (Is the flocked post the future of fan communication? Are we returning to the dark ages of closed lists, zines under the table, and "have to know someone"? More and more LJ posts are locked, communities are closed, and groups are invitation only. Is there a way to protect our RL selves (and our fannish selves), yet share our fannish commentary and fic? How does this all look to a newbie? Where is our new comfort zone? And how do we keep track of all of this?)

2008 - The Organization for Transformative Works (The Best Thing Since Ever, or the End Of Days? The OTW is an incorporated nonprofit organization established by fans to serve the interests of fans in multiple ways, including by providing open-source archive software (and an archive), legal assistance, and various efforts to preserve the history of fanworks and fan culture.)

2011 - Delicious - Rumors of Death Greatly Exaggerated? (Delicious, fandom's favorite bookmarking site may be getting shut down (or at least sold out) by The Man. What to do?)

2016 - Fandom Is Fic: from BNF to TL;DR. (From paper through Usenet to Livejournal, text was king. On Tumblr, long text is an imposition—isn’t it? Has fic been dethroned from its place at the top of the heap and fic-writing BNFs along with it? Discuss the dirty little social dynamics of the shifting patterns of fannish value and how we define 'fandom' itself. And what of zines and zine eds?)

2017 - The Kids Are Not the Problem (In recent years, media fandom has grown enormously. It has also scattered, spreading out to new platforms and meeting spaces. You often hear talk about "the kids" vs. "the olds," Tumblr vs. LiveJournal, or the problem of recruiting and retaining new fans. In this panel, let’s try flipping that script. If kids are not the problem, how can we change and grow? What awesome things are other fans doing/trying that people at Escapade should know about? Most importantly, what strategies can we use to leave our fannish bubbles and more fully experience fandom in 2017?)

2019 - The fall of tumblr (Fans have always looked for a good place to build communities on line. Recent events with Tumblr and other platforms like Facebook are restricting our gathering places and even blocking and purging our self-made content. How are people dealing with this? Fandom will survive, but where? Come discuss the problems and options out there.)

And below the cut, a whole bunch more panels on platforms and change:

1991 - Quality Control in Zine Publication/Economics of Fandom (Who is making money in fandom? Should they be? How accountable are fans? Editors? Artists? Have you ever written an LOC?)

1993 - Supply and Demand in Fandom (Can we have too much of a good thing? How many cons or zine is too many? Are we glutting the market?)

1994 - Changing Nature of Fannish Communication (E-mail, and virtual zines, computer video editing and morphing -- all the new toys at our disposal...)

1996 - Internet—Will it eat your brain? Or take you to the poorhouse? (Nearly everyone has or can get access to a computer and thereby the Internet and the World Wide Web. What's out there for fans? What should you look for? What might you want to watch out for? How can you protect your pocketbook at the same time?)

1997 - Net Fiction & Print Fiction (Is the very existence of net fic changing the characteristics or reducing the quantity of print fic? Are there really stylistic and/or content differences? What makes some shows predominantly produce netfic, while others happily generate both? How do the barriers of access to each affect the fan community?)

1997 - History of Fan Socialization (Was fandom really different in the "old days"? Was there a feeling of community that we're missing now? Or is that just nostalgia clouding our memories? In today's net-connected fandom, what is (or should be) different? And what elements of the past should we try and retain?)

1998 - Professionals: Is the Circuit Dead? (Or has it just moved on-line? Is Pros fandom split on the subject of the internet? Many old circuit writers don't want anything to do with the new on-line library. They have objected to having their stories retyped an sent out, even on private e-mail. Has the paper circuit given way to the on-line library?)

1998 - Netfic Formatting A: How to Print It Prettily (An instructional panel, covering the basics of formatting, macros, and other time-saving tips to get the results you want.)

1998 - Privacy and Community: Pseudonyms, Screen Names and Face-to-Face Meetings (As more and more fandom is found online, how are we adapting to the anonymity that comes with it?)

1998 - Netfic Formatting B: From Word to Web, Making Shapely Net Slash (This panel is for everyone who wants to venture into the world of online slash, but gets nervous when faced with the myriad technical difficulties. Relax, it's easier than you think. We look at stylistic conventions, how to make your work newsgroup and e-mail friendly, and the dreaded subject header alphabet soup. We'll also cover some basic info on how to make a www archive site user friendly.)

1998 - Crossing the Line (An instructional panel on how to get what you want (more stories) in a world that may be unfamiliar to you (the web for print fans, and the insular world of zines for net fans).)

1999 - Does Print Fandom Have a Future? (In the age of instant, free net fic, is print fandom a dinosaur on its way to extinction, or a promise of reasonable quality in a sea of mediocrity? What are the key differences between zines and netfic, and what are the advantages and disadvantages of each? Can the two coexist happily? )

2000 - Promoting Critique on Mailing Lists (How to promote critical discussion and attention to the mechanics of writing on email lists?)

2000 - Changing Power Dynamics in Fandom (With the decline of zine editors and growth of the Net, what's changed, and how does it affect us and our fanfic?)

2001 - Website Workshop 2 by the lady of shalott (Setting up and maintaining a fanfic archive, and in particular how to set up the Automated Archive software used by 852 Prospect and the Due South archives.) [NB: Yes, she went through a bunch of name versions before ‘astolat’.]

2002 - How to run a Fiction Archive (and Maintain Your Sanity)

2002 - Nobody Here But Us Sockpuppets (How multiple personality disorder takes on a whole new meaning in the world of mailing lists.)

2003 - Getting slash onto your PalmPilot for computer free reading

2003 - Recs Databases! Creation and Commiseration (Do you run a recs database and want to commiserate? Do you currently have a recs page and want to become database-driven? Want to talk about the relative merits of using PHP, MySQL, or Access to organize smut?)

2003 - How to Set Up and Maintain Fanfiction Archives (If you're thinking of running an archive, or already do and need some help, this is the panel for you. We'll cover everything from choosing a method of archiving, handling fandom growth, dealing with troublemakers, and just how much time, webspace and money are we talking, anyway? Come pick the archivists' brains.)

2003 - Has Escapade Run Its Course (Scuttlebut says: It's not like it used to be. My old friends don't come any more. My new friends can't get in. It's too big. It's too small. Oxnard, for god's sake? I'm getting sick and tired of the same shit year after year. Is Escapade old and tired? Does it need to be retired?)

2004 - HTML and Website Introduction (if you don't have a website and want to create one. where doyoustart'This will cover creating basic HTML pages and common webhosting options, as well as things to think about as you set iin vour first website.)

2005 - Where Have All The Good Conversations Gone? Rise & Fall of the Escapade Panel (Are people still interested in talking about the characters, plots, and themes of their shows? Has in-depth analysis of our fandoms been abandoned in favor of meta and fannish introspection? The forums for analytical discussion are disappearing as self-censorship and over-moderation increase. Can we change this? Do we want to?)

2005 - The Fannish Wiki (So we have the directorium, the directory of All Things Fannish. We visit it and it's just so cool, and we look for our fandom to see what it says... and it's not there! How to add it? What sort of info belongs there? How does a wiki work?)

2005 - I Was So Much Older Then, I'm Younger Than That Now (We've all heard about or lived through the tumultuous era when fandom moved online. But how has slash fandom, particularly slash fandom, changed since then? Are the changes the result of online fandom, or simply of a change in culture?)

2005 - Fanfic Archives (Setting up and administering fanfic archives: concepts, considerations, techniques.)

2006 - Putting your fic on the web (Basic skills for putting your fic on the web, including building your own very basic website, using LJ as a fic-site building tool, various options for labeling adult content, and using the standard upload interfaces for popular self-submit story archive software.)

2006 - Nifty Technology and the Future of Fandom (Fandom is quick to adapt to change and continues to bring fen together and to create fannish product. Fans have thrived regardless of how they communicate; via the post office, mailing lists, message boards, and Livejournal; they've pushed the frontiers of video and audio technology; and have managed to survive changes in copyright, pornography, and other laws. What are the upcoming trends and shiny new technologies on the horizon and how will fen use them to enhance fandom?)

2006 - Intermediate Webmastering (Designing your website for usability, options for restricting access to your website, making your stories easily accessed by mobile devices, and things to consider so fans can easily locale your site.)

2007 - Free Webtools and How to Take Fandom Advantage (Lots of free tools are available on the web to help the needy fan! Tools to edit pictures, make icons, write stories, share recommendations, share stories, and be fannish are becoming more available and more user friendly. Come chat about tools like del.icio.us, google docs, pxn8 audacity, itunes, the gimp, bittorrent, imeem, youtube and lll other things that you come and tell us about!)

2008 - E-book Readers (Sony PRS-505 or Amazon Kindle what's all the fuss about? Introduction to E-Ink and other mobile devices. What are the pros and cons of various devices? Where do you find e- books and fan fiction, and most importantly how do you get fan fiction formatted so you can read it on your ebook reader?)

2008 - If You Build It, Will They Come? (Roundtable on meta fannish infrastructure building strategies. bethbethbeth can talk about some of the specific challenges OTW is facing in its brave new fan territory, while oulangi can talk about why metafandom has flourished while very similar projects have failed, while we'll both discuss some of the challenges of the established meta/fannish structure of new communities, new fans, new technologies—and most of all, how do you keep the meta-fan conversation moving forward?)

2008 - Livejournal: Should Fans Take Their Business Elsewhere? (A discussion of the pros and cons of fannish communication on the various blogging entities.)

2008 - How to Find and Use Free Stuff on the Web (All kinds of free webapps are available for fic, art, icons, communication, and all sort of other fannish stuff. Come share favorite sites—we can bookmark everything we talk about on del.icio.us in real time!)

2009 - The Organization for Transformative Works (Off the ground and starting to soar! Come here about the latest developments in the OTW's projects and discuss where you'd like to see it go next.)

2010 - Is Somebody Taking Notes On This?: A Discussion of the Role of Fannish History (In honor of Escapade's 20th anniversary, let's talk about recording fannish history. What are the challenges? Is it worth doing? Can it be done in a fair way? What are we afraid of happening if we try? Is Fanlore the right vehicle for the project?)

2010 - The OTW in Its Third Year led by Elke Tanzer and Shoshanna (Okay, sure, the Organization for Transformative Works bought its own goddamn servers and hosted an archive (that hosted Yuletide) and published a journal (with a special issue on Supernatural) and saved a bunch of Geocities sites and testified at the DMCA hearings (supporting the FFF's proposed exemptions for vidders and other remix artists) and made a bunch of lolcats—but what have they done for us lately? [5] What do you want them to do?)

2010 - We Are All Naked (On The Internet Now) led by treewishes (Social networking platforms like Facebook and Twitter are conspiring with Google and your ISP to out your slash pseudonym to your RL friends, and to tell all your slash buddies your real name. Is there any way to stop the wave of facial recognition software or your oh-so-helpful friends who type your birthday into the cloud? Or is all this an inevitable consequence of evolving technology? Come on in and let's talk conspiracy theories!)

2011 - Fanlore: Are BNFs Writing Our History?, led by Sandy H (Fanlore has an official policy of 'plural points of view', but is that really happening? Have you ever looked up a kerfluffle you were involved in, and seen how your side of the battle was portrayed.' And on the other side, are we afraid of conflict, to the point that Fanlore is bland and safe?)

2011 - OTW/AO3 Wish List Conversation, led by Sandy H (Do you feel like you don't know how to get your A03 or OTW wishlist through the bureaucracy? A03 is getting better all the time, but there's a ways to go. Let's brainstorm and turn a list over at the end of the panel.)

2011 - The Reccing Crew (Recommending a fanwork is deeply woven into our culture. Are there new social mores at work when we make public recs? How has the move from letters to mailing lists to Livejournal and Delicious affected reccing? Delicious was conceived as a bookmarking site, but often operates as a recs and comments site. If it goes away, what would replace it?)

2012 - Tumblr, Twitter, and Pinboard, Oh My (and GetGlue, too!) (In the past year, the ongoing fannish diaspora has picked up speed, as more fannish activity has moved away from LiveJournal and Dreamwidth, and onto sites like Tumblr and Twitter. And then there was the Delicious implosion. Now there's GetGlue, a social network specifically for entertainment. Let's talk about navigating these sites—their strengths and weaknesses, and how to use them.)

2012 - The Kids These Days (Ever wanted to tell someone to get offa your lawn? Strangle the next person who said that? Revive a dead fandom? Joined a fandom you were 20 years "too old" (or young!) for? Did you go from Usenet to mailing lists? From zines to livejournal? Are you eyeing Tumblr and Twitter with alarm? Let's talk about weathering changes in fandom with grace—or at least a little humor.)

2013 - Privacy, Secrecy, and the Fourth Wall (The fourth wall between fans and The Powers That Be is shrinking day by day. Are the technologies we're using changing fannish etiquette {from invite-only mailing lists, to friends-locked journals, to all public all the time tumblr)? Should we run for the hills or embrace the change? Discuss!)

2013 - The What With the Where Now?! (Every time you turn around fandom is playing on a new site that has new functionality, new ways of interacting and new lingo. Join us in surveying places like tumblr, twitter and getglue.)

2014 - Tumblr: Missing Missing E (So you've just gotten the hang of Livejournal when all of a sudden fandom has jumped shipped to this new "microblogging" platform called Tumblr. What is "microblogging" anyway, and where do you even start? Join us in this tutorial/discussion on creating an account, deciphering the culture, finding fandom, and making Tumblr work for you.)

2014 - Out Of Step With the World (You have no current fandom. You can't even get Tumblr to load. What do you do when you're feeling disconnected and alienated, but you don't want to leave fandom for good? If this sounds like you, come join us to figure out some strategies for rekindling the love, making new friends, and finding your place.)

2014 - Real Fannish Community (Has AO3 ended the era of real fannish community or has it ushered in a new era of increased connectedness? Is Tumblr better or worse than the old days (and were the old days livejournal? yahoo groups? APA snail mail zine groups?)? I'm hoping for equal parts 'get off my lawn' and 'the future's so bright I gotta wear shades' debate here.)

2015 - Tumblr 102: Into Darkness. You’re here, now what? Here we talk about etiquette and xkit and making the most of your fannish tumblr experience.

2017 - Home on the Web (LJ's Russian overlords have removed HTTPS support and are moving the server activity to Russia; some say a shutdown of US services is on the horizon. Yahoo fails to make money with Tumblr. Dreamwidth is slow, and doesn't have media hosting. Email lists are a hassle. Imzy, a startup, places branding aesthetics over design usability. Where's the next place for fandom, or should we reclaim one or more of the platforms from the past?)

2018 - How to Tumblr (Like it or not (often, mostly not), tumblr is where fandom is most active right now. How do you find anything? How do you have conversations? How do you archive the bits you like best? The good news: the answers are not, "you don't; you don't; you don't." Bad news: Those aren't actually good questions for being fannish on tumblr.)

2019 - Social Network of Our Own (SNO3?) (Between FOSTA/SESTA, Article 13, Facebook's new "don't mention that sex exists" policy, and the Tumblrpocalypse, is it time for our own fannish social site? Or are Dreamwidth and Pillowfort enough?)

#escapade 2020 #fandom history #fandom meta #escapade con

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Be My Nightmare Ch4

Focus

Welcome back, everyone!!! I am so, so sorry this took so dang long. I wanted this chapter to cover so much and yet it feels like nothing happens at all, a tough one to nail down. Anyway! Hope you enjoy!

Word count - 4,415

~~~Previous Chapter~~~

__________________

---Reader---

The rest of your weekend passed uneventfully. Once V was stable, he didn’t have any further issues and you were able to catch up on tedious housework. You kept rehashing his words in your mind, dissecting every possible meaning until you could barely see straight.

After so many years of boredom, it was a delight to have the murderous artist in your care. Staying engaged had always been a struggle for you, even as a child. Most situations and people simply didn’t hold your interest. It wasn’t always easy to hide, but you managed most of the time.

You knew from experience what it cost if you failed.

Don’t think about that. There’s no point.

You sighed and set down your bag, reaching over to power up the CPU on your desk. Time to get to work. It was Monday, so your first patient would be Kelly Williams.

A classic case of bipolar disorder, the poor woman had been stuck in a major depressive episode for three months. She was so predictable you probably could have written up your notes for the session before she even arrived, but you followed protocol and checked your email as you waited for Kevin to deliver her anyway.

You minimized the browser as she shuffled in, eyes downcast and limp hair hiding her frown. You pursed your lips as she settled on the couch with a morose sigh. Kevin gave you a nod and left, clicking the door closed behind him.

“Hello, Kelly. How are you feeling today?” you began.

I’d bet my next paycheck I know her answer.

Her sad grey eyes lifted to meet yours. “Hanging in there.”

Yep. This is going to be a long hour.

You covered all the same topics, reviewing her trauma and possible causes for her illness. Diligent notes filled your notepad, but the words didn’t stick in your mind. It might be worth shifting Kelly to another doctor, considering how little you cared about her treatment. Dr. Malphas wouldn’t be happy, but he’d understand. You only wanted to make sure she was receiving the care she needed, right?

A soft knock interrupted your musings as Kevin returned. You said your goodbyes and promised your patient some menial reward, nothing important but something that would be meaningful to her.

The moment the door closed, you released a deep sigh. Honestly, there were only two or three patients here that interested you. A man with detailed visions of the future that occasionally came true, a woman who spoke a language of her own creation, and your favorite murderous artist. The rest you could deal with in your sleep.

On that note, who’s next?

Jacob Miller. The infamous serial killer who targeted women that resembled his mother. How utterly mundane.

It didn’t surprise you to realize how little the well-known madman interested you. His spree of kills thrilled and horrified the state of Utah for months until he was caught, all from a scrap of fiber he’d missed when disposing of one of his victims.

But his profile was quite basic. A broken home, absentee father and disciplinarian mother. Run of the mill patterns of animal abuse and rejection from potential sexual partners, the same fuel that brought about the likes of numerous big names. There was nothing new or unique about him.

As Kevin brought Jacob in, you tried not to let your eyes glaze over in disinterest.

“Good morning, Jacob.”

“Hello, Dr. Waras. How was your weekend?” the twisted man replied.

You pursed your lips. His manners belied a twisted core. “Nothing special, but we’re here to talk about you.”

His lips twisted into a dark grin. The man was an arrogant prick, always happy to talk about himself. Sometimes you wondered how he managed to avoid death row, but it wasn’t your problem.

“What do you want to know, Doctor?”

About you? Nothing.

“Let’s talk about your childhood a bit more,” you said instead.

---V---

The ceiling truly was a monstrosity. He’d been staring at it for hours, trying to pinpoint exactly what about its beige visage disturbed him so much, and he thought he finally had it figured out.

It was the bumps.

Little dapplings of the plaster, random and unintentional. As if whomever built the room had no idea patients would spend almost all their waking hours staring at their work. A few sections resembled faces or vague outlines of familiar objects, but the majority was an expanse of rough mediocrity.

He wanted to splash blood across it in sweeping arcs of color, break the horrible monotony with crimson streaks of life.

At this point, he’d settle for sidewalk chalk.

Someone’s coming.

The artist tuned to the hallway and sure enough, the familiar scuffle of Kevin’s feet approached. It must be time for his meeting with you and he smirked. What perfect timing.

Remember the plan.

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware,” he replied to the insistent tone rattling in his skull.

He arranged his features in a neutral expression, feigning indifference as the heavy door creaked open. Kevin’s signature shuffle came closer and the strap at his left arm loosened.

“Time for therapy,” the orderly informed him.

He resisted the urge to strangle the bumbling idiot as his arm regained its freedom. “Wonderful.”

Moments later, the artist stood beside Kevin rubbing his wrists and cracking his neck. Someday he would tear the man apart for stealing his autonomy, but not today. Today, he needed to gain an ally.

“So… Kevin. How did you end up here?”

Watery brown eyes blinked at him in confusion. The artist’s fingers twitched.

Don’t do it…

He clenched his hands. Kevin’s day would come and what a delight it would be…

“I… uh… I transferred from the hospital a few years back.”

V hummed and held his hands forward for the damned cuffs. They clicked into place as he replied, “Fascinating. Do you enjoy the work?”

Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s all right, I guess. Gets weird now and then.”

He followed Kevin into the hallway, white soles squeaking on the linoleum. Nine doors identical to his own dotted the walls, useful information for later. Clever emerald eyes paid special attention to where the guard’s hand went to buzz them through to the offices.

“You’ll have to tell me some of your more interesting stories sometime,” he replied with a convincing twist of his lips. Child’s play.

Kevin grunted and gestured forward, inviting V to lead the way. “We’ll see.”

The thick door to your office already stood open, welcoming him in like an honored guest. He smirked as you nodded at Kevin and dutifully cooperated as the man latched him to the wall. You looked lovely, as you always did. Pen tucked behind your ear, a hint of excitement in your eyes.

“Thanks, Kevin. See you in an hour,” you said, dismissing the man.

And then there were two…

Stay focused. You’ll need your wits for what’s to come.

You offered him a smile as the door clicked shut. He mirrored it with ease.

“So, V. How are you feeling after last week? I haven’t seen you since your episode.”

He hummed and leaned back, settling his weight onto the couch. It was impossible not to indulge his aching body in the soft cushions after the maddening position he’d been stuck in all day.

“Truthfully, I’m bored. One can only stare at the same patch of ceiling for so long before it grows tedious.”

You tapped your pen against pursed lips. How lovely you’d look in red…

Focus.

“I can definitely understand that. I may be able to help, if you’re interested,” you replied.

There was no hiding the curiosity in his eyes, nor did he bother trying. You were too smart for that. “Do tell.”

“I can give you an assessment, and if it goes well you might be cleared to be left unrestrained. All you have to do is answer a few questions and be honest.”

He smirked. How adorable. “I’m ready when you are.”

You picked up a clipboard and read the first question aloud. “You find a lost young boy one day, and he appears to have stolen property. Would you A, hug and reassure him; B, take the property by force and leave him there as punishment; C, pick his pocket and leave him to his fate; or D, lead him home and call the authorities?”

He almost laughed. The entire basis of the question was absurd; what action he took depended on what the stolen property was. Why bother taking the item if it wasn’t something that appealed to him? Not to mention the lack of a ‘keep walking’ option.

“A,” he said. You made a note and continued.

None of the following questions were any better, all based on faulty logic or lacking the detail needed to truly make a decision. He chose his answers based on what he imagined his mother would do, using her kindness and empathy as a model for normal behavior. With each response, you marked your sheet and nodded approvingly.

“Okay, last question. Your house is on fire. What do you save on your way out? A, your little brother; B, your prized collection of baseball cards; C, whatever clothing you can carry; or D, the family photo album? Assume that anything not chosen is destroyed.”

For heaven’s sakes, only an imbecile would fail this.

“A, of course.”

You made a final mark and your brows furrowed as you tallied his answers. He occupied himself with images of you with a blade to Kevin’s flabby throat, grinning as you slashed it open. Blood would stain every inch of your clothing; never would you look so beautiful.

“Interesting… According to this, you shouldn’t even be here, let alone in high secure,” you began. Suspicion bloomed in your gaze as you met his eyes. “You weren’t being truthful, were you?”

No shit, Sherlock!

He gritted his teeth to keep from shouting at Griffon, searching for the right words. How had he missed this, how could he be so foolish as to expect you to believe a good result?

Take it again. As many times as it takes.

He had to take it another three times before you surrendered with a deep sigh. Not once did his answers change.

“I’ll have to clear it with Dr. Malphas, but I can’t justify stopping you.”

He smirked. Victory was sweet, indeed. Even this tiny increase to his freedom would do wonders for his plans, not to mention he’d no longer need to bother Kevin for a bathroom trip to indulge himself. It didn’t matter that there was a camera in his room, watching his every move. He knew where it was, it would be easy enough to hide his activities from its view.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said. A tiny smile graced your lips at his gratitude. Progress.

“Just doing my job. Now, let’s get back on track. Do you remember anything from last week?”

He brought his legs onto the couch, drawing his knees to his chin as was his preference. “Fragments.”

Ink marked his answer on your notepad and he almost growled in jealousy. His fingers itched to create, to design and defile. It took all his will power to remain seated and keep his hands from reaching for the pen. The sketches last week had left him needy and craving more time to hone his craft, the pull growing stronger with every reminder.

“Would you care to elaborate?” you asked.

He didn’t bother to consider the ramifications as he opened his mouth. The need was too strong. “I’ll tell you about it if you give me a pen and paper.”

You idiot! Now you appear weak, willing to succumb to her will if she only throws you a treat. What are you, a dog?!

He flinched. Vergil had a point; he should have been more careful. Somehow, he needed to shift the scales back in his favor, or at least back to equality. To let this stand would be unacceptable. But how?

The rumble of an opening drawer stole his attention as you withdrew the same hunk of charcoal he used before. A clipboard with several sheets of fresh paper occupied your other hand and his eyes glittered in excitement as you handed them over. He licked his lips and quivered in anticipation, considering his options and refining several ideas.

“May I make a request?”

His gaze shot to yours. A request? So, you wanted to see more of his work. It fed his ego and he nearly purred at the image of you begging him to draw you, dripping in viscous blood after your first kill.

“I cannot stop you,” he said. It wouldn’t do to betray his thoughts, not yet. Caution was a worthy ally.

“Can you draw Griffon, or Vergil? I’m curious what they look like,” you replied.

Don’t you dare!

Speak for yourself, asshat! You do your thing, Van Gogh.

Lips twisting in amusement, he nodded and drew the first line. Griffon was always interesting to draw, though he still hadn’t managed to get his eyes right. Something about the triple-iris was irritatingly difficult to capture. Not to mention how much he hated feathers.

Still. An enjoyable challenge.

“So, tell me about last week.”

Now’s your chance. Do not waste it.

The artist hummed in acknowledgement, eyes locked on his work. He kept his hand elevated so as not to smudge the charcoal unintentionally, his fingers swiping across the pristine page to leave shadowy streaks behind. But how to utilize this opportunity? How best to regain his control of the situation?

Perhaps a quid pro quo?

He smirked and lifted his eyes. You were staring at him. “I seem to be having trouble remembering. Maybe you can jog my memory?”

You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes. He didn’t bother trying to hide his Cheshire-like glee. He had you, how could you possibly refuse him?

“What, exactly, are you suggesting?”

He leaned back, casually adding another series of marks to his artwork as if your suspicion meant nothing to him, as if he didn’t care if you went along with his ideas. “I’m suggesting, Doctor, that you provide me with incentive to share.”

“Such as…?”

“For now? Blue.”

You stared at him as if he were an alien. “You want… blue?”

“I cannot do Griffon justice without the proper color,” he replied with a teasing smirk.

An easy trade, a small token to get you used to the idea. What harm could there be in allowing him more colors to use in your own office? It was a simple request, one not worth refusing and as you reached for your drawer, he congratulated himself for his cleverness.

“I don’t think I have any blue pens or anything, let’s see…”

“I’ll make do with whatever you have available,” he replied as you rummaged.

The drawer looked moderately chaotic, as if you put some effort into keeping it organized but you didn’t care enough to maintain it. Post its and paperclips were strewn about, pens and highlighters shoved in the corner. A thumb drive resided amongst a collection of pins.

A single flash of sapphire drew his gaze. Your delicious fingertips hesitated at the item, but you pulled it out a moment later as nothing else offered itself up. He almost laughed as you held it out to him.

This will be interesting to work with.

A makeup compact, full of blue powder. The color was dark and rich, serendipitously close to the exact shade of the demonic bird.

“This is all I’ve got,” you murmured.

The artist schooled his features into a look of disappointment, playing down his excitement as he accepted the small container. “It will suffice.”

He tested the substance on a fresh sheet of paper, swiping it across with the tip of his thumb. Discerning emerald eyes judged the depth of the hue, analyzing how much he’d need to achieve the proper coloration. If he layered it with the charcoal, it might just work.

You cleared your throat as he began, pen held at the ready for him to speak. That’s right, he was expected to describe last week in exchange. He’d nearly forgotten. Visions ricocheted in his mind, echoes of the night that became his ruin. He didn’t remember everything, but there was enough to recognize the memory. Enough to relive the delightful experience.

But it wouldn’t do to share every detail with you. He chose his words with care, selecting a few key details and adding meaningless drivel for good measure. The day may come when he recounted every moment, but you were nowhere near ready.

“I remember red, a great deal of it. Someone was screaming, but I don’t recall why. Yellow walls and a rhododendron.”

He paused to let you note his every word, swirling blue across the black outline of feathers. The sparkles were a bit much, but he couldn’t do anything to fix that. By the time the scratching of your pen ceased, he was almost finished.

“That sounds intense. Did it feel like a dream or more like a memory?”

He paused, wondering how far he could press you today. It was worth a try; even if you refused it would help him regain a position of strength.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any purple, would you?”

Your eyes sparkled. A slight twist of your pink lips was all the confirmation he needed that you knew what he was up to and you didn’t even glance at your desk before you responded.

“I’m afraid not.”

Despite the setback, he couldn’t help but smirk. There was something odd about you, and every time he interacted with you it became clearer. You got the same amusement from the mental battle as he did, the same thrill every time you scored a point. The same rush of fascination and curiosity.

You were more than just another sheep.

All he needed to do was draw out the wolf.

“That’s a shame, Y/N,” he purred. Your chair squeaked as you shifted.

A soft knock on the door signaled the end of your hour with him. He sighed and handed you the clipboard, his drawing of Griffon’s proud flight on full display. Your eyes widened, a slight inhale escaping your lips that would fuel his fantasies for days to come.

“So that’s Griffon?”

He nodded as the door opened and Kevin approached, handing you the makeup and charcoal. It pained him to surrender the supplies, but this way you didn’t have to ask. A subtle difference, but one that reinforced his autonomy instead of your control over his life.

But there was one last gesture he wanted to make.

The moment Kevin freed his hands, he extended one to you with a soft smirk. The orderly’s meaty fist wrapped around his wrist and he didn’t fight back, content to wait for your response.

Suspicion tinted your eyes, mixing with interest as he parted his lips.

“I wanted to thank you, Doctor. I look forward to sleeping unrestrained tonight.”

You shared a glance with the orderly and he let go. The urge to strangle the man for his interference was powerful, but he ignored it. In due time, the man would pay. For now, let him imagine he had won. Far more interesting was your reaction.

You looked startled, but not fearful. More intrigued than anything else.

Perfect.

The same hand he licked the first time he met you clasped his own, shaking it in a gesture of mutual respect. You didn’t need to know his true goal; to feel your skin and memorize its texture. The knowledge would add depth to his fantasies and he focused on the smooth warmth, hungry for every detail he could glean from such brief contact.

The hands of one who works indoors…

He brushed his index finger across your wrist as you pulled back, a more intimate touch not immediately apparent to the accursed third party watching his every move. The barest twitch of your fingers revealed your awareness of his boldness, but you didn’t say a word. Another victory, then.

“Until tomorrow,” he murmured.

---Reader---

The heavy door clicked shut and you released a deep breath. Your heart was pounding, mind consumed with the artist’s simple caress. Those same hands that were capable of such artistry had taken at least three lives; you couldn’t afford to forget how dangerous he was. The mind games, the trickery and bargaining, none of it mattered if you lost your focus.

What is my focus?

You leaned back and pursed your lips. In broad terms, your goal with other patients was to help them reach a point where their ability to function in normal society was no longer impaired. If they weren’t capable of that much, you were meant to guide them to stability so they could at least have appropriate quality of life.

To envision V in normal society was close to impossible. You couldn’t picture him in a suit, sitting at a cubicle like ordinary folks. Imagining him on a commute was anathema; with a family, unthinkable. The man was an outlier and no amount of treatment would change that.

So how can I help him?

You growled in frustration and rubbed your eyes. The flesh he touched still tingled, the nerves jangling with odd enthusiasm. It made no sense; the man was a murderer and here you sat like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Absurdity. You were smarter than this, better than this.

This isn’t a comic book or some crappy romance novel. Life doesn’t work that way. He was trying to manipulate me and I cannot let him win.

You glanced at the drawing of Griffon, marveling at the unearthly beauty of the creature’s forked beak and massive legs. A demonic bird, the hallucination of a crazed murderer, and you found it beautiful. What an incredible mind he had, to come up with such a thing.

How sad to imagine all the things he could have done with that mind, instead of slaughter. He could have written the next Lord of the Rings, painted the next Sistine Chapel. Manifested something profound instead of destroying the lives of a young family.

Maybe he still can. If I can help him, who knows what he’ll create?

A subdued knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. Was it already noon? Time flew right by you, more proof of the ridiculousness surrounding you. With a final sigh you grabbed your purse and locked your computer, heading to join Kotomi for lunch.

“Hey Y/N! How was your weekend?” she asked as you entered the hallway.

Charlie buzzed you through the security door; Ben must have called out sick. “Pretty boring, to be honest. How about you?”

Her eyes sparkled as she described a trip to the museum with her mother, skimming over any interesting parts like she always did. The elder Ishida was legendary in her hatred of psychiatry, and every time she and Kotomi got together she had a new story of her mother’s lectures. You grinned as you reached for the button to call the elevator, all too aware of her heels.

“So, did she disown you for working here yet?”

“Y/N! Not so loud! Wait, what’s that on your wrist?”

You hadn’t noticed before, but a streak of charcoal marked where the artist touched you. It was just dark enough to draw attention and you rubbed it against your pants, grateful you wore black today. A pale grey outline remained no matter how hard you tried and you huffed in annoyance.

“It’s charcoal,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “The artist?”

You nodded and stepped forward as the elevator arrived. Her heels clicked to join you as she crossed her arms and gave you an intense stare.

“You let him touch you? Have you lost your mind?!”

Did he do it on purpose? Was this why he wanted to shake my hand?

Lithe fingers grasped your shoulders as almond shaped eyes met yours. Her concern was sweet and you wished you had the right words to reassure her.

“Y/N, I’m worried about you. I know how you get with these people; you need to be extra careful with him. I’ve heard rumors, he sounds really dangerous,” she insisted.

You managed a small smile as a ding announced the elevator passing the second floor. There was no change in its motion and you licked your lips, searching for the right words. Of course he was dangerous; you weren’t an idiot, you knew that. And yes, maybe you shouldn’t have let him touch you, but Kevin was right there and you couldn’t let him have control by refusing.

“Look. I know, okay? I know what he’s capable of. I read the police report. But I have to take a few risks to help him, he’s too smart for the standard approach. It’s my job to work with the dangerous ones. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes softened and she dropped her arms, though she still looked troubled. The second ding marked your arrival at ground level and you stepped off in silence, wondering what else you could say to ease her concern.

“Do you want me to sit in on your sessions? Maybe I can help somehow,” Kotomi offered.

How did she do that? How did she make herself seem so genuine? Was she actually that genuine or was it all an act? It was impossible to say for sure, but you had no reason to doubt her sincerity. Her offer meant all the more considering her aversion to violent offenders, her fear of being around the most twisted minds.

You smiled at Lenny as he buzzed the two of you into the administrative wing. The echoes of Kotomi’s steps rattled through the air as you neared the staff lounge.

“That’s really nice of you to offer, but I’ll be alright. I promise to be careful,” you said.

The remaining charcoal on your wrist drew your eyes as you opened the door. You couldn’t deny the rush his touch gave you, despite the alarm bells that rang in your head. Maybe Kotomi had a point, maybe you were being reckless. No other patient had ever touched you so intimately, with or without permission. Was this response normal?

Did it matter?

~~~Next Chapter~~~

#fanfic #v x reader #Be My Nightmare #my writing #reader insert #devil may cry #mind games #dmcv #dmc

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ithinkthingsaboutstuff · 5 years

Text

Going Rogue: Overturned

This is a fic series, that looks at the ecosystem of Arkham asylum, How the rogues interactions with one another and how therapy is or is not administered. The partnerships, the connections, the feud’s and the all the madness that rest inside the padded walls.

Going Rogue:

part 2: Overturned

All the rooms in Arkham Asylum were cold but by far the coldest was the visiting rooms. Provided you allow a lapse in memory for the man who can’t survive outside of subzero temperature, but even his cold frosted heart and body could agree that the chill that fills these rooms are unlike another. The tears from family, crying over the people they love locked way. The unrest of the patients still in their straight-jackets, unaware who is in front of them and don’t even dare to try and find out who is left inside of themselves. Then there is the rocking of patients and their visitors on their chairs waiting for the time to run out, so the ones who are of sound mind could get as far as humanly possible from this nightmarish domicile long forgotten by time and good taste.

This visitor’s room much like every other room here had rotting walls and dripping pipes. The room smelled acidic mixed with dust and decay, the concrete floors were cracked and bars on the windows were covered in a thick layer of rust leaving them looking like parasitic clay. The tables were metal and drilled into the ground with a loop to put handcuffs in if need be.

At one of these tables, a man tapped his fingers on the metal. The rhythm was One, Two, One, Two, One, Two. The man’s hand was burnt and blistered like the skin had been replaced with hot fire coals that are starting to flack away into ash. His other hand was sandy white, though it is was rough and callus mostly at the fingertips, this hand was holding a slim pale one, his thumb gently rubbed the knuckles of other hand, like he was holding a bird that had fallen from its nest.

‘Are you any better today Harvey?’

Her voice was timid but well-rehearsed, she had done this many times and was simply on autopilot.

‘I feel ok, Grace.’

His voice was hoarse like smoke was trapped in his throat and every sound was fighting with another to escape its own echo chamber.

‘The doctor tells me you’ve made a lot of progress.’

‘They would say that.’

A silence sits between them as the voices of others surround them, covering their ears with a layer of the melancholic ambience.

‘Harvey, can you talk to me please.’

‘What do you want to talk about Grace, what can we talk about? what can we say that has not already been said a dozen times now, this place doesn't change.... and I’m not changing either.’

‘Don’t talk like that Harvey, you can get better,’

Her voice began to crack,

‘it can’t be like before, I know that... but that’s ok, your still here... and so am I.’

He slid his hand out of hers making it parallel to his other crimson hand as it still tapped softly to the beat of One, Two, One, Two.

‘That the problem... your still here.’

‘Harvey.’

His tapping stopped as he slapped his hand down.

‘No Grace, you need to face the truth.’

‘Which is, what? you’ve become everything you fought against your whole adult life, that your one of the worst men in this city, that you’re a sick and cruel man that can’t be stopped, that you’ve become some kind of... monster.’

Her eye’s started to well, but she kept herself together as she had learned to do in the time she had been coming here. Talking to Harvey was not easy as Grace was not sure which Harvey she was talking to at any given moment. She has learned to simply not let him drive the conversation, as he may not be a lawyer anymore but the lawyer in him will run circles around anyone who will let him. His eyes and voice crept down low in what was a last stitched effort to hide his confession.

‘I’m afraid it’s much simpler than that.’

He pulled both his hands together so that his fingers were intertwined.

‘I’m twice the man you knew and half the man you thought, Grace.’

Grace sat there, her face still, a tear slid down the left side of her face. Harvey moved his right hand to her face and wiped the tear away, she moved her face into the white rough hand.

‘Harvey,’

Her voice was weak as it trailed off. Harvey put his fingers back together. He paused.

‘Grace, don’t come back here.’

Harvey waved the guard to came over to the table, they took Grace by the arm and led her away from the table she said nothing but look on her face was of pain, sadness, guilt and a flicker of relief. Grace has come back many times after conversations like this but this, was different. There was no angry screams or tearful goodbyes, there was no saying he was not good enough for her and that she should leave him behind, he was right it was simpler than that. It was the first time that Grace and even Harvey realising that he had accepted what he had become or at least that he was more then he once was. Harvey put his head down as Grace was taken away, as he whispered to himself.

‘Goodbye Grace, I love you, and part of me always will...’

Harvey then moved his left hand into his pocket, he pulled out a coin, the coin was burned and ashed on one side and the other showed a clean sliver face. He held the coin and twirled it around in his palm, moving both sides back and forth.

‘Only wish I knew which part.’

A few more minutes pass and a guard came by and takes Harvey by the arm and takes him back into one of the winding hallways. Harvey with the coin still in his hand but now it was squeezed inside his red palm. Harvey was dragged along the halls and as the day dragged on, as they all intended to do here in Arkham, but every cloud has its sliver-lining and in Arkham that sliver-lining happens to be the common room. Now this is not due to the company that was mediocre most days and damn right terrifying at the best of times, but the common room could always give you what you needed, if you know what to ask for.

This common room had a large barred windows that let in sunlight, but there was nothing serine about this image, as the bars made the trail of light that came from the window look less like that the sun was coming in and made it look more like the darkness was leaking out. Revealing just how repugnant this place truly is and how not even the grace of god as small as it was and as hard as it is to find in this place could not salvage the abhorrent dwellings of those unfortunate enough to be trapped in its walls.

But let it not be said that all the comforts of humanity had left this place. In fact, one man made it his sworn duty to make sure that did not happen, at a reasonable fee of course. Oswald Cobblepot sat in the corner in a leaned couch with a small record player as soft melody sang out of it, he was writing in a book and held it close to his chest, he was surrounded by little stacks of books at his feet and by his sides all of them within his sight.

As Harvey entered the room and made his way to a table and pulled a chair from its place and dragged it across the room, shaking the man that was sitting in it to the floor.

‘Objection,’

Whelped the man as spun around on the floor to face Harvey, readjusting his top hat that had become ajar.

‘Overruled,’

Harvey replied as he continued to drag the chair away. Harvey moved the chair to one of the windows and sat right in front of it as to look out to world he was no longer apart of, saliently. The man that was on the floor stood up and brushed himself off, he then made his way over to Harvey to contest his actions. As he walked over to the window about to say his piece.

‘No, Jervis, I don’t think Harvey is quite up for a wistful discussion on chair etiquette with you today,’

Oswald warned.

‘This is none of your business Oswald.’

Oswald snapped his book shut, pen still in his hand.

‘You will find it is, Jervis, I have as you know, a certain, interest, in keeping peace in this particular space as it were. And I will not allow for the rowdy actions of you two you to jeopardise such a mutually beneficial enterprise.’

Jervis walked over to Oswald so that he was standing in front of the couch like a court-men to the king or more accurately in Jervis case a child asking questioning his father.

‘But, he, he, pushed me.’

‘Yes, I know Jervis, but if you can let this go for the sake of some well-earned peace, then I shall make it worth your wild,’

Oswald then moved is attention to a small stack of books that were next to him and pulled one from its place showing Jervis the cover,

Through the Looking-Glass

‘As you also know Jervis, I have an extended library and it would be a devastating shame if it were to be confiscated. Don’t you agree?’

Jervis stepped forward.

‘Yes, quite.’

‘Quite.’

Jervis then reached his hand out to grab the book, but Oswald pulled it away.

‘So, what do you say.’

‘Thank you, Oswald, I think I can let the chair mishap go, thank you.’

Oswald then handed him the book,

‘Now don’t lose it and do try to pace yourself as I cannot get another just yet.’

Jervis nodded and took the book to the other side of the couch where another chair sat, he held the book but did not open it. The sound of the door opening sent eyes straight to it. Edward was being led in by Lyle Bolton, Edward shook him off and walked into the room and went to the back of the room and sat an arm chair and took out a pad of rice paper and a pencil and started to sketch. Jervis looked over to Edward and started to giggle. Oswald lowered his pen and book once again.

‘Edward, good to see you, and how unfortunate that your here.’

‘hmm,’

Edward kept his head down and his hand moving. Jervis giggles got louder.

‘I see you bested batman, hmm, ha ha,’

Without looking up Edward replied.

‘Yes, yes, alright, Batman fingered it out, and here I am again.’

‘What was it this time, a heist, a robbery or was it a hunt,’

‘Oh, run after your rabbit, Jervis.’

‘Now, now, no need to get snippy Eddie.’

Edward pulled his book down and look Jervis right in the face with is black and bloodshot eyes.

‘What have I said about using that certain familiarity with me Jervis.’

Jervis giggles stopped, Edward does not use angry tones, frustrated sure, annoyed absolutely, but angry is not something Edward likes to get the best of him as he prises a clam mind above most if not all things. Jervis became timid and wary.

‘Sorry, Edward, as you were.’

‘As you were.’

Edward’s eyes remained locked on Jervis for a few seconds more. Oswald leaned forward to get a better look at Edward’s face.

‘Good, god, my dear boy, what has The Bat done this time, your face is absolutely torn asunder, did he hit you in the face with a chainsaw.’

Edward turns his gaze to Oswald, as he gave him a coy smile through blackened gums.

‘Oh, this, think nothing of it, just a miscalculation on my part. Unforeseen variable as it were.’

Oswald looked unconvinced but did not press the man further.

‘Very well, would you like book, to ease the pain,’

Edward let out a soft chuckle.

‘What do you want for it?’

Oswald let out a sneer smile.

‘Well, let’s see, these books are full of knowledge, insights and other things of great value in this place so, how about we trade insights.’

Edward took a moment and gave a smile that make his broken body shake.

‘I’m not telling you how I get out of here Oswald.’

‘I did not expect you to, though I dared to hope, very well Edward, how about you trade me a few of your knitted socks you have stockpiled.’

‘Deal.’

Oswald then handed Edward a book that Edward then put under his leg. A calm silence came between then as they both returned to writing in their books. Bolton started to walk around the edge of the room making his way to the three men sitting together.

‘What is going on here?’

Bolton asked like a schoolteacher who found teenagers smoking in the bathroom.

‘Mind our own business, like you should be doing, Bolton’

Oswald said as he held his book and pen tight, Jervis smirked, and Edward held his head low.

‘Now, Penguin, that is no way to speak to the one who is in charge around here.’

Oswald was still for a moment before letting out a little laugh. Edward looked up concerned.

‘Careful Oswald,’

Bolton went behind the armchair and placed his hands on Edwards shoulders digging them in hard. Edward made a noticeable wince.

‘Yeah, Os, you should listen to Eddie, be careful, things are going to start changing around here, and I don’t know how well you’re going to keep up.’

Oswald glanced at Edward for a moment and Edward averted his eyes to the floor, his face clearly trying to hide the pain he was in. Oswald looked back at Bolton and moved his chin up.

‘Very well, Mr Bolton,’

Jervis looked at the scene in front of him in fear and uncertainty of what he was meant to do, so he ended up just moving his eyes back and forth. Bolton looked around the three of them before giving Edward one final hard squeeze making him hold in a yelp, then he let him go.

‘You three better be on your best behaviour, I hear Dr Crane has been causing a lot of trouble lately, and I think I’ll check in on him, just to see if I can help, um, straighten the straw-man out.’

Bolton then made his way out of the room leaving the three men in wake of what happened.

‘What just happened.’

Jervis asked.

‘It seems, my dear boys, change is once again in the air.’

Oswald queried.

‘The more you take, the more I become.’

Edward declared. Silence.

‘A hole, Gentlemen, we have found ourselves in a hole. Let’s us just hope it does not turn into our grave’s.’

‘At present Edward, I believe only Jonathan has to worry about that.’

to be continued

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artemis-entreri · 5 years

Photo

[[ This post contains Part 1 of my review/analysis of the Forgotten Realms/Drizzt novel, Boundless, by R. A. Salvatore. As such, the entirety of this post’s content is OOC. ]]

Genre: Fantasy

Series: Generations: Book 2 | Legend of Drizzt #35 (#32 if not counting The Sellswords)

Publisher: Harper Collins (September 10, 2019)

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Additional Information: Artwork for the cover of Boundless and used above is originally done by Aleks Melnik. This post CONTAINS SPOILERS. Furthermore, this discussion concerns topics that I am very passionate about, and as such, at times I do use strong language. Read and expand the cut at your own discretion.

Contents:

Introduction

I. Positives (you are here) I.1 Pure Positives I.2 Muddled Positives

II. Mediocre Writing Style II.1 Bad Descriptions II.2 Salvatorisms II.3 Laborious "Action"

III. Poor Characterization III.1 "Maestro" III.2 Lieutenant III.3 Barbarian III.4 "Hero" III.5 Mother

IV. World Breaks IV.1 Blinders Against the Greater World IV.2 Befuddlement of Earth and Toril IV.3 Self-Inconsistency IV.4 Dungeon Amateur IV.5 Utter Nonsense

V. Ego Stroking V.1 The Ineffable Companions of the Hall V.2 Me, Myself, and I

VI. Problematic Themes VI.1 No Homo VI.2 Disrespect of Women VI.3 Social-normalization VI.4 Eugenics

VII. What's Next VII.1 Drizzt Ascends to Godhood VII.2 Profane Redemption VII.3 Passing the Torch VII.4 Don't Notice Me Senpai

Positives

I've found that the untrammeled positive elements of Boundless exclusively have to do with solid turns of phrase peppered throughout the book. There are also semi-positives in terms of characterizations and literary devices that Salvatore uses, but these are at best mixed.

Pure Positives

Salvatore pulls off some surprisingly good descriptions in Boundless through the usage of a more varied vocabulary than his standard repertoire, evocative imagery, compelling metaphors, and other effective strategies. An example of a good passage is, "The demon responded with a word of its own, a croaking, grating combination of hard syllables that sounded to Regis like a porcupine being rubbed across the flesh of a giant frog." in normal Salvatore tradition, the description would've been left without the metaphor. Heck, I'm not even sure that "croaking" and "grating" would've been employed in regular Salvatore fashion. In addition to speaking to the imagination, the metaphor evokes the fantastical nature of the world, a world where giant frogs exist, ones that wouldn't simply rupture when a porcupine is rubbed against them. Furthermore, the metaphor harmonizes with the adjective earlier in the sentence, for even though the frog is not the thing doing the croaking, "croaking" matches frog, just as grating matches porcupine quills.

Another example of solid writing in Boundless can be found here, "Every syllable hit Rethnorel the way the flowing breath of a speaker might make the flame of a candle blow back." Like the previous example, this one combines the usage of a noun associated with an uncommon adjective and demonstrative imagery to good effect. The metaphor shows us that the character is buffeted in an almost soft manner, for such is the flicker of a candle, but it is a continuous assault. A line that is almost too good to imagine coming from Salvatore is, "...scurrying along like a pair of giant rats fleeing the purring pursuit of a hungry displacer beast." This description is short, concise, and yet contains so many effective elements: "scurrying" instead of "running", the alliteration in "purring pursuit", and of course, alluding to a unique creature specific to the world. Putting all of these elements together paints an expressive image of an earnest and high-speed chase, the predator full of pleased anticipation but the necessity of its hunt not allowing its contentment to tamper its progress.

A passage that I wish every Salvatore paragraph could emulate is this one, "Even the way she talked grated on him, every bitten-off word making him feel like someone was running the bark of an old and gnarly oak tree down the back of his neck. It seemed like this drow woman could barely get the words out of her mouth, so tight was her jaw, and when they did come out, they carried the hissing timbre of an open fire in a downpour." The standard Salvatore version of this would be something along the lines of, "Even the way she talked grated on him. Every word was bitten off tightly", which, granted is more concise than what was published, but falls far from embodying the soul of wit in its brevity. The imagery in the published metaphor more than lets us hear the way the female character talks, it lets us feel it. So, too, can we feel what it'd be like to try to talk while our jaws are locked. "Hissing timbre" is a beautiful description on its own, but combined with inciting a sound that everyone can at least imagine, even if they may not have heard firsthand, results in a punchy and effective description. An example of another effective description, and one that doesn't make use of a metaphor is, "Some time later, they lay beside each other, the soft glow of candlelight catching pinpricks of sparkle in the beads of sweat they both wore." Sweat is not normally an attractive feature, even when it's associated with a sexy scene. The way that this imagery is presented however invokes a sense of soft decadence, as though the characters were covered with a delicate and exotic garment strewn with countless pearls. The many sparkles from this "garment" help to further set the romantic mood far more than the soft candlelight would have done by itself. Although the description, "bag of demonic despair", doesn't look like much when presented by itself, and isn't as strong as the preceding examples, it's worth a mention because of how it adequately serves as a concise summary. The object that it refers to is Entreri enveloped in an unbreakable cocoon that an unknown demon trapped him in. The word "cocoon" shows up many times in relation to this object, and admittedly, is an concise, if a bit bland, way to describe the object from both within and without. Inside the encasement, Entreri is held in a state of perpetual torment, whilst outside Dahlia, and to a much lesser extent, Regis, are worrying about his condition. Perhaps "demonic" could be replaced with another adjective but overall I'm fine with the way it is, for anything referring more to Entreri's suffering might run the risk of sounding melodramatic.

"Running stride" is also worth noting because in a world that doesn't use the same units of measurements that we do, it's always jarring when inches, feet, and miles are cited, especially when readers of the text hail from countries that aren’t the US. Without the known common terms, it is understandably difficult to effectively convey distances in a concise and comprehensible way, so units of measurements like this example are wonderful because they use something that we all understand, and do so without breaking immersion.

Tasteful omission is as important as smart inclusion. I'd criticized Salvatore for trying too hard in Timeless by using "fashioned" in in awkward way, and he's dropped this altogether in Boundless. By the same token, "six hundred pounds of panther" doesn't appear at all. Salvatore's favorite adjectives, "magnificent" and "fine", are both used better in Boundless. The former appears thirteen times in Boundless but unlike in Timeless, the usage of most of them aren't vague and lazy ways of characterizing splendid objects, characters, or actions. Six of those thirteen usages can maybe be improved still, but that is already a huge positive change from the fourteen out of seventeen occurrences in Timeless. Meanwhile, "fine" appears fifty times, but many of that is part of modifiers like finer, finest, etc, and through a cursory scan, by itself, relatively few are used in inane ways.

Muddled Positives

Aside from the examples in diction above, Boundless does contain praiseable elements, specifically even in areas where I usually criticize Salvatore. There are moments of decent, even good, characterization, and some of the negative potential I'd feared Timeless was leading towards are not realized in Boundless. Furthermore, there are improvements to be found in the themes that Salvatore employs, and some descriptors stand up to fact-checking.

One of my biggest criticisms of Salvatore is that he routinely disrespects what I describe as the beautiful tapestry of the Realms, which was woven together by the hands of many creatives who worked in harmony. In Boundless, the amount that Salvatore insensitively scribbles his name in Sharpie over the tapestry is reduced. Ironically, sometimes Salvatore scribbles over the portions of the tapestry that he'd worked with others to create, but in Boundless, he doesn't perpetuate this disservice to both himself and others as much as he has in the past. For better or worse, Salvatore did create a lot of information about drow, though his work is mostly limited to the city of Menzoberranzan. While the Drizzt books contain the most drow content than any other FR novel series, they've done so through their sheer volume, and they mainly portrayed the drow in a one-dimensional fashion. Just as there are many more drow settlements than the fanatic Menzoberranzan, so too, are even Menzoberranzanyr drow capable of qualities other than scheming self-service in the name of dedication to Lolth. In Boundless, we see more dimensions to the drow characters presented. Zaknafein is not the only drow in Menzoberranzan who possesses a moral compass. Loyalties born of motivations other than pride exist beyond the Do'Urden bloodline, with familial concern and the kind of love that'd been described as being unknown to drow inspiring or dissuading murderous deeds. In previous books, the closest that we got to "non-evil" drow were drow who had the potential to be good, perhaps even living for awhile in a goodly way, but eventually and inevitably squandering that potential. For example, Drizzt's sister Vierna was not as cruel as the other Do'Urden females, but ultimately, through trying to seduce her own brother and then turning a different brother into a drider, turned out to be just as bad as the rest of the Lolthites. Another similar example could be found with Tos'un Armgo, whom although having created a family with a surface elf, ultimately participated in the murder of his own family and returning himself and his daughter to the depraved society of Menzoberranzan.

In Boundless, although the priestess Dab'nay Tr'arach follows a course similar to Tos'un, her path is much more nuanced, and although she squanders her morality for station, she does so with great ambivalence and regret. Dab'nay's house is long destroyed, with she and her siblings' surnames changed to reflect this. She stands to gain nothing by preserving members of her bloodline, but nonetheless, she endangers her own life to see that her brother isn't killed, a selfish thought of rebuilding her long-lost house not at all factoring in to her concern for her kin. It is also clear from actions such as Dab'nay running her finger playfully along the top of Zaknafein's nose while telling him that he, not his services, were worth waiting for, that the feelings that she develops for him are more than those a female in a matriarchal society entertains towards a favored pet or sex object. Dab'nay allows her vulnerability to show in Zaknafein's presence and does not conceal the tears she sheds for the way that they must live their lives. She also fears for Zaknafein's safety even though she'd arguably stand to gain from his demise, and feels guilt for implicating him negatively for the sake of her own survival. Before the Generations trilogy, these qualities were not possible in any genuine or long-lasting way in any priestesses of Lolth, not even a disgraced one. Prior, a disgraced priestess who isn't killed or turned into a drider would become even more dangerous, with having nothing to lose by concentrating the proverbial venom in her veins.

Dab'nay isn't the only Menzoberranzanyr drow who demonstrates the capacity for multiple dimensions in Boundless. So, too, does Harbondair Tr'arch and Arathis Hune. Harbondair possesses the same familial loyalty as Dab'nay, and, like his sister, possesses the ability to genuinely overcome past prejudices. Despite Zaknafein having destroyed his house and despite Zaknafein issuing him a death threat should he attempt to harm him again, Harbondair grows to develop a real friendship with Zaknafein. Arathis, while definitively more "evil" than the Tr'arch siblings, is motivated by more than his rank in Bregan D'aerthe to eventually go to a head against Zaknafein. It's never stated that Arathis' rivalry with Zaknafein isn't based solely in Arathis feeling threatened in his second-in-command position. However, from the way that Arathis is described to behave while Zaknafein is absent, Arathis appears to be motivated by jealousy that he's no longer Jarlaxle's favorite and most trusted follower. Jarlaxle makes it abundantly clear on numerous occasions that he considers Zaknafein and Arathis equally valuable, hence why he prohibited either from trying to kill the other, so were Arathis worried about his position in the mercenary band, he needn't have gone so far because he and Zaknafein were equals in that regard but Zaknafein was definitely his better in combat. However, there can only be one favorite, a fact that Arathis couldn't engineer, but because he could ignore it when Zaknafein was away, his mood was noticeably better when he was the only lieutenant by Jarlaxle's side. It's actually quite pleasant that Salvatore didn't spell out the nature of Arathis' motivations, the way that Arathis is successful in that it is shown and not told to us. Unfortunately, Arathis' fate is soon met, which is probably for the best, as this lets him safely fall into the "gets killed off before too many books ruin him" category that I'd previously (and prematurely) populated with Zaknafein.

Although the Boundless version of Jarlaxle continues to be consistent with the Timeless version of Jarlaxle, ergo de-fanged to his current timeline self rather to the much more morally ambiguous character he was in the earlier Drizzt books, there is a comical and memorable scene in Boundless that is true to Jarlaxle's irrepressible humor even whilst in the middle of delivering a solemn ultimatum. While forbidding Zaknafein from going after Arathis Hune, Jarlaxle manages to bring a smile to the very angry weapons master by assuring him that in any other circumstance, "I promise you, if we two were trapped in a cave alone and starving, I would not kill you. But if you died first, I cannot promise that I wouldn't eat you."

There are improvements in Boundless even when it comes to the less morally gray drow of Menzoberranzan. One such individual that gets a more profound treatment is Mez'Barris Del'Armgo, the future Matron Mother of the second house of Menzoberranzan. During Boundless, her mother holds that title, and House Barrison Del'Armgo is far from its destined ranking. High Priestess Mez'Barris, the most promising member of her house, has her position recognized by being the only one allowed to copulate with the strange and giant Uthegentel, a dubious honor that the other priestesses aren't interested in anyway. Other priestesses tease Mez'Barris' preference of Uthegentel because "it was unusual, almost unheard of, for a drow woman to be attracted to a man so physically superior to her". However, "Mez'Barris couldn't deny the thrill she felt when Uthgentel so easily tossed her up upon his hips, holding her aloft while he took her, never tiring. He threw her about as if she were a child, but he knew how to throw her indeed!" Other than the more than slightly disturbing analogy to a child in the context of a sexual setting, which really could've been better done comparing Mez'Barris to anything else, a rag doll maybe, or heck, even an animal, there are a lot of things going on in the description of Mez'Barris and Uthegentel's relationship dynamic that are pretty outstanding for Salvatore. First, it is made clear in no uncertain terms that Uthegentel's size is unusual, which directly addresses the misconception that elves in the Forgotten Realms are larger than humans. Elves are larger than humans in worlds such as Middle-Earth and Azeroth, but this is not generally the case on Toril. Second, Boundless specifically states with regards to Uthegentel, "He was stronger than the women, too -- another anomaly among the drow -- and was easily the strongest dark elf in the city. Even with magical assistance, other men could not match him, and even with Lolth-blessed spells of physical enhancement, other women couldn't, either." An extremely too-oft practice among the many people who love the very popular drow race is to ascribe Earth human characteristics to them: that the males are usually bigger than the females. Drow of the Forgotten Realms, like many animals of our world, are a species in which the females are larger and stronger than the males. The aspect that stands out the most about Mez'Barris and Uthegentel is a message about reversed gender roles and how, by conforming to the norm, one might miss out on some very exciting experiences. I don't really dare hope that this is a message that Salvatore was consciously conveying, but it would be pretty awesome if it was intentional on his part. Taking that message and reversing the genders for our patriarchal world, if Salvatore could encourage the idea that men do not become any less masculine when they break conventional ideologies of what a man should be, I would be willing to consider putting serious effort into building him a pedestal, and even gazing upon it favorably from time to time.

There's one other thing going on with Mez'Barris with relation to Uthegentel, specifically, "as it pertains to the other priestesses' teasing, "'How can you be with a man who is stronger than you?' most women asked, seeming sincerely aghast at the thought. 'It isn't natural! Are you sure that you don't simply prefer the bed company of women?" Mez'Barris was sure." I'd actually completely overlooked this three times: as I was doing my read-through, as I was organizing my notes, and as I was reviewing my notes. It occurred to me, while I was writing the previous paragraph, that Mez'Barris' certainty about her preference of Uthegentel isn't based in anything sapphic, which, added to the fact that Boundless doesn't contain any gratuitous lesbian sex scenes means that Boundless is the first Drizzt book in quite possibly forever in which Salvatore doesn't fetishize female/female non-heterosexuality. This is, if it is what it is, HUGE. One of the things for which I regularly criticize Salvatore is how frustratingly often he drops in a female/female sex scene or has implied female/female sexytimes going on. Specifically its that this happens in a totally non-representative manner because, of course, the same treatment isn't even considered in terms of male/male representation. I've gone into this enough in the past and I'll go into it again later so there's no need to do that here, but seriously, just the fact that not once do we have anything even close to some random priestess whose name we won't remember banging this other random priestess whose name we similarly won't remember is such a large improvement. And with Mez'Barris conveying the reverse gender role ideology with Uthegentel, if Salvatore intentionally did all of this, I would totally consider, yet again, and pardon my french, building that fucking pedestal and putting him on it.

Dab'nay and Mez'Barris are two very different priestesses, but their respective scenes of intimacy are better done than such scenes in previous Drizzt books. The passion in Dab'nay and Zaknafein scenes are marked by affection, whereas in Mez'Barris and Uthegentel they're solely lustful. There is tenderness, even hints of trust, between Dab'nay and Zaknafein, whereas what's between Mez'Barris and Uthegentel is detached and mercenary. One is a silken handkerchief while the other is a stinging riding crop, and though each priestess doesn't feel jealousy that her lover is ridden by others, one willingly rents him out, while the other has thoroughly accepted that she is not entitled to possessive emotions.

The drow aren't the only characters who enjoy improved literary treatment in Boundless. The dramatis personae of the World Above receive some refreshing new dimensions. Wulfgar specifically, who has been hammered flat even prior to his resurrection, becomes more than a plot device that fights as much as he beds. Since his resurrection, the carefree barbarian has been primarily embodying getting the most out of his second life by sleeping with anyone and everyone willing to do so. In Boundless, we're told that Wulfgar has been with Penelope Harpell exclusively, even though she is a much older woman and, as Penelope herself realizes, Wulfgar can get practically any younger woman that he wants so he chooses. However, Wulfgar chooses Penelope and exclusively Penelope, because he's enamored with her confidence and authenticity. One of the things that I criticize Salvatore for is his poor handling of female characters, especially with regards to how the most redeeming features for his female characters are youth and beauty. For instance, Drizzt and Catti-brie's supposed great love has never been tested "on screen", for Catti died in her forties and was returned to Drizzt's side as a hot young thing. We never got to see how the glorious hero would've behaved as his mortal wife grew old and frail while he remained young and hale. Drizzt might've told himself that he'd never think Catti ugly, but he was never tested. Admittedly, Penelope isn't super old, but having the hunk that is young Wulfgar faithfully and exclusively stay by her side goes some distance in making up for the previous treatment and portrayal of women in the Drizzt books. The only downside to Wulfgar and Penelope is that their scenes of intimacy are awkward to the point of cringe-worthy, which suggests to me that Salvatore is writing outside of his comfort zone. Nonetheless, he's giving it an honest effort, and even though it doesn't work out, it looks to be a genuine attempt, for there aren't any contradictory messages in Wulfgar and Penelope's relationship.

Boundless is the first time that we see Dahlia up and about since Night of the Hunter. I'd feared that Salvatore was going to have Kimmuriel fix more than the damage wrought unto her by Methil El-Viddenvelp. It would've been an easy and lazy plot device, along the same lines of Idalia's Flute and the aboleth's influence in "developing" Entreri. Thankfully, Kimmuriel has not undone Dahlia's past traumas, nor even eliminated the more recent ones and the personality flaws that she has as a result of those traumas. What we see in Boundless is that Dahlia is still who she was during the Neverwinter Saga, modified by the experiences of her relationship with Entreri. As we follow Dahlia through a Waterdhavian nobles' ball, in addition to learning more about her through her thoughts, we're able to glean additional information through her physical appearance. Most of those details that are mentioned in the past, but certainly don't hurt to see repeated. For instance, "She was tall for an elf, nearly six feet, with black hair that she dyed with streaks of cardinal red." Specifics like height tend to be vague in Salvatore's writing, for after so many books it's clear that he can't keep track of his own details, so it's good to see Dahlia's, and even better that, once again, Salvatore reminds the readers that elves in Toril tend to be short. It's good to see that Dahlia still wears the diamonds she'd accrued from her years of being a black widow, for even though she's abandoned those practices, she hasn't abandoned her past and who she was. Furthermore, she now wears her hair in the manner that she'd use for her softer guise when she was with Drizzt, except this is presumably neither an illusion nor as a result of trying to manipulate Entreri as she did with it and Drizzt. It's a subtle reminder of how things have changed for her in a lasting way.

In the previous books, we'd only seen Dahlia be angry, vindictive, selfish and petty. Although I'd always liked her more than any of Salvatore's other female characters, my opinion regarding Dahlia is an unpopular one. Dahlia felt very much like a character that Salvatore wrote for readers to hate. In Boundless, he appears to be trying to make her more than that. During the ball, Dahlia is comical, even silly, both of which can begin to endear a reader to a character. Throughout the rest of the book, Dahlia exhibits courage and loyalty so steadfast that it's easy to forget that she was once a villainous character, but she doesn't do so in such a way as to come across as goody two-shoes either. Dahlia is still very much not a goodly character, nor should she be at this point. Unfortunately, there exists a rather large problem with Dahlia, and that is her relationship with Entreri. In just as artificial as a way that it started, so, too, are we told more than that we're shown, namely, that Entreri had overcome his childhood demons and is now helping her overcome hers. The thing is, that whole plot with how Entreri overcame his demons by doing Drizzt-like good deeds doesn't ring true at all, and we're not shown how Entreri has been helping Dahlia overcome her own demons. I doubt we ever will, but I'll discuss the poor handling of Entreri in this book later. For now, I will add that I thought it was a good touch by Salvatore to have the apartment shared by the couple to be located in the Southern Ward of Waterdeep. The Southern Ward is, as of fifth edition D&D and the current timeline (~1490s DR), is no longer the poor ward that it used to be, which is very fitting for Entreri because he wouldn't want to live in the grimy Dock Ward or the destitute Field Ward any more than he'd want to live in the aristocratic Sea Ward, the Watch-infested Castle Ward, or the noble-infested North Ward. The Southern Ward is inhabited by common folk instead of hoity-toity nobles, with a good portion of its population hailing from southern Faerûn. Although Entreri's Calishite heritage is not given much treatment in the Drizzt novels, it would make sense if, even with his rough and austere childhood, that associations of home would bring some degree of comfort or at least familiarity. Waterdeep's Southern Ward is home to some of the best singers of Calishite music and probably the best examples of Calishite cuisine. The location of homes above stables or around inn yards allows us to accept that Entreri would have been able to ensure a good sightline of the goings-on around his domicile, likely a necessity for one of Entreri's nature. The only downside to all of this is that Salvatore calls the Southern Ward the "South Ward", a nomenclature that only fools would use, according to Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion.

The best-developed member among the resurrected Companions of the Hall is Regis/Spider Parrafin, and this continues to be the case in Boundless. In the past, I'd criticized Salvatore on numerous occasions about how his heroes perform a lot more questionable actions on screen than do his villains. In the travesty of the series, Hero, I'd specifically noted that Regis and Wulfgar kicking people who were already lying down to be decidedly not heroic, even if the victims of said kicking were highwaymen. In Boundless, Regis doesn't do anything of the sort. No, in fact, he actually performs what would be a humbling or even degrading act himself by normal Salvatore standards, and conveys a surprising and important message thereby. Much like how I'm uncertain that the message conveyed by Mez'Barris and Uthegentel is intentional, I'm not sure if this is the case with Regis, but Regis admits to using his looks to get what he wants, which is unfortunately a strategy traditionally attributed to women alone, both inside and outside of Salvatore's books. When Regis states to Dahlia, "Because I do the same thing, as does my lovely wife, Donnola" as he points out that Dahlia knows how to use her looks to gain an advantage in her negotiations, he, in my mind, is performing a much more admirable feat than slaying a hundred rampaging ogres singlehandedly. Humility is a mark of any true hero, and although Drizzt and his companions are supposed to possess tons of humility along with other virtuous qualities, we see so little of those qualities. Instead, much of their actions are full of sanctimony and self-satisfaction. Another thing that was done well with Regis is his reaction to being in Entreri's presence. Despite the significantly de-fanged current nature of Entreri, and Regis' intellectual knowledge that the assassin wouldn't hurt him, Regis struggles to suppress the fear he feels in Entreri's presence. This is one of the few instances in which Salvatore correctly portrays trauma. Regis has more than enough reason to behave the way that he does, Entreri inflicted significant distress in his previous life, and, as Regis notes, "Was there any amount of time and any number of deeds that could fully erase that?" Regis' musing is at the core of many trauma victims' journey to recovery. Furthermore, there is no contrived PTSD in Regis' experiences like was the case with Drizzt in Hero. Accurate, too, is the way that Regis' struggle is focused on the stub of his pinky, with which he fidgets while fighting to hold his voice steady. This shows us rather than telling us that Artemis Entreri is still very much a trigger for Regis, and speaks more to Regis' courage in facing that trigger than had he been the one facing down Demogorgon in Menzoberranzan.

Those are the major positives in terms of characterization and literary devices employed in Boundless. There are also good points dispersed among the descriptions and interactions with lesser characters and incidental elements. While we're not quite sure what the demon possessing the little girl named Sharon is (or if it's a demon at all), Salvatore did a decent job of making Sharon unsettling and creepy under the creature's influence. It's also refreshing to see intrigue in a Drizzt book that isn't confined to Menzoberranzan. Although Salvatore doesn't do the intrigues of Waterdeep justice, he does make an effort to include them, and even if he doesn't show us a great amount of it, I appreciate the nod that he gives to its complexity through indicating that despite months spent in the City of Splendors, one as acute as Entreri hasn't been able to unravel the mysteries he'd been tasked to solve. Unfortunately, there's a total hiatus from the further development of the Neverember plot. The final thing that I wanted to mention for this section is a detail, that, although minor, stood up to fact-checking, which delighted me. A lot of Salvatore's action scenes and descriptions, despite going into overlong detail, are often impractical or simply incorrect. Towards the end of Boundless, we see Drizzt running with everything he's got, "his arms pumping for maximum momentum in the desired direction". I'm not a runner, so I had to research this, but I was ecstatic to find that pumping one's arms does actually help one run faster! Bravo, Salvatore!

That concludes the positive-oriented analysis of Boundless. From this point onward, I'll be performing my brutally critical and honest breakdown of the novel. Fair warning, it's not going to be pretty, because Boundless isn't. Sit tight though, and I'll tell you all the ways that it was bad in excruciating detail, for better or worse.

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