#the first starvation showed up at very much Not the place i wanted but i managed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

billlydear · 1 year

Text

BASIC BIOLOGY - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART TWO) | PART ONE | PART THREE

word count: 7396 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

Summary: you're paired with billy for a biology project. you only visit his house once, but it's enough for you to understand why he doesn't want you to come over again. when he starts showing up more and more in your life, you realize that it's basic biology: you were made for him, and he was made for you.

Contents: graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of injuries, angst, fluff, happy ending

A/N: i hope you like this chapter! Billy and his love starvation seem like they’d latch onto the first real love they get, and I tried to establish that here. Please let me know what you think! 💞

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

You don’t expect to see Billy again for a while. Even though he’d thanked you, sincerely, awestruck, you hadn’t suffered through the tense car ride for nothing. He clearly didn’t want to talk to you about it, and he assumes you’ll pry.

You don’t really blame him, either. Because you want to pry. You want to beg for information, plead with him to give you a rundown of what hurts and where, so that you can fix it all. And then you want to pry about any particular allergies of his father’s, so that you can serve him shellfish pasta and make his death look like an accident.

It turns out, though, that you see him the very next day.

You don’t have your own car, nor can you even drive. You’re scared of it, of the thought of that much mechanical power granted to a simple human being, and you’d much rather walk or take the bus anyways. Your bike has a flat tire, or you’d be using it to ride back from the store.

All you’d picked up was a bottle of coke and a pack of gum - juicy fruit. The coke sweats a stain through the pocket of your jeans, but it’s secure, and not grating callouses against your fingertips with its puckered cap. All you hear is the thundering roar of cars speeding down the street next to you, your feet slamming against the pavement as you power walk home.

You’re only ten minutes out, in the final stretch, when you hear a particularly loud engine. It’s gotta be from a muscle car, and you wait for it to pass so that you can look without being obvious. But it doesn’t pass, the engine revs and then chugs once more, slowing to a stop right beside you.

You’re not in the practice of looking over at cars that stop next to you on the road, something eerie about the situation. But when you hear a newly-familiar voice say your name, you stop in your tracks.

“Y/N,” Billy calls, leaning over the empty passenger’s seat to brace his hand on the open window, “Hey, you need a ride?”

His face is red. It’s subtle, and you think that maybe there’s- is that makeup over it? Either way, you know there’s a mark, and you know why there’s a mark.

“Uh,” You stammer, glancing ahead at the sidewalk, “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Where are you going?” He raises an eyebrow, “Aren’t you hot?”

“A little,” You become hyper aware of the sweat sticking to your forehead, the stickiness of your socks against your feet, “It’s fine, though. It’s only, like, ten minutes home.”

“Just get in,” He squints up at you, the sun in his eyes, “I’m heading that way anyways.”

“Okay..” You comply, ducking down to step off of the curb and fit yourself into his camaro, “Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Not at all,” He straightens up from where he’d been leaning out the window so that you can sit down, but he braces his hand on the back of your headrest. He uses it as leverage to look behind him to make sure he’s not pulling out into traffic, and when it’s safe, he peels away from the curb in what you now know is typical Billy fashion. Tires squealing, engine revving, confidence in his eyes.

“So,” You hum, digging the coke bottle out of your pocket so that you don’t smash it, “Why are you gonna be over by my place?”

“Oh,” he laughs, shaking his head, “I’m not. I just lied, knew you wouldn’t get in unless I said that.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, “Billy! You lied!”

“And,” He grins, nodding and readjusting his hands on the wheel as he turns you around a corner, “It worked, didn’t it? And now you’ve got a ride.”

“Thank you, Billy,” At your words you remember his own from the night prior, stiffening slightly in your seat, “Um, are you.. okay? Last night was.. Intense.”

“Yeah,” He takes a moment to answer, but when he does his voice is stronger than it was last night. He keeps himself preoccupied with ducking slightly to check his blind spot, “It’s nothing. I’m, uh- I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re okay, though.” You mumble, “Does it hurt?”

“Seriously,” He shakes his head, his curls flying around his shoulders, “Doesn’t matter. Just.. forget about it, okay?”

“Billy,” You gush, wanting so badly to respect his wishes for the sake of not starting an argument. But how were you supposed to forget possibly the scariest experience of your life?

“I’m not going to go around town blabbing,” You swear, “But don’t you think we should tell someone?”

“No,” He insists, voice sharp, “Because if he doesn’t get hauled in, then I get my ass beat, maybe even killed. And if he does get hauled in, then I’m the man of the house. And my summer job barely pays for the gas money it takes to get there, and Max is too young to work, and Susan probably doesn’t even want me, so then I’d be out on my ass, and- just.. No. It wouldn’t work.”

He’s heated now, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. His chest heaves with the breaths he wasn’t taking when he was rambling, and you let him catch up before you talk again.

“Okay,” You take care to keep your voice calm and soothing, “Okay, yeah, that makes sense. I won’t tell anyone, Billy, not if you don’t want me to. But.. but something has to give, y’know? I meant what I said last night,” You fiddle with the ridges on the cap of your coke bottle, “Come over anytime.”

He meets your eye in the rear view mirror, and no words are needed. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that’s reflected in his own, and beneath the cockiness that he slathers over himself, you see sincerity peeking through. He nods and it’s grateful, hopeful, even.

“You want a burger?” He sniffs, scrunching his nose and changing the subject. His hands are prying at the wheel, turning the car down a road before you can respond, but you’ve got leftover cash from the convenience store, so you nod.

“Sure,” You nod, “Uh, I guess I don’t owe you pizza money anymore.”

“No,” You’re glad that he takes it as a joke, instead of a painful reminder of the night before, “Max should be the one paying me, Jesus, I mean she ate half the box.”

“She’s a growing girl,” You scold him, “She needs her nutrients.”

“Oh, yeah, melted cheese and greasy pepperoni, real nutritious.” He scoffs, but there’s a smile on his face, “What’s your order, Doctor Nutrient?”

You’re tempted to order a salad just to fuck with him. But you don’t, you let out a breathy laugh and recite your burger preference. He nods, pulling up to the window of the only drive-thru fast food restaurant in town.

Part of you is that glad that you don’t go inside, and part of you is crushed.

On one hand, you’re sweaty from walking, and you probably don’t look your best because of it. You don’t feel like being in the public eye right now, you feel like curling up on your couch and relaxing for the rest of the day.

But on the other hand, what is Billy feeling? Part of you, deep inside, a horrid little piece that wants to make you sad, tells you that he’s not going to go into a burger place with you because he’s embarrassed to be seen with you. That you do look sweaty and gross, and that he’s not going to risk his reputation for some girl in his biology class. You thought you’d had a sort of breakthrough with him, unlocked some part of him that no one else had, because of those minutes stuck hiding in his closet. You’d thought you were maybe even friends, not just partners for class.

But he orders and pays for a meal to-go, and you’re silent as his wheels screech against the asphalt as he pulls into a parking space.

“Here,” He hands you the tray that they’d given you, spreading a meager, flimsy napkin over his lap in its absence, “You take that, and just keep my fries in there while I eat this.”

“We can share it,” You offer, scrambling to balance the tray on the divider between your seats, but he pushes it back into your lap with a shake of his head and a large, strong hand, “No, no, don’t worry about it. One of us should have an easy lunch.”

“Thanks,” You murmur, choosing to stuff your mouth with burger instead of voice any of your internal monologue out loud. You eat in silence for a few bites, blaming it on your mouthful of food instead of your awkward reservations. But he glances over to get a fry, and sees you staring out the windshield, lost in space.

“Is yours drugged or something?” He teases, elbowing you gently in the side, “You’re zoning out, hard.”

“Oh,” You take a deep breath, chewing the last of your burger and swallowing it, picking at your fries, “No, I think I’m just tired from walking.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s good I picked you up, then. Where were you even walking?”

“Corner store,” You mumble around a mouthful of burger, “I wanted a coke. Oh,” You remember, sticking a hopefully-clean hand into your pocket to retrieve your cash, “Here, for the burger.”

“‘S fine,” He waves you off, “It was, like, two bucks. Don’t sweat it.”

“Billy,” You huff, “Just let me pay you back!”

“No,” He drawls, sipping from his fountain drink, “Stop arguing, or I’ll kick you out of the car.”

You fall silent, neglecting to remind him that you weren’t in his car to begin with.

“So,” His eyes flash over the stereo, and he breaks the momentary lull in conversation, “What kind of music are you into?”

“Anything, really,” You shrug, “I like it all.”

“Even pop?” His nose wrinkles, and he stares accusatorily at you from his seat.

“Pop’s fine,” You nod, “Classical is only nice when I’m trying to study.”

“Classi- Like, piano and shit? Jesus,” He laughs incredulously, “Are you ninety?”

“Hey,” Your mouth falls open, and you fall easily into teasing banter with him, “Classical music is not for old people! It’s for people who need music on to study but get distracted by lyrics.”

“Metal’s good for that, too,” He reaches across the center divider to snatch a fry from the tray, “It’s, like, 90% guitar, and half the lyrics don’t even make sense, anyways. Nothing to pay attention to.”

“I’m not surprised you like metal,” You hum, “Did a Mötley Crüe tape come with this car?”

“No,” He insists, and you catch the flash of his grin from the side of your eye, “I bought it on the way back from the dealership.”

He doesn’t want to drown out your giggles with music, so he waits until you take another bite to pop a tape in.

“That’s real music,” He boasts as the sound blares to life, “None of that violin shit.”

“I like metal,” You promise him, foot tempted to tap to the beat of the drums, “It’s just not all I listen to.”

“Yeah, well it’s gonna be all you listen to in here,” He assures you, “I’m gonna turn you into a diehard.”

“You have all of, what, twenty minutes?” You laugh, “Billy, how often do you think I’m gonna be in your car?”

“Whenever you want,” He shrugs, “You think I’m gonna let you haul your ass around town without a car?”

“Billy,” You frown, swallowing roughly to stare suspiciously at him, “What are you talking about? You barely even know me, why are you acting like my chauffeur all of a sudden?”

“Barely even know you-” He scoffs, jamming a fry into the ketchup that’s pooled on your tray, “We’re friends, dumbass. That’s how friendship works, right? We do shit for each other?”

Your heart thuds to your stomach. Friends? An hour ago you wouldn’t have even called Billy Hargrove your acquaintance. Sure, you knew each other. Hell, you probably knew more about him than anyone else in school. But not because he told you, because you found out. It was an accident, a fluke, a mistake. He didn’t tell you on purpose, so it didn’t mean you were close. But maybe you were, maybe his borderline kidnapping of you was because he cared, because he liked you.

“Yeah,” You decide, “Yeah, we’re friends. And that’s what friends do. I just.. I can’t offer you much, can I? I mean, shit, you won’t even let me give you a $5 for lunch.”

His eyes narrow, and you’re nervous you said something wrong. He huffs out a sigh, jaw tightening, “Jesus, Y/N, are you gonna make me spell it out?”

“What?”

“You offered me a place to stay,” He mumbles, glaring daggers at his keys in the ignition, “That’s.. A lot, okay? And I appreciate it.” He says it almost angrily, and if you weren’t so taken aback, you might have laughed.

“So I don’t mind dumping you where you need to be. Or spotting you for lunch.”

“Thank you,” You echo his sentiment from last night, hoping that even though they’re about a burger and not a home, they’re just as sincere, “Thanks, Billy.”

“Don’t mention it,” He grumbles, stuffing the rest of his burger into his mouth so that he doesn’t have to speak.

Being friends with Billy Hargrove is interesting. He’s brash, abrasive, but he cares in his own way, you find out, when he stops hard at a red light and throws his arm out over your chest.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, gruff and stiff, “You okay?”

“Fine,” You nod, a little breathless from how the seat belt had rubbed against your skin, “You can pull over here, if you want. I can run around the back, it’s unlocked already.”

“I’m not dropping you off at the curb,” He scoffs, “I think I can manage your driveway.”

“Fine,” You tease, “I was just trying to make it easier for you.”

A small smile curves over his lips at your tone, and you know he’s not upset. You’re starting to realize that being friends with Billy is easy, as soon as you accept that he can be harsh. He’s not the type of friend to gush about feelings, you don’t think, preferring to quip back and forth, and you can handle that.

He pulls into your driveway, and spots a familiar red car parked three houses down.

“You’re neighbors with Harrington?” His eyes shade over with something that can’t be good, considering his well-known feelings towards the other boy.

“No,” You shake your head, “No, that’s his friend’s house. He just drives him around sometimes, I think. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

You shoot him a grin as your head rests against the headrest of your seat, and he can’t argue with that. He rolls his eyes despite the growing grin on his lips, and he reaches over to shove you.

“Get out of my car,” He groans, “And- here,” He tears a shred of napkin off of the leftover stash from lunch, digging for a pen to scrawl his number, “Call me whenever you need a ride. Or good music to listen to.”

“I’m gonna go study to Chopin,” You leer at him from your front steps, and he lunges, reaching out the driver’s side window to reach for you. You shriek, jumping out of the way before he can grab you, and it pulls a long, hearty laugh from his chest.

“Take it,” He reaches into his glove compartment to pull out a tape, red-and-black designs etched over the front, “I’m not driving away until I hear it blasting from your window,”

“My parents are home,” You gush, fingers curling around the plastic case, “I can’t!”

“Headphones, then,” He insists, eyes alight with amusement, “I’m expecting you to know the words the next time I see you.”

It’s a hefty promise to make, but you do so with a smile on your face.

You don’t get much studying done amongst Metallica. It’s hard to focus on finishing your biology project when you recognize a song you’d heard earlier in Billy’s car, and you hum the familiar tune, thinking of the way he’d tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the drums.

You think you’ve figured him out. He’s vibrant when he knows he’s alone, when he knows he’s safe. He’d panicked hearing that car door, those voices outside. He’d been rough, jagged, hurtful. But in his element, flying down the road with music blaring from his speakers, he’d been happy. All he needs is a safe place, and you’re glad he has one, even if it isn’t his home.

Biology is easy to finish, because you only have to cover half of the slack from being sent home early last night. Billy knows which of the last two drawings to complete, and you tuck your finished ones away in your folder, pulling out a sheet of math work to tackle next. Unfortunately, it’s less simple.

Dinner comes and goes, and you’re still working by the time the sky bleeds black. You’d been using the light from the window to aid you in your homework, so when it finally covers you in enough shadow to make you squint, you give up and make for your light switch.

It flicks on with a click, and when you whirl around to settle back on your bed, there’s a face in your window. You scream, backing yourself up against the door in the split second before you recognize the features.

Billy is staring at you from the window, hand up to the glass. You hear commotion from downstairs, a quick shout of ‘Are you okay up there?’ and thundering feet towards the hallway.

“I’m fine!” You shout at the gap in the door, praying no one comes to investigate, “I’m fine, I thought I saw a spider.”

You stand there, petrified, staring at him as you wait for your parents to go away. The commotion dies down in seconds, but they feel like hours as they tick away, leaving Billy pressed to your window. When you hear the soft wheeze of a couch cushion, then the creak of bedsprings, accounting for them both, you relax, breathe out a sigh and step forwards.

Even through the glass, you can tell something is wrong. Billy’s right eye is starting to shut, and you don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. It looks swollen, and there’s a purple hue blooming over it.

You work on unlatching the window, and in doing so you press your hand flat against the glass. It lays inches north of his own print, and he shifts his hand up to meet yours on the other side of the window. It’s touching, but you don't’ have time to evaluate it when your fingers snap the latch out of place.

“Billy,” You breathe, gripping his forearm to offer him leverage while he hauls himself up and over your windowsill, “Are you okay?”

He lands on the floor in a heap, and your heart sinks.

“No.” He groans, voice soft and wheezy. When he moves he rolls to clutch his stomach, and the only solace you find is that there’s no bloodstain on his t-shirt.

“I ran,” He groans, keeping his voice just quiet enough to be inaudible from another room, “I- I didn’t have time to get in my car, I just-”

“Okay,” You watch his chest heave with the effort of speaking, bracing a hand on it gently, to stop him, “Okay, save your energy. I’m going to go get you water, and an ice pack. Then I’ll fix your face.”

He manages a weak nod, then a raspy, ‘Okay.’

You slip into the kitchen with only a sheepish grin towards the couch at your spider cover-up. Luckily for you, you’re jumpy around bugs, so it doesn’t look out of the ordinary.

You tuck the ice-pack into your pocket, and you’re wearing such a baggy sweatshirt that it’s covered up. The glass of water isn’t suspicious on its own, and you make it back to your room without any problems.

Billy has hauled himself up to sit against your bed, head tipped against the mattress. There’s still no blood, but his face is tilted towards the light now, and you see copious amounts of bruising that definitely hadn’t been there before.

“Jesus,” You breathe, reaching for his cheek. He tenses as your hand approaches, and you pull back before you can reach him. You stand there, arm outstretched, waiting. Your fingers are only inches from his face, a blotchy purple mark over his eye that spreads down his cheek like poison. You wait, for a sign, a sound, anything to let you know that it’s okay to touch him, and what you get is almost more shocking than the sight of him.

He tilts his head to the side, nudging his cheek into your hand.

“You can touch,” He croaks, breath short and hot against your palm, “I don’t bite.”

If you’ve learned anything about Billy in the past 24 hours, it’s that he doesn’t like the mushy stuff. So instead of gushing, instead of promising him that he’s safe now, that his father can’t hurt him, you say it with your touch, and shift your tone to teasing.

“Oh yeah?” You kneel beside him, brushing your thumb against the underside of his lip and smearing away wet blood there, “Melissa MacDonald says you do.”

He laughs, a short, wheezing sound, and his cheek presses further into your palm as it apples with his smile, “Yeah? Well, she asked me to.”

”Freaky girl,” You hum, eyes glued to his lip. You use the towel that you’ve wrapped around the ice pack, bunching a corner of it up and wiping it over the split skin. It morphs into a grimace when you touch it and he hisses, hand reaching up to grip your side hard.

“Sorry,” You breathe, your exhale fanning over his face, “Sorry, just- give me a second.”

When you’ve managed to get the blood off of his lip you shift your focus to his abdomen, and suddenly realize what you’re about to ask is very suggestive.

“Okay, um.. What happened to your stomach?”

“He kicked me,” Billy groans, “Boots on and all.”

“Okay,” You see a dark purple bruise spreading over his stomach from where his shirt has ridden up, and you toy with the edge of the ice pack, “Can I-? I need to see it..”

“Strip me, baby,” He chuckles weakly, “You can take it off.”

It’s a button-up, once tucked in and now rumpled from the commotion. The top buttons are undone, so it’s not hard to slip the last two out, spreading each side apart to showcase a truly horrific amalgamation of cuts and bruises.

“Ok-ay,” You hum, eyes wide in terror, “Um, this is.. A lot. Should we go to the hospital?”

“No!” His eyes flash with fear, and he grabs your wrist, “No hospitals.”

“”But-”

“But I can’t tell anyone,” He reminds you, gaze now sad and defeated, “No hospitals.”

All you can manage is a nod, tears gathering in your eyes as you stare down at his bare torso.

“Like what you see?” He drawls, and you glance up to see his lip bleeding again from how he’d smirked and torn the cut open.

“Not at all,” You admit sheepishly, reaching a hand up to press and hold the towel there, “Billy, this looks like you escaped a warzone.”

“I did,” He mumbles around the towel, “He’s the enemy.”

“What did you even do?” You ask, prodding gently at a patch of skin and apologizing profusely when his stomach tenses because of it.

“Someone.. One of our stupid neighbors,” He recalls, “Saw you last night. Said my old man must be proud I've got girls sneaking out of my window at night.”

“And… he wasn’t proud.” You grimace, pressing the ice pack to the largest bruise. It spans over most of his lower stomach, and it looks more painful than you can imagine.

“No,” Billy groans, writhing against your bed, “He was not. Didn’t even wait to get inside,” He squeezes his eyes shut, which you’re sure hurts his right one, “Just grabbed my arm and smacked me right there on the driveway. No one cared. The neighbor, he- he laughed. Thought it was all some big joke, I guess. When we got inside he pushed me over in the doorway and pummeled me. He kicked my stomach, and he-” Billy cuts himself off with a hiss of pain when you start dabbing at a scrape on his chest, “Stomped on my face. He used a fucking fireplace poker, that’s the gashes.”

“You can’t go back,” You cry, barely withholding yourself from a long, loud sob, “Please, Billy, you can’t go back there. He’ll kill you!”

“No, he won’t.” Billy heaves, shaking his head, “He wants to, I’m sure. But he knows he can’t hurt me too bad, or people’ll notice. This was a mistake, he’s gonna be more careful from now on. He might be a monster, but he’s smart.”

“But- but what if this happens again, Billy? He gets angry, real angry, and he lashes out, and he uses a fireplace poker-!” Your chest heaves with sobs that you’re barely able to withhold, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping onto his chest.

“Hey,” He shushes you, a hand over your mouth, then uses the other to wipe your tears away, “Hey! Don’t think about that,” he scolds, but you’re sure it’s meant to sound reassuring, “He’s probably freaked right now. He thinks I’m ratting him out to the cops, or something. So when I come back, he’ll be more careful. He won’t be sorry, but I don’t care about sorry anymore, I know he won’t ever be. He won’t kill me,” Billy promises you, finally dropping the hand that’s covering your mouth, “He can’t afford a body on his hands.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, blink away the tears in your eyes, and nod. He seems satisfied at your silence, watching with droopy eyes as you clean off his chest.

“I’m gonna get bandages,” You murmur, leaving the ice pack on his stomach and padding to the door, “Move it if you need to, okay?”

He manages a weak nod in return, and you make sure to shut the door behind you when you leave.

Gathering adequate medical supplies isn’t the problem, concealing them is. You have to fumble your way through tucking bandages and gauze under your shirt, and the bottle of antiseptic doesn’t fit anywhere but in your hands. You keep it tucked against your side when you rush to your room, though, and you hope no one notices.

Billy doesn’t even ask what you’re doing when you press a wet cotton ball to his injuries, and you shudder to think of all the times he’s had to patch himself up. Does he sit in his room against his own bed, drink in hand? Does he stand in the shower, soap cleaning out his wounds? Does he sneak to the freezer, pressing frozen peas to his eyes?

You sniffle, and BIlly’s thumb rubs under your nose.

You frown, ‘Gross,’ And he chuckles weakly.

“I’m covered in blood, sweat, and-” He glances down at the droplets on his chest, “Tears. You think snot crosses a line?”

“My snot does,” You grumble, laying a bandage over a scrape on his chest and biting the inside of your cheek in concentration.

“Fine,” He huffs, smearing his thumb over your cheek, “Have it back.”

“Billy-!” You gasp, hand flying off of his chest and rubbing furiously at your cheek, “Gross!”

You’d be more upset but he laughs, really, truly, genuinely, and you think that maybe you can live with it.

“Snotface,” He cracks, and if you think for a second too long about the heartfelt lilt to his voice, it sounds like a term of endearment.

It’s hard to maneuver him in order to wrap his more serious injuries in gauze, but with a little cooperation, he’s wrapped like a mummy. It’s probably a sloppy nurse job, but you’re all he’s got, and you won’t give up on him because things are hard.

It’s his face that you have the real trouble with. You squint as you scan his features, looking at bumps and bruises and scrapes and trying to assess how deep they are. Your fingers turn his face this way and that, prodding, prying, pushing, pulling, until you decide that the light from above isn’t enough to see his smaller injuries.

“I need to move you,” You speak softly, “Up onto the bed. Can you do that?”

“Help me,” He bargains, and you’re happy to lift him to his feet.

He slumps against you while upright, but it’s not long before you can push him back onto your bed. He practically melts against the mattress, letting out a guttural sigh that’s almost too loud.

With a flick of your bedside lamp he’s bathed in a soft yellow glow, face now illuminated for all its abrasions to be seen.

His split lip is the least of it, you recognize with a sinking feeling.

Leaning over his face is awkward,and it hurts him when you turn his head. You suppose his neck is sore too, and it leaves you at a standstill.

“I can’t see that side of your face,” You huff, “Could you- I mean, it hurts really bad to turn your head?”

“Sorry,” He grimaces, testing the movement out again, “Yeah. Just- sit on the bed.”

“There’s no room,” You protest weakly, his broad form filling out your twin bed, “I’ll have to turn you around, we’ll put your feet at the headboard and your head down below, but that’ll take a lot of energy, so we should just-”

“Stop talking,” He pleads, eyes heavy, “Just- get on the bed, Y/N.”

“There’s no room!” You insist once more, and he groans, sitting himself upright despite your protests.

His arm slings around your waist, surprisingly strong for the state of the rest of his body. You scramble to fight his embrace but he hauls you up and onto the mattress, your knees digging into his thigh.

“Sit on my stomach,” He instructs you, then remembers it’s bandaged, “Or- or my waist. Just- sit down.”

It feels wrong. A boy in your bed, your legs over his waist, your hand on his chest as you lean over his face. You’re careful not to press anywhere that hurts, and you dab carefully at a cut near his eye.

“I think this earns you the title of best friend,” He mumbles, his breath hitting your face and warming your nose.

“Oh, yeah? Who was my competition?” You bite your lip to stop from grinning, shifting your waist against his own so that you can reach higher on his face.

“I dunno.” He’d shrug if he wasn’t lying down, “My car, maybe? There’s a cat that hangs out behind our house.”

“I’m not as cute as a cat,” You hum absentmindedly, picturing poor Billy with a car for a best friend, “I think it’s got me beat.”

“I dunno,” Billy murmurs, reaching up to thumb at the space between your brows. It knocks your concentrated frown loose, and he chuckles at your dazed expression as you peer down at him, “I’ll call it a tie to keep the peace.”

You busy yourself putting a bandaid over the bridge of his nose so that you don’t have to look into his eyes. You’re worried about what you’ll find there, if it’ll be the scared little boy you’d seen in them last night, or a charming young man. You’re not sure how to handle either, but you smooth the sticky patches of the bandaid out over his cheeks to try and aid the former.

“Done,” You whisper, and brace your hands on his face.

“Thank you,” He hums, sincere and sweet, “Really, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” You promise, “But for your sake I hope you don’t have to come over here like this again.”

“Me too,” He laughs, a short, breathy sound, “So.. uh, you got a car?”

“No,” You shake your head, “That’s why I was walking earlier.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” He cringes, hoisting himself up onto his elbows, “I’ll have to walk back.”

“Not now!” You push a hand against his chest, gently landing him on his back again, “You- you can’t! You need rest,” You reason with him, “Please, Billy, just stay here tonight.”

“Usually the girls kick me out when their parents get home,” He jokes, his tongue poking out to run over his lips, which you’re sure are sore from the cut. You giggle breathlessly, only then realizing that you’re still straddling him.

“Uh-” You rush to slide off of his hips, landing with a thump on the floor, “Sorry. I’ll go… um, do you need a change of clothes?”

“If you’ve got something,” He tilts his head up to watch as you fumble through your closet, “If nothing fits it’s fine.”

Luckily, you find a pair of sweatpants that are cinched with a tie, as well as a particularly average sweatshirt he’ll fit into. You step out of the room so that he can change, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to need any help. You use the time to change your own clothes, and when you emerge from the bathroom, you push your bedroom door open to find him on your mattress again.

“Bed’s comfy,” He marvels, turned onto his side. He’s pressed against the wall, staring at you where you’re frozen in the doorway.

“It is,” You nod, “Enjoy it.”

“You, too.” He prompts, patting the sheets, “Get up here, Y/N.”

“No, I-”

“You just stuck your fingers in my bloody cuts,” He groans, scooting even further back against the wall with a strangled groan, “I’m not making you sleep on the fucking floor.”

Logically, you know you should argue. He’s proclaimed you as his best friend but you’ve really only known him for a day. But he’s made up his mind, closing his eyes so that he can’t even see you disagreeing. His arms are crossed, and his face is set in a stubborn frown, brows tugged together beneath a bandage on his forehead.

Though his eyes are screwed shut, he pops them open when he feels the mattress dip beside him. His frown morphs quick and easy into a grin, his arm slinging around your waist to tug you closer from where you’re practically sliding off of the bed.

“I told you,” He drawls, “I don’t bite.”

“I’m not worried about you biting, Billy.” You mumble, stiff where he’s holding you. He notices, grin dimming as he lifts his hand away.

He looks almost annoyed, “So? What is it? Are you an insomniac, or something?”

“No, Billy,” you frown, biting the inside of your cheek, “I’m not an insomniac, I’m worried. Are you okay? I’m not a nurse. And- and I’m not tired, either,” You spring out of bed, standing beside it instead of laying with him, “I’m not going to sleep.”

He lays there staring, eyes hardening over from where they’d cracked open to ooze happiness. You watch it happen, watch him change until he’s the boy you know from school, deep, cutting glares and harsh movements.

“Fine,” He huffs, fighting to keep his face straight as he presses himself up off of the mattress with his palms, “I’m gonna go. Clearly- just.. Bye.”

“No, Billy..” You rush to stop him from reaching the window but he sticks out an arm, shoving you away with the side of it. He keeps his hands off of you, and you’re grateful, but it still sends you stumbling slightly.

He hears the sound of your feet thumping clumsily. He tenses up for a moment, shoulders drawn closer to his ears and legs locking. But he feels your hand against his back, soft and slow and smooth, and with each brush of your fingers there a muscle in his body relaxes.

“Please don’t go,” You finally beg, your voice a sweet whisper. It seems to have been the wrong thing to say, because his limbs lock up again, back stiffening against your palm.

“I shouldn’t be here,” He grumbles, gruff and weak.

“Yes you should,” You assure him, “Because you got hurt, and I told you you were safe here. We’re friends, remember, Billy? That’s what friends do.”

“We’re not friends.” He scoffs, and you can feel him slipping away. Every second that you stand there, hand on his back, soothingly brushing over his tense muscles, he seems to drift away, until you’re not even sure he’s with you anymore, just a foggy silhouette on the horizon.

“You said we were friends,” You remind him, lips nearly brushing his back, “What changed? Why aren’t we friends now?”

“Because..” He starts, and you wait patiently for him to continue, rubbing lines into his back over and over again.

“Because I want.. Because- Because friends-”

“You can tell me, Billy,” You promise, testing the waters as you creep forward. Inch by inch you snake your hand around his waist, carefully avoiding the injuries you know are lurking beneath his unbuttoned shirt. When your palms meet over his stomach you lean your cheek against his back, hoping that if you can squeeze enough love into him, he’ll come back.

“This,” He hovers a hand over your own, glancing down at your touch on his skin, “This is what… friends do, right?”

“Friends hug,” You confirm, “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” He chokes out, raising a hand to his face to smear away a tear that you’re sure has slid down his cheek, “Yeah I want that. But- but you got up, so I- I didn’t want to freak you out. You obviously didn’t want to, so-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” You brush your thumb over his toned stomach, thinking about the way he’d stared at you from your bed, eyes sparkling and arms outstretched, “It’s just that… I want to do right by you, Billy. And I don’t think you get that a lot, do you?”

“No,” He rasps, and he starts to relax, back no longer tense as you practically whisper against it.

“Right, so..” You reason, biting your tongue before speaking out of nerves, “I think that you live like you drive, Billy. You blow past stop signs and you nearly run people over, you speed. You go so fast that you can’t slow down anymore, and you need someone to tell you to do that, or else you’ll crash.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I want to make sure you’re not rushing things,” You can feel his heated skin beneath your cheek, only the fabric of his shirt separating you, “You just got beat up by your dad, because of me, and I’m glad that you came here, but don’t you think that sleeping together is going pretty fast? I know we’re not like- sleeping together,” You mumble, cheeks aflame, “I just don’t want you to get ahead of yourself. You can.. You can have a hug anytime you want, and… we can sleep next to each other, too, but I need to know that you want that. That you’re doing it because you want to, and not because you think this is the only chance you’ll ever get. I’m telling you to slow down, Billy, you don’t have to rush if you don’t want to. I won’t kick you out if you don’t sleep in my bed, you don’t owe me anything for helping you, and I want to make sure that’s really what you want, and not just something you think you have to do. I… I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow with a clear head and regret it.”

By now your lips have reached his back, brushing softly against the material of his shirt as he stands by your window. It’s shut now, no one can see you from the outside, but his face is turned towards it like he’s examining the neighborhood. He’s not tense anymore, but he’s not moving either, and for a moment you’re nervous about having said the wrong thing.

“I’m not going to regret anything.” He murmurs, fingers ghosting over your own as he sets his hand over yours, “I.. I’m doing it because I want to, not because you’re the only person that’s nice to me. I’m doing it because… because I want to be-”

“You want to be…?”

“I want to be… held.” He whispers it like a curse, like he thinks the roof will cave and the floor will crack open to hell if he admits it. Your heart aches for the lonely boy, the battered son, the scared child, and you squeeze him gently in a hug.

“Okay,” You nod, and you know he feels it against his back, “I’ll hold you, Billy. Get back in bed, I’ll hold you.”

This time he’s less confident; not as suave. He turns towards you with a trepidatious expression, eyes tracking your every move like he thinks you’re going to give up the joke, turn, point, and laugh at him. But you don’t, of course, instead you hoist a leg up onto your bed and lay down clumsily beside him.

The mattress isn’t big enough for the both of you, so it’s a good thing you’ve agreed to hold him. You’re not really sure how to initiate it, you just simply leave yourself open, uncovered, waiting.

“Where can I touch you?” He glances up at your face, expression clouded with nerves.

“Anywhere,” You say without thinking, then stammer to fix your mistake, “I mean- I mean not like anywhere, just- anywhere.. PG.”

“Okay,” He chuckles, eyes once more heavy with sleep, “I won’t feel you up, I promise.”

When he braces a hand at your waist, cautious, unsure, you wonder if he’s ever not felt anyone up. Has he ever laid beside anyone before, just for love? Not for sex, not for lust, but for calm?

He looks nervous to continue, so you lean into it. You roll yourself onto your side, slinging his arm that’s on your hip to lay over your back. He scoots forward to meet you in the middle, and with a hand on the back of his head, you guide his face to press against your neck. His chin bumps your shoulder, and he nestles it there snugly. It means that his eyelashes brush your neck, that his lips part to release a shaky breath against your collarbones, and his curls tickle your chin.

“Is this good?” You ask, your voice a murmur into the crown of his head. He nods, and the action knocks his head into your cheek. He mumbles out a hasty, ‘Sorry’, and you laugh it off.

“It’s okay,” You drag your hands up his back, fingertips barely grazing his skin that his shirt has twisted up to expose, “It’s okay, Billy. This is okay. You’re allowed to want this, you know? You’re allowed to like this. You deserve this.”

Billy thinks he deserves a lot of things. A kick in the teeth, a tight pair of handcuffs and a drab cell, maybe even the fireplace poker. But he doesn’t think he deserves kindness, which is why he’s so confused why you’re gushing it like a fountain.

He’s the type of person to make himself unhappy so that no one else can do it for him. He shuts out love and light and life so that no one can steal it away, no one can send him reeling when they leave. But tonight - he’s not sure why, maybe it’s the stinging wounds on his torso or the tickle of your fingers against his back - he’ll love.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove blurb #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x reader fanfiction #billy hargrove x fem!reader

802 notes · View notes

thecuriousquest · 7 months

Text

Yandere Shigaraki Headcanons

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, SFW hcs, violent tendencies, childish mindset, unhealthy mindset, possessive tendencies, these are kind of all over the place, punishment threats, toe loss?, isolation, starvation, kidnapping/implied kidnapping

Checkout my Master List here.

This is my first time writing for Shiggy, so I hope you enjoy!

—————————————————————————

^Why is this gif so hot to me?

✋Shigaraki is very possessive. Nobody is allowed to talk to you, not even Toga. That’s how immature he is.

✋Ashtray likes to show you his games or talk to you about them. If he’s playing a game, he fully expects you to be watching the screen over his shoulder like a good gamer girlfriend.

✋Goes out of his way to get those special gloves so that he can keep you on his lap. He loves hugging you. He doesn’t like smacking you on the ass, but he sure does love to playfully pinch it.

✋He will literally turn the world upside down for you as a romantic gesture. He wants you to know that he’s willing to level anyone and anything in order to show you how much he loves you.

✋Anything that hurts you is already ash to him. Consider it done. He doesn’t even need to ask. Just one look at your hurt expression will do it.

✋Shigs will do anything for your affection and approval. He’ll do anything to keep you safe too.

✋When he scratches at his skin, he secretly likes it when you stop him.

✋Honestly, the names he calls you can vary.

✋He doesn’t like nicknames like “baby” and “sweetheart”. It’s unoriginal and way too mushy for him.

✋He’s probably going to call you something like “Zelda” if he wants to be sweet or “Imposter” if he wants to be impish and teasing.

✋The closest thing you’ll get to a real nickname is a clever shortening of your name that nobody else has ever thought to call you in a loving tone (he just ends up sounding like a crusty crab though).

———

Punishments:

✋Shiggy doesn’t spank. Shiggy doesn’t whip or paddle. He’s not a brat tamer. In fact, he’s a bit of a brat himself. It all stems from him being so immature.

✋He locks you up half of the time as a punishment and starves you for a third of it.

✋He doesn’t know how to take care of someone, even if he is madly in love with them. Hell, he doesn’t even know how to take care of himself.

✋At least you have Kurogiri to meet your needs.

✋The Shigster can’t bring himself to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt others because of your actions and then blame it on you.

✋Don’t forget, he misplaces his anger like a child. You’re acting out because you were kidnapped. He doesn’t see it that way. To him, you’re just being irritating and difficult. “If you don’t want your best friend to die, then quit whining and do as you’re told!”

✋He threatens to decay your feet if you try to run away, although he’d never actually do it.

✋He will, however, have Mr. Compress take your pinky toe if he feels like you’re really misbehaving. With your equilibrium thrown off, you need help getting around.

✋Shigs is more than happy to step in at this point, giving you his arm to latch onto.

✋Only if you behave will he give you your toe back. That’s the whole game with him. It’s a childish game, but you know how much Shiggy loves games.

170 notes · View notes

cissyenthusiast010155 · 7 months

Note

If you did write this for me, I was thinking they could keep comforting each other, and then it would lead to very soft, loving, make up smut? I’m sure that brilliant brain of yours will be able to think of something. , Lol And, maybe it could pick up where the first part left off…?

Hey there! Sure, here’s a part 2 💞 Hope you Enjoy!!

Im Here, Little one Part 2 ~Lucifer Morningstar xFem Reader

Link to Part 1

Mommy… Masterlist

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!, smut, eating out, kissing, implied touch starvation, implied wing kink, etc.

Enjoy (;

“I love you so much, Luci-baby…” you mumbled into their form.

“I love you too, dearest.” they cooed.

~~~

On the bed, cuddling in the Lightbringer’s frame, you sighed a deep sigh of relief.

“It might sound silly, but I really missed your touch…” you breathed out in confession.

Lucifer chuckled lovingly, pulling you out of her robes so that they could look you in the eye. But no words seemed to cover what the Lightbringer wanted to convey. Only one thing seemed to be appropriate…

Their lips grazed yours lightly, awaiting your play. You connected your lips to theirs eagerly. They kissed you with care and love, slowing the pace to a nice and soft tempo. You happily reciprocated, humming into their lips with delight.

Lucifer then picked you up, placing you in the middle of the bed. They slowly removed your garments, loving on every piece of showing skin. You made sure to return the favor, disrobing the fallen Angel lovingly, making sure to pay special attention to their wings.

“No more teasing” the Lightbringer groaned, splaying you out on the bed and dipping their head down into your heat.

You groaned in response, nodding eagerly in agreement. The tall blonde lapped at your folds with attention and love. Her tongue explored your folds, making you squirm with delight. Their hands grabbed at your plush thighs, holding you still as they ate you out.

You couldn’t contain your moans for your lover. Your head was rolled back and your hands were fisting the sheets, as you were driven closer and closer to the edge. Lucifer putting pressure on your clit is what threw you over the edge, crying out in bliss. They caringly helped you through your high, cleaning up all your juices along the way.

The Lightbringer then came up to your face, and proceeded to kiss you once more. You moaned at the taste of yourself on their tongue. And you both pulled away breathless at the end of the kiss.

“Your turn, Luci-Baby” you panted with a smile.

Their eyes lit up and they nodded. You eagerly switched places with the fallen Angel, placing yourself in between their long legs.

“Ohhh Little one, just like that…” Lucifer groaned as you attached your lips to their clit.

~~~

Lucifer Morningstar Masterlist

#the sandman lucifer #lucifer #lucifer netflix #lucifer morningstar #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #sandman lucifer #the sandman lucifer x reader #lucifer sandman #lucifer morningstar (the sandman)#lucifer morningstar smut #lucifer x you #gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #Gwendoline Christie x reader #Gwendoline Christie character #cissyenthusiast010155 answers

142 notes · View notes

ladyviserra · 2 years

Note

hiii! could u perhaps do an imagine about aemond one eyed x daemon’s daughter and being w her will test his loyalties to his brother and his cause? like he will def be torn between loyalty to his brother aegon and his love for y/n

The Sweetest Betrayal | Aemond Targaryen

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Aemond got too involved with Y/n, she was just an innocent flirt. Now things were diffrent, she was his enemy but they are already too in love to stop themselves from seeing each other, even if it was behind their families’ backs.

Warnings: fluff, meantions of war, incest (cousins), kissing...

A/n: I hope the person who requested this doesn’t mind me making this into a series, so I will have more part and more people involved (Aegon II, Alicent, Daemon, Daeron, possibly Rhaenyra and others), and make this longer.

Part 2

With his one good eye, he looked at the person he feared he loved the most. She was still asleep. " Gods. " He thought. " Such an angel should not be involved with me or this war. " The cold weather hit his muscles which were out in the open since the last night.

He made sure to wrap her in the fur, hoping her mind was clear of bad thoughts that haunted him. At least she looked peaceful, away from the chaos which was rising up.

Aemond groaned, knowing he got too involved with her, if it was only him loving her, the prince would be long gone, suffering in his loss at King's Landing and not watching his cousin sleep. At that the cousin he was supposed to see as an enemy, not kissing her tenderly and caressing her soft skin.

He wasn't the only one in love, she was too. And because he knew she loved and cared for him, no matter how cruel he could be, there was no strength in him to leave her. What were they before the war? A pair of kids that were messing around. He was often getting glares at his uncle Daemon anytime they were too close to each other.

Until they were able to sneak away and share their first kiss. The love started there and maybe they didn't know it then but it would be just a kiss that would be repeated again and again... Then the war happened and now neither of them is safe.

His uncle is not far away from his daughter's room, as much as he knows the man could be waiting at her doors, seconds away from opening it and witnessing this scene.

They are enemies and he would probably be killed in no time. If his brother found out about Aemond even seeing the " enemy " the lightest punishment he would receive would be being locked up in a cell, stripped of his title and forgotten left to rot until he dies from starvation or dehydration.

His mother wouldn’t be pleased either, she would be disappointed in his decisions and he would be the enemy of his brothers, sister, mother, grandfather, nephews, niece and to all that support his brother’s claim.

The sun is almost going to rise and he will have to leave Y/n before her family wakes up. Well his too, but the war tore them apart. The prince walks to the chair which was holding his shirt, preparing to leave. However, he didn’t want to leave without her knowing. Aemond left the shirt in its place, laying his arms on the bed, crawling slowly to her spot, being very careful to not make too much noise.

“ Y/n. “ He called her name, seeing no reaction. “ Y/n. “ He shook her lightly, not wanting to scare her. Her purple eyes shinned when she was able to see his face.

“ Morning, Love. “ He smiled at her, lowering himself until he meet her lips. “ Morning. “ She was smiling too until she realised the sun was soon going to be up in the sky. “ You have to go? “ Y/n sadly whispered, hugging the fur which she was surrounded by even tighter.

“ I know, love. I have to, before... “

“ I hate this Aemond. I hate this war, hate that our family is split in two, I hate how we will never be able to live in peace, I just want... “ Her eyes couldn’t hold in the tears anymore, she broke down and Aemond quickly started showing her his support, holding her with his arms as if he was scared to let her go.

“ I just... want us...all of us to be...to be happy. “ She was able to finish her sentence and saw how one of her tears trailed down his chest. “ I wish that too, so very much. “ Seeing how sad their situation made her, Aemond’s heart was breaking, especially when he knew he couldn’t do much.

He wanted to do nothing more than tell her they can fix it, that their family won’t fight, that there would be no war and she should be sad. But he knew, he couldn’t lie to her even if he wanted.

Aemond wished he could come to her father, ask for her hand and get permission from him and he could finally marry his lovely Y/n, and take her somewhere they can be in peace. “ Love, you know I hate nothing more but having to leave you, but I must before we are seen together. “

“ I know you must. “ She let go of him, trying to stop her tears knowing they would make him stay longer which she would be delighted by, however it was risky to have him be here for too long.

Aemond dressed up, and walked to her window, pulling at the rope to see if it was stable. He let go of the rope, stepping in front of Y/n’s teary face, and kissing her cheek softly. “ I will see you soon again. “

As she saw him approach Vhagar, she took her napkin, tapping on her wet face. She weaved to him, barely smiling from the pain she felt. Aemond felt the same pain stabbing him in the chest as he was leaving, he flew away and she returned to bed, not knowing what to do with herself, just wishing for him to come back to her and never leave again.

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #asoaif #asoiaf fic #asoiaf imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd fic

2K notes · View notes

2amtechnicolor · 11 months

Text

We Need To Talk About Mahiru

Mahiru's second Trial is out and oh my god she just jumped up on my faves list. I love analyzing the MVs from different perspectives so I thought I'd give my 2 cents on Mahiru's character.

My vote: INNOCENT

The first thing I really feel the need to bring up is that people tend to ignore that Mahiru is actually very intelligent. There's multiple kinds of intelligence, and while she might not be "traditionally" smart in the linguistic sense, she's incredibly emotionally intelligent. She's a master of empathy and mood making and is an incredibly charming talker to the point you don't realize she's completely controlling the conversation. That being said, I genuinely don't think she uses her intelligence for malicious gains.

One of the theories going around with her first MV was that she was overbearing to the point of being abusive, while being oblivious to her own toxicity. Now after rereading and rewatching, I'm inclined to disagree. Her love may be seen as overbearing to some but we have not seen any explicit bad behavior towards her boyfriend. (Contrast with someone like Muu, who was revealed to have bullied as much as she was bullied herself). In my unpopular opinion, I genuinely think Mahiru was in a "healthy" relationship, at least on the surface.

[TW for discussions of death, murder, and fictional depictions of suicide]

[Side Note: One of the sticking points people have while saying "Mahiru was toxic" is that "Mahiru's relationship only lasted 16 days" which is blatantly not true when you check the translations for MV1. Day 1 takes place during college finals (mid-March-ish in JPN), Day 7 explicitly takes place in the summer, and Day 15 is New Year's Day (January). Mahiru's affection towards her boyfriend lasted almost a year, and they dated for around 6 months-ish during that. The "16 Day Memorial" isn't about a period of 16 days, it's about 16 days over the course of their relationship where she was explicitly making moves towards her boyfriend.]

I need you to take a real hard look at how Mahiru talks about "love" and "being in love." More specifically, when she talks about the concept of "love," she often brings up the action of "loving/showing love" in her explanation. Never once have I heard her say "My boyfriend loved me." or "This is what my boyfriend did for me." The focus is all on her actions towards the boyfriend. And I genuinely think she was a sweet girlfriend! She loved trying his hobbies and cooking his favorite foods and going to his favorite spots. She was sweet, and kind, and playful, and maybe just a bit clingy. But she was never jealous or possessive.

Es: I see. So, you became a murderer as a result of some relationship conflicts? Jealousy… Grudges… Having your partner stolen from you… Those stories aren’t all that uncommon now are they?

Mahiru: You’re wrong. It wasn’t that. I…never even wanted to kill anyone in the first place!

She explicitly states that her crime was not based off of negative feelings towards her boyfriend, but she still takes responsibility for what happened. Compare that to Fuuta, who, despite his own feelings of guilt, continually verbally denied that he had anything to do with his victim's death. Mahiru not only takes explicit responsibility, but also pins her "love" as his cause of death, to the point where if she was voted guilty, she would never try to love anyone again. Without "loving" anyone, she has no reason to live.

"To not forgive me means to take the act of loving away from me. That’s the same as not being alive. It’s the same as not being able to drink water or breathe."

It's interesting the way she compares basic needs to "the act of loving". Not the concept of "love" itself, but the act of showing someone love. If she is not allowed to show someone love, to her it's like suffocating, like dying of thirst, or maybe...dying of starvation?

Mahiru in her second MV may be dirty and barefoot with torn clothes, but the one thing she is not is starving. You could argue that "perhaps it doesn't show," but when compared to her boyfriend...

She's incredibly healthy.

And of course she's healthy! Her lovely boyfriend's been feeding her those bites of cake! So is the cake "love" then? But if the cake is love, why is her boyfriend, the one whose being "smothered," the one starving?

Feeding the cake doesn't represent "love." Feeding the cake also doesn't represent "the act of loving." Feeding the cake represents the boyfriend letting Mahiru "love" him. Does that make sense?

The boyfriend lets himself be vulnerable, he feeds pieces of himself to Mahiru for her to "love." But yet, he himself is starving.

...Have you even noticed Mahiru hates talking about herself?

It's evident from her first interrogation. Es can barely get two words in before Mahiru interrupts them to ask them questions about themselves or to offer her own advice to problems she thinks Es may be having.

Es: Oh… yeah. Uh… I apologise for that.

Mahiru: Did you zone out just then? This job must be pretty difficult, so you might be mentally burned out from work. Herbal tea’s good for that, you know? Oh! Like ginkgo tea—they say it helps improve brain function.

Es: Oh, is that so? I’ll try a bit then… I mean, no! Enough about me.

Compared to one of the few times Es gets a question in:

Es: I don’t completely understand what you’re saying, but… Being in love and loving someone—are they really that important?

Mahiru: They are.

Es: Hm.

Mahiru: They are… More so than anything else.

When reflected back to her, her answered become short and vague. Her voice grows soft and shy. She avoids questions, especially questions about difficult topics, not because she doesn't understand the gravity of them (like Haruka) but because she does. Like I said at the top, she's incredibly emotionally intelligent. She was beaten nearly to death because Kotoko decided to be Es's "fang", and yet she still empathizes with them. She still makes a strong attempt to see their point of view, and even to encourage Es to keep working hard. Compared to the other attacked prisoner we've seen, Fuuta, who blames and grovels for forgiveness, these responses are like night and day.

But what do we know about Mahiru, really?

She's 22

She's a university student

She likes romantic novels, comic, and dramas

She loves love. [But she's not obsessed with being loved. Haruka is obsessed with being loved, Haruka wants to be loved and taken care of, Haruka killed out of jealousy and for attention because he didn't feel loved enough. We never get that from Mahiru.]

Everything else we know about Mahiru? Is for other people.

Her favorite hobbies? Whatever her partner is doing.

Her fashion sense? Whatever will catch her partner's eye.

Her favorite food? Well, as long her partner cooks it, anything's her favorite!

The only time we ever get a sense of her and her boyfriend possibly disagreeing on something is Day 14 in MV1. Mahiru wants to see a French film and begs her boyfriend to take her. This is odd, because just a few scenes ago, she was bragging about how their tastes in films perfectly line up. If their tastes are the same, why would she have to beg him to take her to see this one?

Mahiru, like Yuno, is hiding behind a facade. But unlike Yuno, Mahiru doesn't have a strong core underneath her mirroring. Yuno can drop her "nice girl" act and she still has strong opinions and feelings and acts accordingly. Mahiru, when you try to go behind her mask, clams up, redirects, searches for a way out.

So. Back to cake.

The boyfriend feeds pieces of himself to Mahiru. He makes himself vulnerable, he lets her in, lets her care for him, lets her "love" him.

But Mahiru? She never feeds him until the very end, and even then, her "cake" isn't anything edible.

She's not stupid. She knows she can't give him what he really wants: any sort of vulnerability.

Their relationship is one-sided, but not because Mahiru is toxic or the boyfriend is apathetic. Their relationship is one sided because that's how Mahiru wants it to be. She wants to be the perfect girlfriend, because, if we're being honest, Mahiru doesn't like herself very much.

Why else would she hate talking about herself? She clearly loves to chat.

She puts her all into everything...as long as it's for someone besides her.

She will outright ignore her own pain and suffering, her own emotions, because she doesn't want to make anyone else upset.

Mahiru: Sorry… for making you worry. I’m fine! It doesn’t hurt at all.

Es: It’s a horrible injury. There’s no way it doesn’t hurt.

Mahiru: It doesn’t!

So why did her boyfriend die?

Mahiru's very good at hiding her emotions. If she slipped up and her boyfriend realized and noticed how she refused to love herself, it could cause friction in their otherwise perfect relationship.

Maybe Mahiru was the one who wanted to die in the woods, and her boyfriend, starved for any sort of real connection to her, found her at the last moment? Maybe her mental health dragged his down with her.

Mahiru's incredibly complex and tragic and endlessly relatable. She only loves too much because she can't love herself. If she's truly unforgivable, and she keeps her promise to stay alone...what's stopping her from killing the only thing she hates most?

#milgram #mahiru shiina #this is how to be in love with you #character analysis #i love you #daisuki #meta #deco*27 #milgram project #mahiru innocent #i log into the milgram fandom #i post a 1.5k word essay #i leave for another 5 months #lux talks

329 notes · View notes

coffincestuous · 4 months

Text

every now and then a posts pops up in the tcoaal tags talking about how much they HATE the game and how they don’t see the appeal and everyone who likes it is a digusting, irredeemable person

(here, we can all roll our eyes and block them together)

so, what makes this game so likeable?

well, personally, everything. everything makes it likeable. but that’s not really an answer to those who are determined to Not Like It

mild spoilers ahead!

first, the art!

[id: the main screen art for the game, two scenes, and two sprites of andrew and ashley. the main screen art has andrew and ashley facing each other, holding different kitchen equipment covered in blood. ashley looks happy, while andrew looks apprehensive. behind them is a black coffin with a window, wrapped in chains. the text says “the coffin of andy and leyley” is red.

the first scene depicts them facing a door, with andrew’s hands on the door and ashley’s shoulder. the second scene depicts ashley hugging a reluctant andrew, who is holding the door slightly open. the sprites of andrew and ashley show them smiling. end id.]

the art style is really cute!! it may not be everyone’s Thing, and that’s okay, but i’m a huge fan of the artstyle and the color palette! the designs are recognizable and show us details about the characters that the game doesn’t have to spell out. andrew’s kind of non-haircut, the tag on his sweater, ashley’s clothes, etc. all tell us things about the characters we learn as we progress through the game!!

the colors through the world are muted greys and blacks and off-whites, which clue the player in to the environment really well. the world is dreary!! it’s bleak!! it’s not just the apartment we first meet our characters in, but almost every place we go to as andrew or ashley. there are some splashes of colors, but for the most part, it’s the same dull colors. there’s a reason for that.

[id: the graves’ apartment, featuring the kitchen and living room. end id.]

[id: the graves’ balcony and their neighboring balconies. all of them have furniture and plants and boxes.]

the color palette really sets the tone of the game, and the attitude all of the characters have towards the world, without SAYING “all of the characters have a bleak view of the world.”

second, the plot!

on steam, the description for the game is this:

[id: “Walk-n-talk adventure with light puzzling. Brother and sister practice cannibalism after witnessing a botched satanic ritual.” end id]

from this, we can expect cannibalsm, murder, and possibly demons. probably blood. (definitely blood).

and this:

[id: “Cannibalism and codependency! Caught in an extremely toxic sibling relationship, our awful heroes must survive starvation, as well as each other. How will you escape death and the consequences of your actions?” end id.]

of course, the players and fanbase know there’s more to the game than that.

as far as summaries go, how’s this? “a codependent brother and sister, possibly infected with ‘parasites,’ have been locked in their apartment for months with no food due to an apartment-wide quarantine. while spying on their cultist neighbor, they witness a demon-summoning ritual go wrong, and decide to take advantage of an otherwise hopeless situation. with blood on their hands and no going back, the two are forced to keep covering their tracks as they learn of what’s really going on with the quarantine, and the mysterious world of demons they’ve accidentally uncovered.”

that gives a little more context and a little more incentive to actually play the game. (or at least watch someone play through it. ideally with no commentary. there are several great ones). at the very least, it tells a little more about what to expect from the game going in to it.

as easy as the ‘government organ-harvesting scheme’ is to miss, (and, believe me, i Did miss it the first time i played through) it’s still there, and is one of the biggest motivations for our characters to keep doing what they’re doing. they want to eat, they want out of a needless quarantine, they don’t want to get caught out of their apartment, they don’t want to get caught for the murder or the cannibalsm, etc. each step they take is to get themselves as far away from all of that as they can. together.

that’s interesting!! that’s catching!! the plot is what captured my attention initially!! it’s why i was excited to play the game Myself!! it’s why i’m excited for chapter three!! i want to see where they go from here, what challenges they face, and how they overcome it. i wanted to see where the end of chapter one took them!! if the plot is good, it doesn’t have to be well-written to be enjoyable (although, in my opinion, it is well-written). and it is enjoyable.

third and fourth, the characters! their relationship!

while tcoaal has solid visuals, it’s much more story-driven than gameplay driven. there Is gameplay, and there are puzzles, but most of the game is spent reading dialogue.

as both ashley and andrew, the player goes through the dialogue between the two of them, as well as other characters. we meet mrs. and mr. graves, we meet andrew’s ex-girlfriend in a flashback, we meet demons and cultists and corrupted security guards. but, despite it all, the majority of the dialogue is between andrew and ashley.

obviously, as our protagonists, that’s a given. and, of course, it’s intentional. but, a lot of the people outside of the fanbase don’t seem to realize just how much we see of andrew and ashley. we’re with them constantly, as they are constantly with each other. their back-and-forth banter is fun when it’s fun, and serious when it needs to be. the challenges and changes the two of them go through are shown through their dialogue in chapter two, where the choices start to Matter. we see their dynamic change, for better or for worse, and we see their reactions to that change. there isn’t a physical change to show for decision making (with some exceptions), but we see their thoughts and how they speak to each other change. we see how they act around each other before The Incidents and afterwards.

people also seem to miss the ‘codependent’ part of their relationship, and hardly even look past their disgust at the game to wonder why. (fictional incest is hot AND narratively compelling!)

by playing the game, we learn very quickly that ashley was a “problem child.” she was loud, annoying, mean, and disliked by everyone. everyone. her mother was a teenager when she had both ashley and andrew, and shoved ashley on to andrew to pacify and raise her. it was andrew’s job to be her parent, to teach her right and wrong, to spend time with her, to make sure she ate, to make sure she had friends. he’s only two years older than her, but he’s been the only constant in her life. whether or not he was willing to be there for her, (which he is), he was there. keeping him by her side is what matters most to her, no matter who she has to threaten or what she has to do. she relies on him, as she always has, to stop her from going too far. she relies on him to pacify her when she’s upset or angry, because that’s what he’s always done. she expects him to go along with her whims and expects him to clean up after her messes (literally or figuratively) because that’s what he’s always done.

(for some really good ashley analysis, check out this post by ashleyhuh, this post by double--blind, and this post by sunshine-jesse)

andrew, on the other hand, was a very good kid. their mom, in a specific scene, called him an easy child. he’s well-liked by adults and peers, he’s had friends outside of ashley, even his parents like him more than ashley (and they make it obvious by just. Ignoring Ashley). the promotional art calls ashley “very bad” and andrew “doormat extraordinnaire,” but whether or not that’s actually true is up for debate. regardless, we know he cares about ashley, and she’s been the only constant in his life just as much as he has been in hers (…even if that’s mostly ashley’s fault). his whole life has been shaped by the responsibility of keeping ashley happy and behaved, but he does it because he wants to, too. while it may have started as taking care of his baby sister in lieu of their parents, he’s accepted that ashley is his responsibility whether he wants her to be or not. we don’t know where the change from “his responsibility” to “his responsibility” happens, but we see it through his actions and dialogue and even flashbacks that he cares about her. ashley relies on saying she cares and hearing that she’s cared for, while andrew shows that he cares, and he cares for her A Lot.

(as a side analysis, we’re Shown that andrew cares more than we Hear that he cares. with ashley, we’re Told that she cares more than we See that she cares. interesting!)

fifth, the soundtrack!

oh my god. the soundtrack. from the main theme to a specific song in the decay route vision, the soundtrack does a Wonderful job of setting the tone for the game. soundtracks are just as important as every other aspect in games, movies, and tv shows, and the coffin soundtrack is a particular favorite of mine.

(check out the songs here)

the main theme (titled “twisted clowns”) is… well, great!! it sounds good, it sounds Ominous, a little silly, and every time i open the game, i listen to it for a bit before playing. it’s a perfect choice for the first song you hear of the game. it’s perfect for a horror game. i’m no expert on music, and frankly, i don’t know a lot of instruments, but this song has a lot of sinister sections that make it SO good!!

my personal favorite off the soundtrack is “dark bells.” the first time i heard it in game, i lost my mind. it’s SO sinister!! it’s scary!!! the part of the game it shows up in makes me feel like a rabid animal (in a positive way!). it’s also really pretty, and i’ve been listening to it for the past week or so. it hits so very differently hearing it in game. if you know, you know.

the game has little sounds that add to the atmosphere, but the game has absolutely No voices, so the sounds that are added are super noticeable and can add so much more to the game, especially where music is concerned. the composers did an Excellent job with every track, and i’m SUPER excited to hear any new tracks added in the third chapter. the songs fit every scene they’re played during, and guide the player’s reactions pretty well!!

conclusion

no one is forcing people to like the game. if it’s not your thing, you don’t have to make yourself like it. you don’t have to make yourself hate it. those of us who DO like it have our reasons, whether i listed them or not. sometimes things just don’t click with people, and that’s okay! your likes and dislikes are yours, and not everyone has to agree with you. not everyone has to agree with me!! disagreeing with someone does not make you better than them

everyone who likes the game went into it knowing that it was a horror game. horror is supposed to make you uncomfortable. discomfort is a natural, human emotion to feel. whether the murder, cannibalism, corrupt government, demons, theft, or incest made you uncomfortable, you are not morally superior to anyone for feeling that way. you don’t get brownie points for posting about how disgusting the game is, or how boring it is, or how much you hate it. you especially don’t get points for putting your negative opinions in the main tags. have some decency!!

tcoaal isn’t just “the incest game,” even if that is a part of it that i know of and enjoy. if it’s not your cup of tea, you can ignore it!! out of sight, out of mind!! blacklist the tags, block everyone with a coffin icon, you can do whatever you need to do to Not interact w it. most people will respect that!! so, respect us, too!!!!

anyways. every post i see about “haha ew incest” or “bad game” just makes me love the game more. it’s the best game i’ve played in a while!! i’ve enjoyed the coffin of andy and leyley more than omori, more than persona 5 royal, and more than undertale. i really liked all of those games, but the coffin of andy and leyley has been such an enjoyable experience from the start and i’m so happy i gave it a chance

#tcoaal #the coffin of andy and leyley #analysis #writing this has been so much FUN #i love this game!!!!!!#coffin.txt

72 notes · View notes

otherloser · 4 months

Text

Romance Starts With The Stomach

Okay, so this is kinda my first story, like, EVER, on Tumblr, so please don't shit on me if it's bad, I am very aware of that myself, thanks 👍

Anyway, I basically came up with this story because I recently had soup (it was so good like holy crap), there's soup in BaTIM, and I remembered the line 'the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach' that Tiana says from Princess and The Frog, so yeah, I thought it would be cute :]

Fem!Reader x Ink!Bendy

Story: Y/n and Bendy have ended up accidentally making a magical contracting bond between their souls, meaning that they can't hurt each other and are sort of stuck together in the abandoned studio. They've been sort of ignoring each other for the main part up until now, but there's some bad news; Y/n is getting hungry, and she needs to eat…

~~~~

"Grooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwl..." A noise resembling much like a distant thunder strike rumbled and echoed through the corridor. A dusting of blush crept up onto my face, placing a hand on my abdomen and pressing down hard to try and muffle the complaining my stomach was making in the absence of the food it so desperately desired. This only made it worse however, appearing to instead push my middle into making even more sounds of winging and whining. The ink demon himself finally seemed to notice, his tail whipping at the air elegantly as he turned and blinked with inky and gooey eyes.

"...'S tha' you, lady?"

"Y-yeah, sorry, I haven't eaten in a while..." I mumbled apologetically, reaching into my satchel at last. "We've been running around so much, so I haven't had the chance to have a snack break."

"Figures. You humans are always hungry fo' somethin' or othah." He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in a snarky tone. He'd maintained this attitude for basically the entire time. Like a fed up teenager being forced to go shopping with his mother. It was frankly pathetic, but hey, he was a demon so there wasn't much I could do, unless I wanted to be mildly inconvenienced with his unholy rage. As I rummaged around for even something small like a chocolate bar or a biscuit, my hand became more frantic, until I quickly realised. I had nothing left. My middle roared again for food.

"groooooooowl!!!"

"Uh oh.."

"W-whaddya mean 'uh-oh'?"

"I'm out. I have nothing to eat!" I explained, showing Bendy my empty bag as he leaned in and inspected it closely, grumbling to himself as seeming much more peeved with each second that my stomach called out in starvation. He brought his hand up to his face, using two fingers to massage the area between his eyes where a nose should be.

"Well that's just peachy."

"Groooooowl!"

"This is a really sticky situation 'ere."

"Grooooowwl!!"

"Bendy-"

"Seems you've gone an but the dust!"

"GROOOOWL!"

"Dude! Stop using those words, it's actually making my stomach hurt!" I exclaimed, making the demon sigh exasperated lying and lazily raise his hands up in surrender. Suddenly a very comical light bulb physically appeared above Bendy's head, taking me be surprise.

"Follow me, I know a place to grab somethin' to bite, toots!"

"Leave my toes out of this, Bendy."

~~~~

"Come on, just try it!"

"Ew! Hell no!!" I argued, using a plank of wood to keep Bendy and his suggestion away from me; In his arms he carried a really old and raw slab of meet, clearly infested with diseases I very much did not want to risk the chance of catching.

"Oh, don't be difficult, Y/n! It's just a day or two out of date" He rolled his eyes and held up the meat towards me, visibly causing me to gag and drop the plank, jumping back and hiding behind a support beam and peeking out at the ink demon cautiously.

"Yeah! 'A day or two OUT OF THE QUESTION'!" I stated, shooing him away as he grumbled to himself in cartoon speech, before chucking the meat slab to the side impatiently, to which I sighed in relief.

"I mean honestly, you mortals are so sensitive." He sassed, turning his back on me and kneeling down to inspect the drawers closely. "If you won't eat meat, you'll have to eat greens! Let's see, we have...broccoli...mushy carrots...-oh hey, an apple with a worm!"

"Gross." I whined and stuck out my tongue, watching in disgust as the inky creature scoured the cupboards for veg that was definitely as dry as wood by this point. On and on he went, listing what was there and what he liked about their staleness. I rolled my eyes, sniffing once as the air as the pangs of hunger in my stomach grew louder, only to catch a whiff of something. Something nice, veggie, meaty, brothy, edible! I sniffed the air a few more times, feeling my tummy react positively to the smell as well. All my sniffing also caught the attention of Bendy, who stood up and looked at me with a confused brow.

"Uh...are ya synisus actin' up, doll?" He asked.

"I smell something. Something..." I paused, closing my eyes and taking a long smell, before grinning brightly, "...delicious!"

And like a bullet, I was off, shooting down the corridor towards the room where the treasure was to be found. Following behind my, Bendy staggered behind, seeming to find a little trouble in keeping up with me (which was a first). Past countops and cupboards I weaved myself through the rooms, skipping down hallways until I finally came across a singular storage room that claimed host of the tempting scent. A storage room, filled with barrels, most likely filled with the most deliciously untold delicacies if it smelt this good alone! I hopped forwards and stopped in front of a barrel, opening it up hurriedly, only for my grin to drop at the sight of tin shining back up at me depressingly. Cans. A barrel full of cans. Picking up a can, I examined the label along the curve: 'Bacon Soup'.

"What'd ya find, Y/n?" Bendy asked, finally having cought up to me as I stared at the soup can, confused.

"I...what the shit is this?" I turned to him and asked, shoving the can into his gloved hands as he blinked in shock to my profanity, observing the can briefly, only to ah in realisation.

"Ah, it's bacon soup." He repeated.

"Yeah, I know what it is- why would anyone come up with it!?"

"Well, hey, I doubt there's anythin' else here, toots! You followed it's scent like a dawg, so you must like i' so SOME degree!" He defended, handing me back the can forcefully, to which I held it and opened another barrel with my free. But unfortunately, he was right, there was only more cans of bacon soup on the second barrel. I sighed in disappointment, looking back at the can in my hand, debating what to do. "...At least try i', yeah?" Bendy suggested.

"Grooooowl!" My stomach moaned. I sighed, truly defeated as I opened the can, shut my eyes tight, and took a good sip of it's contents...

...-

And within SECONDS, I was gulping down the rest of the can's delectable brothy heaven as if it were my life support! It was gorgeous, like a work of art, painted by god himself. The god of soups! I felt the smooth, syrupy texture slide down my throat and deep into my core, warming me up a pleasant amount, despite its unheated state. Finally, I removed the can from my lips and groaned loudly in pleasure to the soup's aftertaste.

"Oh my god, that's so good!" I rasped, grabbing another can and ripping the lid open, beginning to swallow the contents once more, unable to get enough! It was sooooo addictive.

"Well heeeeeelloooooooo! Y'know, I do appreciate a lady who can eat~" I heard Bendy's voice flirt with me, clearly finding my sudden addiction the the soup an amusing thing to tease me with. I couldn't give a crap though, I was just so immersed in the sanctuary that was this seductive soup.

"Ah, shut it, Satan, I'm in heaven!" I exhaled after finishing the second can, reaching for a third and sitting down on the floor with it in hand, my back pressed against the barrel surface so that I could relax. Again, I opened the can and began to wolf down the angelic and tasty substance, my life up till this point feeling almost dull compared to the very moment where I was finally rewarded with the one thing i had been missing out on this entire time: BACON SOUP! But of course, all good thinfs have to come to an end. Consuming the last of the soup from the can, I gently placed the empty tin on the floor and took a second to relax and briefly digest what saintly thing I had just experienced, my hand placed gratefully onto my belly which now remained still and silent, proving just how satisfactory the soup was in this conundrum of hunger.

"Well then, toots - are ya still hungry~?" The smirking ink demon purred, a smug grin plastered onto his face as I basked in the happiness the food had brought me, finding it impossible, for the first time ever, to even be mad with him and his teasing!

"Oh, 'hungry'? I don't recognise the meaning~" I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I enjoyed the company of the ink demon for the first time. He looked amused and happy that I was so happy after a few helpings of soup.

"Dang, tha' must've hit a reaaaaaal good spot in your stomach; you're all...smiley and stuff! Y'know, you have a nice smile, dollface~"

"Yeaaah, don't ruin it."

"Alrigh', I'll le' you have this momen' to ya'self, darlin'~"

~~~~

I mean, technically it's romantic, because Bendy's flirting the entire time? Eh, I'm counting it--

#bendy and the ink machine x reader #Food #Soup #Bendy #BaTIM #BaTDR #Bendy x Reader

50 notes · View notes

notglutenfresh · 15 days

Text

Some House of Black headcannons:

TW: Mental health issues (ED, Bipolar, GAD, Schizophrenia), abuse, starvation, slight mention of death

All of them have a mental illness of some sort. Bellatrix has schizophrenia, this developed when she was around 23, before then, while she would've still been a really messed up person, her actions were her own, but I think that the longer the war went on she started worrying about everything because she started hallucinating that the ministry wanted to get her specifically. Narcissa and Andromeda both have very bad GAD: most of Narcissa's anxiety comes from her family situation, namely her husband and sister being a very high up Death Eater; most of Andromeda's anxiety comes from her running away to be with Ted Tonks because she feels as though her family is gonna hunt them down and destroy everything they made together. Sirius is Bipolar, this developed when he was 15 or 16 but before the prank, which I think would've been his first manic episode. Regulus has anorexia and depression: I think Walburga starving him proper messed up his view of his body, as if it was something that needed to be purged- he only eats breakfast when he's at Hogwarts which is normally just an apple and a slice of plain toast, when he's at Grimmauld Place he tries to skip out on meals but when Walburga forces him to eat with her he just makes himself sick afterwards or take laxatives to get all the food out of his body and when he's not in class or doing homework, he's normally on the Quidditch pitch practicing by himself or running laps around Hogwarts for as long as he can before he feels like he's about to pass out.

Narcissa really misses Andromeda and wants to meet her at least one more time before either of them die.

Bellatrix was like Sirius in the fact that she would take punishments for her sisters, which made her fall deeper into her madness rather than being scared of it like Sirius.

When Sirius first went to Hogwarts, Regulus started to get into trouble with Walburga for the slightest misstep. Partially to try and ensure Regulus was in Slytherin, but also because Sirius wasn't around to take the fall for Regulus anymore. By the time Sirius came back from Christmas break in his first year, Regulus had been crucioed so much that he couldn't stop shaking and could barely get out of bed without crying due to how much pain he was in.

Kreacher would help Sirius and Regulus escape punishment if he was certain that Walburga wouldn't find out what happened. Even if he couldn’t help heal them, he would put small portions of healing potions into the dismal meals they were allowed during their punishments.

Orion was an extremely neglectful father basically all year round, yet on birthdays and Christmas' he always managed to get Sirius and Regulus exactly what they wanted without fail. Thinking that the presents would make up for his lack of presence in their lives.

Walburga did love Sirius and Regulus in a really twisted way. She was raised by abusive parents, and she swore to never be like them, but when it came to her own kids, she had no idea how parent them without the abuse, so she thought it was necessary. In her head, every time she punished Sirius and Regulus, she was showing her love for them. When Sirius ran away, she wouldn't leave her room for weeks. She wouldn't cry she would just stare at the ceiling, wondering why she became exactly what she feared, why she forced her own son into running away out of fear. When Regulus died, she completely broke down. She lost both of her sons because she forced them away from her. She died not long after Regulus went missing.

#the house of black #sirius black #regulus black #marauders #black brothers #walburga black #walburga's a+ parenting #orion black #andromeda black #bellatrix black #narcissa black #marauders headcanon #marauders era #bellatrix lestrange #narcissa malfoy #andromeda tonks

33 notes · View notes

onewmin · 1 year

Text

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 2 | bangchan

Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, mentions of cheating, profanity, Chan being completely oblivious, a cliffhanger in the end

Author’s note: this is Chan’s POV; the change from “she” to “you” seems very poetic to me as the story progresses lmao. There are a lot of flashbacks, they are highlighted so that you don’t get lost. hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 1 | Part 3

The first time Chan ever saw your face was at a book fair six years ago.

He attended with his friends and girlfriend at the time; she was keen on adult novels so much, that she could never miss the opportunity to buy and read something new.

You were exactly were the girlfriend wanted you: at the “18+ novels” stand. Telling people about books, suggesting different stories to buy, and laughing at even improper jokes some customers were making.

His ex-girlfriend got an invisible hold on you, becoming the customer who seized your attention for the next twenty minutes. Every book was described in such details, that even Chris got involved and bought one. Not that he ever read it, though — he was more a fan of detective stories.

But his girlfriend? Bought a copy of each book. She spent so much money at the fair, and had to ask her parents send a little bit just so she wouldn’t die of starvation. Yeah, being a student was his favourite time, surely.

The book fairs at the campus happened every six months, so in a half year he was there again, that time volunteering at the children’s section. Only then he found out fifty percent of story collections and books were written by the students themselves. He didn’t see you at the fair that time, but he definitely saw an opportunity.

Three days later he was at the writers’ club gathering, having collected all his poems in a green binder. Chan was never socially anxious, making friends and new acquaintances anywhere he went, but that time was different. He felt out of place, thinking everyone was (or at least, looked like) really smart and he? He never felt that way. His, by that moment already ex, girlfriend had always been making fun of him for almost failing his maths classes. She used to say, “If someone is failing maths, they’re not good at anything”. Weird shot, but okay. It’s not like he was a genius, he reminded her and himself, and maths was pretty hard, too.

Was Chan’s not being a maths genius the main reason she cheated on him? Who knows, she blocked him right after he found out about her affair. Good for him. Good.

The breakup rediscovered his long-forgotten talent — writing poems. He had so much of them he didn’t know what to do. Before the writers’ club. Maybe here he’d find a way to show his true self to the world.

As he sat down in the corner of the room, at the back of the hall, he noticed just how many people were apart of the club. And they were all friends, too. “I’m not here to make friends”, Chan shook his head, “I’m here to get published”.

Suddenly the seat near him was taken. A girl with a pink binder, who, as Chan noticed only by a quick look at her face, was displeased with something. Maybe her book or story idea got rejected?

“Hey”, Chan started, slightly turning his torso in the girl’s direction, “d’you know how to get published?”

The girl’s eyebrows raised, eyes darted to him. “Shit, what did I even do?”, the wave of panic rose from his feet right to his head the moment he saw the look in her eyes. Dark, full of anger.

“You came here just to get published?”, despite the way she presented herself, her voice sounded pretty nice. “You have to get through professor Martins first”.

“Literature professor, yeah?”

She nodded. For some reason, Chris found her features… mesmerizing? No, that was too much for a person he’d just met. “He put me through nine circles of hell before even considering publishing. Change this, rewrite that, the characters are too unrealistic — yeah, like, he would know, how real teenagers communicate”, she wanted to say something else, but quickly covered her mouth with her palm. “Anyways, he knows if your work is worth it”.

“Did you get published?”

“Yup. I literally had to die and come back to life for this to happen”.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Literally?”

“Literally, dude. Everyone here has done it, at least once”.

Later that night he carried two binders in his hands — the girl was kind enough to share her works with him. Professor Martins absolutely destroyed Chan’s poems (and will to live as well), stating,

“They lack in grammar. It’s too simple”.

And it was the nicest thing he said. Chan had never, even years after graduating, felt another sudden urge to weep in his car like it was that evening.

“Is he always like this?” he asked the girl, back at his seat.

“Did he brutally murder your dream of becoming a writer?”

Chris nodded, letting out a shaky sigh. The girl’s lips curved into a soft smile, and she patted his shoulder, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Yeah, I know. You’ll ignore the next few meetings, but will come back, eventually. Martins’ like that horrible ex you keep coming back to, y’know?”

Such a pretty smile. It was somehow similar to his, Chan admitted, while staring at the ceiling of his dorm room: dimples on full display, and her left one deeper than the other, mirroring his prominent right dimple. Chan didn’t realize that a smile, so similar to his, would be as magnificent as it was.

And he’s been thinking about it since then. Only for her dimples to be shown more rarely the further the time went on; he hadn’t seen mush of them recently. Just her regular, half-smile to whatever jokes he was telling — even her favourite ones didn’t do the trick.

“A man walks into his home to find out all his lamps were stolen. D’you know what happened to him?”

“What?” If he had paid more attention, he would have noticed the flatness in her voice, the shaky breaths and head pressed into the pillow.

“He was delighted”, Chris giggled, expecting the same reaction from her. Dad jokes were her thing, something she snorted to whenever the chance was given. But then it was nothing. Just her humming to him in response.

“Goodnight, Chan”.

He didn’t say anything. She had told him previously she had some problems at work, so he assumed it was the reason for her putting distance between them.

“You should get more sleep, tiger”, Chan put the strand of hair behind her ear, his hand staying on her cheek, gently caressing her under eye by his thumb. She leaned into the touch, but he didn’t notice. He never did.

“I hate that nickname”, she mumbled.

“I also hate being called “shawty”, but it never stops you”, the corners of her mouth quirked up, her lips uttering yet another nonsense.

“It’s ‘cause you’re short”. The first time she said that Chan’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Six years later it was just a regular thing to hear from her. Being 4 centimeters taller than him, as she firmly believed, gave her a right to point out their height difference on every occasion.

“And you still have that ridiculous tiger costume”.

“Like it’s a crime”. She huffed and left his soft embrace, marching into the kitchen. “We all make mistakes when we’re young, you know that, right?”

“Mistakes don’t get engraved into a memory of twenty people. People trying to striptease in a tiger costume do”.

A flush creeped across her cheeks, and Chan couldn’t help but smile. Making her embarrassed about something was his ultimate favourite thing. She cleared her throat, trying to reply, but instead Chris only heard the buzzing. Shutting and opening his eyes twice to check if it was real, and the sound only intensified.

The reality hit him immediately. Jumping on his bed, taking the phone from the nightstand — failing miserably, as it slipped from his hands and fell on the floor — “Shit, shit, shit”, picking it up in panic (the screen wasn’t damaged) and sliding across to answer the call.

“Chan, we need you at the studio. See you in an hour”. Lee Know ended the call before Chris could even open his mouth. Great. Another day off ruined.

Chan laid back in the bed, his head hitting the headboard. “Ugh, shit”, he winced, rubbing the back of the head. What’s next? He’s going to get up and break his leg?

His idea to scroll through the news was interrupted by a text. From her, three hours ago. Did he forget something at her place?

“I’m tired of this bullshit. We r not a thing anymore”.

“Oh and yeah. What’s this between us? This bullshit? It’s no friendship. We stopped being friends the moment you decided to fuck me. You know I have feelings for you, all these months you knew. And you didn’t give a fuck about it. So why should I? So yeah, that’s it. Leave the spare keys under the rug. Never call me. Because whenever I hear your voice or see you face… Whenever you’re around, I just feel more alone. Bye, Chan”.

And he jumped from the bed.

“Hey, your button”, Chan took her pants in his hands and observed the troubled area carefully.

“Yeah, it’s barely holding. Every time I sit, I think it’s gon’ fall”.

“Why haven’t you fixed it?”

“Argh”, she scratched the back of her head, looking everywhere but at him. “Don’t have the time”.

“Bring me the needle and a thread”, he sat down on the bed. She went though all stages of something that time: scratched her ear, rubbed her rosy-colored cheeks, sighed and moved onto rubbing her neck.

“You don’t have to…”

“Now”.

“Okay, boss”, she mumbled, almost flying from the room.

“I can do it myself, y’know”, she was observing him sewing the button too carefully. Her standing right in front of him — overshadowing the light — didn’t help at all.

“Sit down, Bob the Builder”.

She complied, but with a heavy sigh and a violent plop on the bed, which made Chris jump involuntarily; if he hadn’t been holding her pants and the needle as tightly as possible, it all would have been on the floor.

“Every time you say ‘I can do it myself’, you end up breaking something. The nail, the shelf, the hand”. She groaned in response. “Stop bouncing your leg, it’s distracting”.

“Jeez! Stop bossing me around, Miranda Priestly”.

“I thought you like it when I tell you what to do”. He was too concentrated on fixing her button to see, but he knew. Her ears turned red as she covered her face, and then — bam! — smacked his shoulder. The regular routine of embarrassment.

“Ouch”, a little blood spot on his finger — the needle went into his skin right through the fabric of the pants.

“Oh shit”, she almost fell down from the bed, but ran to the kitchen to get her fist-aid bag. Chan smirked; it wasn’t like he’d been in pain — worst things happened to him during dance practices — but to watch her nervously going through the bag, to see her look for everything she needed.

And there she was. Sitting on her knees in front of Chan, applying something on his tiny wound. A pinched expression on her face — as if it was his fault — and her touch, half aggressive, half gentle. And in this last half, Chan swore on everything he had, in this half of tenderness he could drown, voluntarily jump from the cliff just to lose himself in the soft silk of her feelings. It was always so difficult to read her emotions, no matter how hard he tried or what he said — it seemed impossible.

She never said anything either. The fact, that Chan caught her crying in his bed, startled him so much he couldn’t even bring it up. Sometimes he was convinced she wasn’t able to feel anything except for positive emotions; and what’s worse, even the good ones were expressed rarely. In the six years he’d known her, he kept asking himself, when did she ever speak about her feelings?

Something about her dad’s emotional unavailability becoming her trait, too, as she blurted out once. And that was it — no other explanation. She spoke in actions, Chris knew that too well; however, hearing something about her feelings, at least once, would be a great idea. But she never did. And whenever he got in trouble, she scolded him, drove her car, sighing annoyingly too often, and then treated his bruises and scratches on the couch; or let him fix his broken heart by crying in her embrace. Her words were awkward (to her), but to Chan, hearing her utter under her breath, “I’m here with you, and for you, and… And I’m just here. I’ll always be”, was the only thing he needed.

“But when she showed her feelings, when she cried into your pillow, with your hand on her waist — were you there? Did you tell her that?”

“That’s it”, she put a bandaid with small pictures of Iron Man on his fingertip and blew on the covered wound. “Shouldn’t hurt you anymore”.

“It didn’t”, Chan cleared his throat for some reason. And when she got up from the floor and sat down next to him on the bed, his throat was dry again.

She looked at him — so… Lovingly? He couldn’t quite read the glance; not because of the usual reasons, but ‘cause it was the first time he noticed it. He didn’t quite know what to do. Bang Chan, the chief manager in the Affection Department, what would he do?

The palm of his hand slowly landed on her cheek, moving her face closer to his. His nose brushed hers in a swift touch, lips leaving a peck on her forehead. If she was saying something, the sound of the heartbeat, drumming in his chest, deafened Chan completely.

Chan touched her forehead with his, eyes locked on her eyes, dazzling in the dim light of the bedroom. Were they always this peerless? Or was he just blind his entire life, his blurry vision cured by her shining?

“Thank you”, he whispered, still focused on her eyes and unsteady breathing.

“You palm is sweaty”, she mumbled under her breath, and he chuckled, expecting to hear this kind of nonsense from her.

Staring into the wall in front of him, Chan wiped a tear from his cheek.

“I have feelings for you”. And you’re saying it through a text? A fucking breakup text?

Maybe, just maybe, consider asking about his feelings too, huh?

Yeah, and what would he say?

Chan didn’t quite know. He couldn’t wrap his head around the strange tingling in his chest whenever you were near, whenever you were laughing at his lame jokes, whenever you played with his hair. Whenever you did fucking anything. He ignored the feeling, putting it into a cage deep inside of his heart. You were his best friend, after all, a person he confided in. Wouldn’t it be wrong to fall in love with you?

“Whenever you’re around, I just feel more alone”.

That’s the reason for crying? That was it this entire time? Did he really make you feel this way?

Too many thoughts were spinning in his head, and he wasn’t able to catch at least one by the tail — they were slipping away, only to circle around your name and face, and hands, and smile, and fingers intertwined with his, and cold feet attacking his warm ones under the covers, and… Only you.

To never call you? To stop seeing you? Did you really think he would listen to your commands?

Throwing whatever clothes he found on the floor, putting on mismatched socks and sneakers, he ran down the stairs, calling Lee Know simultaneously.

“You’re on your way, I hope”.

“Answer one question”.

“What’s with the voice? Are you jogging or something?”

“D’you think I’m in love with her?”

‘Her’? Minho knew right away. “You dumb fuck. Took you long enough”.

“It’s that obvious?”

Minho rubbed his eyes with extra annoyance at that moment. “If I see you two staring at each other and then denying it one more time, I swear to god, I will kill you both. Romeo and Juliet style. Shut up and come to the studio already”.

“I’m gon’ be late”. Chan knew exactly what Minho’s next words were — not that he was willing to listen to them.

Shit, he panted on the street, the car keys were on the kitchen table. Running back would be too long, Chan thought, so the taxi he jumped in should be perfect.

The windows were open, wind blowing in his face — and even the air outside was filled with your scent. Floral perfume, that always reminded him of late spring nights spent with you.

“You don’t mind if I change the route?”, the driver asked. “To overtake the traffic?”

“Yeah, no problem”.

Five minutes later they were on the empty highway, going round the city to get to the neighborhood you were living in. Chan ignored the driver’s occasional texting — not his first rodeo with such people. It’d be better if he didn’t, though.

The next thing Chan remembered was his head hitting the back of the passenger seat.

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis

#bang chan #bangchan #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x you #bang chan imagine #bangchan imagine #bangchan imagines #stray kids imagines

97 notes · View notes

broodwolf221 · 2 days

Text

meta that's mostly about vivienne and her pro-circle views, but also touches on both sera and anders. I love them all and that shows, none of this is character hate, but I'm trying to explore the nuance at play here

adding character hate on this post will get you blocked

cws: mentions of the following: abuse; starvation; murder

obviously sera and vivienne are very, very different from each other... but I think one important commonality between them is a desire to avoid anarchy as a solution

sera doesn't want the red jennies to become a new political power - she wants to keep the current batch of nobles on edge, knowing that the "red jenny" may come for them if they fuck up too much. she also doesn't want to take out all the current nobles bc she knows that new ones will rise to take their place. she hates the nobles, but she also sees how an anarchist revolution would harm the very people she cares about, those she's trying to help as a red jenny

vivienne doesn't want to abolish the circles, but she also doesn't want to permit the abuses within them... but she, quite realistically, views the destruction of the chantry/subsequent vote for the dissolution of the circles as an inciting factor in the mage-templar war

anders' actions gave people new and immediate reason to fear mages. whether he was right to do it or not - and I tend to think he was - does not preclude it having consequences, even those that directly harm the very group he was trying to liberate

further, the function of the circles as a place for mages to train is necessary, and is also why I personally tend to feel a little uncomfortable with direct parallels being made to rl groups. no minority or oppressed group in rl can accidentally burn down the family barn because they get upset. I'm all for ppl making these connections if that works for them, but I always look at things first and foremost as existing within their canon context, not referencing reality outside of it

with that in mind... training mages is necessary. they need to be able to avoid possession, to learn to control their abilities, etc. does it need to be in a circle tower? no! ofc not! but there does need to be a form of training

vivienne sees the circles as fulfilling that role. the dissolution of them plunged mages into uncertainty - the anarchy she is so opposed to. who will train new mages now? how will they even be discovered?

in banter with dorian, sera once mentions a mage who got picked up by the templars, so he's "better now." dorian reacted with shock, asking if she knew what the southern circles are like, and she replied that he got three square meals a day, a cot. and he wouldn't starve or be killed in the street, both of which she'd seen

this isn't saying circles are the ideal, because they have abuses occurring within them too. the one in kirkwall seemed to be the worst, but we can't know the extent of it in every circle throughout time. it is, however, a place with a severe power imbalance and stark controls placed upon people as a matter of course

it is also the current and only solution within a large part of thedas. without it, what will happen to those kids who get mad and burn a building down? will the non-mages around them be kind, or will they be brutal? will they be able to turn them over to rogue apostates?

this is the problem with anarchy imo - some systems absolutely deserve to be destroyed, but there are a LOT of people who are going to fall through the cracks in an anarchist revolution

so, tl;dr: anders was right. and vivienne is right. circles are bad, but they are also the only system in place rn. and sera and vivienne have an anti-anarchy pov that they share, which is very interesting to me.

#broodmeta

13 notes · View notes

siover · 11 months

Note

i may be just gasping at straws here but there is something just. so insane about how the nature of kendall and shiv’s relationship is somewhat cannibalistic. like shiv spitting in his drink and kendall drinking it anyway and the ‘i love you but i cannot fucking stomach you’ and the idea of kendall being the sacrificial lamb in 2x10 + shiv’s ‘can’t eat’ . like the whole consumption aspect of it all.. just wondering if you had any thoughts on it i suppose!!

YES very true. the kitchen scene is a callback to their childhood in more ways than one--it reflects the siblings' relationship with each other and with food and how they're linked (dyou remember the summer of competitive eating disorders:)). its notable that only shiv and kendall say they're hungry despite none of them having eaten dinner, and that kendall is the only one who ends up eating anything. roman licks the cheese as a joke, passes the ingredients to shiv, who actually blends the discordant foods together, and together they feed kendall this drink that is definitely terrible for him. siblings ! no but i do think its an unsubtle metaphor but it works ! kendalls position as the heir has always relied on roman being the weaker dog bolstering his position, on shiv being the baby who will never get it bc shes a girl. and if he wont drink the rest, they'll drench him with it, turn his own promised position against him in jealousy and self interest and a mistaken notion of love

and shiv spitting in it was very much foreshadowing, yeah. i liked how it was a callback to her spitting in kendalls notebook after the "rape me/i'm not the only one," incident during her speech--it was a childish act then, and its one now, and it shows how any attempts at enmity or solidarity come from the same place of shared abuse, of seeing someone better than you see yourself and punishing them for the traits you share. kendall drinking it again reflects how his position will never be untinged by shivs simultaneous understanding as well as animosity. mirror traps real

the way this all relates to the characters' relationships with food is also ofc very interesting. roman doesnt eat at all, he denies his body and sees it as evidence of his failure to be logan's son. he never wanted ceo, it couldn't have been him, dad's death cements the impossibility of the love he craved by which proximity to the ceo position was made valuable at all. shiv admitted she was starving but never ate anything, only asked her mom if there was food. she brings up food only as a move, only as something that can serve her, because to acknowledge it otherwise would be weakness. ofc this is reflective of her relationship with power, and love--she'll bring it up first so she's noted as being aware of the cards at play without showing her hand. but she never actually gets it because when she's said the quiet part out loud, voiced her ambition, there's nothing stopping the quiet parts of her weaknesses in this world from being consumed i.e. her womanhood :) in the end all she can do is acknowledge the fact of her starvation, and spit into the poisonous food bowl while still hungry.

ofc its kendalls bowl she's spitting into. he sees food as fuel, as something that gets him where he needs to go, but never actually enjoys it, and sees such enjoyment as juvenile--we're not at buckley anymore--but his firm belief in rationality and health corresponding to awareness means its another step to the ideal position that doesn't really exist. at the end of the day he will drink the concoction because he considers himself stronger for it. i did a fucking year in shangai, i'm ready, etc

ultimately this is reflected in their choices in the endings. roman says yes first then retracts with shiv. i think hes the one who says shiv has no stomach for admin which is like, him pinning the decision to support kendall as well as the consideration to kill him onto shiv lol. SHIV doesnt have the stomach for admin, and SHIV cannot stomach kendall, and it comes down to the same thing--shiv shutting kendall out bc she's never been able to digest his choices. this DOES relate to pierce ofc and logan throwing up at the breakfast and ultimately waystar being a declining corporation that could never have eaten up pierce. do you see what im saying do you see how it makes sense from this angle that shiv was the only one who ended up still "in," even if only as the ceo's wife. shiv being unable to stomach kendall is the final nail in the coffin--its acceptance of this fact. of the death of waystar, and by extension logan. anyway i keep thinking about how when they all trooped into the kitchen, wet through, kids again, there was never really any real food in the fridge :)

#shiv roy #kendall roy #roman roy #machinery #usually i would just tag this sibs but its not really abt them as siblings more abt them individually rip. organized blog at what cost #hopefully this makes sense lmao i rehashed some stuff but truly the kitchen scene is one of my favs and not just bc theyre having fun <3 #i barely touched the surface when it came to pierce waystar being eaten etc etc but i hope the connections r clear. girls when METAPHORS #anyway. ty for the ask i enjoyed answering this <33 #sorry it got so long lol i could go on honestly theres aspects i missed #answered #did not proofread btw so if you see spelling errors etc no you dont <3

73 notes · View notes

ofmiceandwomen · 4 months

Text

Today I decided it will be a good day to talk about a private RP project I’m a part of in one secret TMA server which I share with @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown, @envisionedeternity and @thistlesandstories from our irl friend group and @mersilisk as the guest star and amazing antagonist.

I don’t post much and especially not for The Magnus Archives but I admit the podcast is very important to me. My favourite thing about it is the Regency Harem™️ and the historical episodes. Intertwining the lore with the actual historical events and characters is just amazing.

My irl friends know that I have certain level of interest in military history, and therefore I decided to make a use of it and suggested a plot line for a private RP - a short prequel story for Robert Smirke and young Jonah Magnus meeting. Also, we wanted a Slaughter story because there’s way too little of those in the podcast.

And the background is… The Napoleonic Wars. My beloved @thistlesandstories is a reenactor from that era and therefore they got very excited about the project. The excitement grew contagious and turned @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown into a proper horror DM.

The plot line so far:

Europe, 1811. Napoléon Bonaparte decided to be the problem. Given his notable military accomplishments, the Slaughter just couldn’t leave him unnoticed. After all, the concept of the Total War is born. One day, the Slaughter had came to the young Napoléon and offered him that he would become the greatest warrior of all time. The First Consul of France has agreed.

The Slaughter is rising, therefore it is convinced that the time has come to attempt a ritual. But for a war ritual you sorta need to have two sides, right. There are plenty of “other sides” - and there is one talented general, very dedicated to defending his country. Honourable and skilled man - Viscount Arthur Wellesley, soon to be the Duke of Wellington. Wellington was not having a great time in the Portuguese campaign as his forces were being pushed out by the French, when the Slaughter called to him - offering a victory in exchange for his service. Wellington considered, out of loyalty, he agreed with the nightmarish pact.

The situation improved as now the British and Portuguese army set up an attrition trap with the French falling in. Then guess what - the Slaughter calls again. (The attrition war is usually not exactly Slaughter aligned thing. The soldiers die of starvation, freezing, sickness, which is inherently a corruption thing - The Slaughter wants the bloodbath). Now, the Slaughter has called for a French man again - Marshal Michel Ney, said the Bravest of the Brave, known for his extremely risky approach to the war. An ideal candidate, so it seems . When the French finally retreated and Ney successfully bought their exhausted troops some time by his rearguard actions, the Piper showed up to him, offering him the victory. However, the French marshal has none of that shit and literally tells the War itself to shut the f**k up. Obviously, the Slaughter hates him now.

But now it’s May 1811. Now, time for some historical liberties, yay! Ney lost his command after he disrespected his commanding officer, and his wife convinced him to take a break - therefore they ended up chilling in a little German spa town with their children. The resort happens to be the favourite place of one of the Würtemberger aristocrat Albrecht von Closen. This young man decided it would be nice to invite his British friend Jonah Magnus.

Jonah is very young, he just turned 18, he inherited notable amount of money from his deceased uncle and he has many admirers for his intellect and general charms. However, even now, Jonah is more of a cold academic, a silent observer, with little interest in changing the world. He only wants to know and to understand. And he is just as cold to his companion, sir Barnabas Bennet, who is not really financially stable, but somehow he managed to incite himself to go with Jonah. Barnabas is like a pure opposite of Jonah - hot headed, adventurous and painfully irresponsible.

The last guest to arrive is… nobody else than Viscount Wellesley himself. He has earned a short period of leave and he just picked the same recreational spot as his enemy, Ney. It’s not a coincidence however, the Slaughter is still feeling petty and it wants to ruin Ney for his insolence. The future victor of Waterloo seems to be a good tool for ruining the Marshal’s involuntary holiday.

Oh well. He might not be the last to arrive. There is one more man, who will go down the TMA history - a certain gifted character in his early thirties, working hard on something barely connected to the architecture. Maybe it has something to do with his paranormal obsession. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome sir Robert Smirke!

So yes. The scene is all set. So far it goes very well. Except… it is not.

The disasters are here!

Jonah Magnus seems more interested in Wellesley than in his travel mate Barnabas. Out of desperation, Barnabas decides to finally confess his feelings for Jonah. It went well in his head. He approached the armchair in the lounge, seeing those rich copper curls. He took a deep breath and finally kissed him… Only to realise that Jonah Magnus is not the only one to sport this hairstyle. Red-haired marshal Ney is not amused and his first instinct was hitting the perpetrator right in the face and showering him with list of French profanities.

Albrecht von Closen has really bad feeling about Arthur Wellesley. He is himself a very sensitive and observant man and he disapproves of Jonah’s interest in the famous British commander. It is not the first gut feeling of this kind Albrecht had and he is not exactly sure what to do with that. He meets an unlikely ally - very angry Marshal Ney who is certainly not happy about Wellesley’s presence either.

Robert Smirke found what he was looking for- the presumed Slaughter avatar, aka the Napoleon’s bravest Marshal (please consider that Smirke is a Brit and therefore the idea of future Duke of Wellington as the avatar of the Slaughter is just unimaginable to him). The architect is not exactly a good candidate for a spy and therefore he gets noticed by Ney’s children who decide to take the situation in their hands and reveal the man who keeps stalking their father.

This happened so far. But the plot shall go on because… Enter The Stranger!

The Stranger is still obviously pissed after the Slaughter’s agents ruined their ritual in 1787. So it wants a revenge. And the ideal idea of their revenge is taking the Slaughter avatars one by one and turning them into waxworks. And obviously, their victim is the Napoleons’s marshal Ney.

Jonah Magnus is getting bored of relaxing and he is ready to meet a new friend: the famous Robert Smirke. The man, who will unknowingly bring the Apocalypse two centuries later.

The reasons for posting this is the following:

It’s 255th birthday of Michel Ney! He was originally meant to be a background character, but he sort of stole the show. I might or might not be responsible since I’m the one playing the gingers.

Also, this post might or might not work as a peer pressure for @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown to turn it into a fic 👀

The special acknowledgment goes to @thistlesandstories because we have discovered that somehow we really enjoy fighting with each other after six years of being together. The prequel for Ney and Wellington in Portugal was the best part of this year’s Christmas. I’m still crying for the French officer taken by the Piper though I also love the amount of research it goes into this activity. We ended up with new books on Ney and Wellington.

Credits:

Albrecht von Closen, Aloys Ney: @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown

Robert Smirke: @envisionedeternity

Arthur Wellesley, Barnabas Bennett, Eugène Ney: @thistlesandstories

The Stranger Danger, Léon Ney: @mersilisk

Jonah Magnus, Michel Ney: Me, because I’m all the gingers

#the magnus archives #tma fic #tma rp #tma jonah magnus #barnabas bennett #robert smirke #regency harem #napoleonic era #Napoleonic fiction #arthur wellesley #michel ney

17 notes · View notes

dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 8 months

Text

Eden VAU part four

TW: captivity, forced intoxication, blood, violence, brief misgendering, implied Stockhole Syndrome, referenced war, vampire whumpers, human whumpees, multiple whumpers, multiple whumpees

Ezra was still laying wide awake in bed when Christopher came to find him. He couldn't sleep again, after only spending an hour or two awake. But there was something comforting about hiding under his blankets.

"Are you feeling alright?" Christopher asked.

"Yeah. Just processing everything that happened."

Ezra stood up and readjusted his binder, then quickly got embarrassed at the gesture. Christopher simply smiled and held out a plate of chocolate cookies.

"These are yours, my dear Ezra. I hope you enjoy."

Ezra took the plate from him and scarfed down the cookies, which satisfied his stress induced sugar cravings perfectly. His mind wandered off to wondering whether Christopher liked sugar too. If so, getting his blood sugar up might be a good excuse to eat more sweets than strictly necessary.

"Thank you so much," Ezra said. "Those were really good."

"I will make more, of course." Christopher took the empty plate from him. "Colt is very fond of my baking."

"Who's Colt?" Christopher extended his hand, showing off a wedding ring. It was made from shiny white gold, and engraved with a pattern of lavender. "My husband. You will meet him in his next visit."

"That sounds good."

Really, Ezra didn't have any feelings on the matter. So what if he had to meet yet another vampire? But he still had that feeling of warmth in his chest he got every time he met another openly queer person, which was far too infrequent for his liking.

"Have you met any others?" Christopher asked. "After myself and Liam, of course."

"Nope. I've just been in here resting."

"You have permission to go anywhere on this flooring of our house. This is third and highest from the ground. My family stays mostly on second. Other humans are here with you."

"Thanks," Ezra said. "I'll try to learn my way around."

Secretly, Ezra was awfully curious to when the whole blood drinking thing would start. He had always wanted to know what it was like, even if he had no real desire to experience it. Morbid curiosity killed the black cat and all that.

"I have business to attend to," Christopher said apologetically. "Please stay comfortable. I will see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow then."

Ezra utterly melted when Christopher hugged him. Such an odd thing, to be terrified of your own shadow in a house full of monsters, but to feel comfortable and… loved in the embrace of one.

Maybe it was the smell of lavender perfume that urged him to relax, or his perpetual touch starvation, but he couldn't help wishing for a little more attention as Christopher left him alone in his room.

Well, there was nothing else for it. He had to find his fellow captives and make himself known. First impressions were so very important, and hopefully he could keep up his girl-next-door facade and not let any of the humans in on how weird he was.

Strange, how much this felt like a first day at work. Getting nervous and planning social interactions. Did the other blood slaves count as his coworkers? That was a funny thought. Clocking in for a short at the blood harvesting center, with vampires for shift managers.

Liam walked in on Ezra giggling to himself. "Hey kid, what's so funny?"

Ezra shook his head and collected himself. "Nothing I guess. Christopher left. On business I guess. Gave me cookies though, so that was nice."

Now it was Liam's turn to laugh. "Yeah, he's always bustling around the kitchen. For someone who can't eat, his food is really good."

"Mind giving me a tour of this place?" Ezra asked anxiously. "I don't want to get lost by accident and get in trouble for being in the wrong place, you know?"

"Sure thing, kid." Liam patted Ezra on the shoulder. "You should meet the rest of us."

Liam strolled out of the room, looking much more cheerful than he had when Ezra had first met him. Ezra followed behind him, bursting with questions but fearing to be annoying.

"This is where all our bedrooms are." Liam gestured up and down the hallway. "Some of the rooms are empty, and I hope they stay that way."

Ezra nodded. "How many people live here?"Liam started ticking off on his fingers. "For humans there's me, Jun, Flora, Leo, and Jane-Marie. Then you, of course. Jane-Marie isn't a captive. She married one of the vampires."

"I didn't know people… did that."

"Eh, sometimes. It's weird. I try to avoid Jane-Marie. Okay, I try to avoid everybody who isn't a captive. You should do the same."

Ezra wanted to talk to everyone in this house, to get a good grasp on the environment, but Liam's attitude made enough sense. He knew far more than Ezra did, and if Ezra were smarter, he would take Liam's advice.

"You're not allowed off the third floor without direct permission," Liam continued, "so pretend that locked door at the end if the hall doesn't exist. It's to the staircase."

Liam led Ezra down to the other end of the hall and into a living room area. A bookshelf lined one wall, and a television stood against the opposite. A chandelier covered in numerous flickering candles cast better lighting over the room than any of the others Ezra had been in.

"Don't turn on the television or any music at night," Liam said. "The vamps can hear it downstairs and it drives them nuts. They sleep like the dead during the day, so you can do whatever you want then."

"Good to know." Ezra glanced around the room, finding it empty save for himself and Liam. "Where is everybody?"

"Flora is sleeping. I don't know where Leo got off to. And Jun is taking care of Dasha."

Ezra sat down on one of the sofas, finding it very comfortable. "Who's Dasha?"

"Another one of the vampire siblings. She's got some kinda… developmental thing? She doesn't really talk or anything. Her siblings are very protective of her, since she's so harmless. Jun has been here for like twenty years, and he's very attached to her. Have you ever seen a human brushing a vampire's hair and trying to convince her to feed because she doesn't know why she needs to? That's them."

"This is going to sound messed up, but I'm kind of glad that they're like that. It's not like vampires with developmental disorders can get caretakers like humans can. And it's not like her family probably knows why she's like that. They didn't have psychology in seventeenth century Russia. Besides, Jun is probably better off with her than you are with Michael, huh? If she's as 'harmless' as you say."

"True." Liam paused, scratching the scars in his neck and trying to formulate his next sentence. "I mean, that makes sense. Jun is a nice guy, but we don't see him much. He's the only one who stays downstairs all night. Frankly, I don't want to throw myself deeper in the lion's den. But he's happy."

"So. There's Jun, who's taking care of Dasha. You, who belongs to Michael. Me, who got kidnapped by Christopher. Then Leo and… Flora?"

"Yeah, Flora belongs to Lucille and Leo belongs to Demyan. Let's go see if we can find them. I bet they're either downstairs or in the kitchen."

"This is a really big house." Ezra stood up and followed Liam towards the kitchen. "Really old looking too."

"Turn of the century manor is what Jun said. Turn from the nineteenth century to the twentieth century, I mean. I have no idea when the vamps moved in."

"Christopher implied it was during World War Two, or a little while after. He doesn't seem all that fond of the Soviet Union."

Liam nodded and opened the door to the kitchen. He and Ezra found a human inside, but not exactly in the state they had expected to.

The human had their head tilted back, so they could quickly down a large bottle of vodka, urged on by two male vampires. Frizzy orange hair hung over their face, hiding any drunken expression they might have. Blood poured from wounds on their neck and arms, staining their clothes in shades of dark red and brown.

The vampires took no notice of Liam and Ezra, too busy passing their drunk blood bag back and forth, playing some macabre drinking game as the human forced themself to drink more and more. They could no longer stand on their own, so the vampires kept ahold of their wrists.

One of the vampires took a break from drinking to give his brother a turn, and looked up to scowl at Ezra and Liam. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

Liam immediately dragged Ezra out of the room, clenching his wrist much too tightly in panic, and slammed the kitchen door behind them. He didn't let go of Ezra until they were back in the living room.

"What the hell was that?" Ezra asked, unable to get the horrible sight out of his mind's eye. "Liam, I'm… scared."

"Sorry kid, but this happens a lot. Leo is gonna be alright after a day or two. That was Demyan and Michael in there with her. Michael was the one who told us to fuck off. Leo was already an alcoholic before they got taken captive and it's gotten so much worse. I feel really bad for them."

"I can tell why you wanted me to stay away from everybody," Ezra said shakily. He collapsed on a chair, trying to keep his breathing under control.

Liam patted him on the shoulder. "I can't do much but try to protect you. Just do as I say and you'll keep your skin mostly intact. God, you're too young for this."

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenlyeden @melancholy-in-the-morning @snakebites-and-ink @suck-my-clit-loser @i-eat-worlds @scp-1296 @chiswhumpcorner @skittles-the-whumpee @whumpkinz @dokidokisadness @enbygesserit @canislycaon24 @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @a-crumb-of-whump

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Eden #Eden VAU #Whump #Vampire whumpers #Human whumpees #Multiple whumpers #Multiple whumpees #Blood bag whumpees #Whump writing #whumpblr #Forced intoxication

21 notes · View notes