#they would have been planning this year when that takeover was done

[talisetekt]

Does anyone else find it interesting how the Year of Shadow is also being advertised as Fearless? Mainly because the last twitter takeover did a little joke about Shadow’s favorite Taylor Swift era being Fearless… I’m not saying this was definitely a purposeful hint to the future, it’s most likely a weird coincidence, but the fact it could have been…

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

To Be Alive In Summer

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.

A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.

But this one just might break you in the process. 

“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?” 

The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.

And right now that hinged on you being dead.

“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”

Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.

You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament. 

Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.

Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones. 

And people needed to believe it.

“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”

Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.

“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch. 

He won't. Not inwardly.  

“I…” your jaw clenched. 

Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it. 

You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough. 

“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.” 

“You can’t tell them?”

“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you. 

He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.

“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this. 

You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.

“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”

John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.” 

“Exfil point?” 

“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job. 

Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.

Simon had to understand. 

The Captain sees the shift in your expression.

“You in?” He asks you with a blank look. 

You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”

“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”

You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed. 

It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different. 

This was betrayal. 

After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights. 

You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil. 

The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.

“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig. 

You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.

“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?” 

Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?

“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.” 

Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?” 

“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him. 

You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth. 

What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up. 

If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back. 

You wouldn’t be coming back to him. 

Simon’s thighs shift.

“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough. 

The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him. 

Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs. 

“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking. 

The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.

“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…” 

Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion. 

Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him. 

“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone. 

You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together. 

“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?” 

Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.” 

If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.

“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.” 

“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”

It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”

You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.

“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right. 

A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room. 

“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?” 

“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.” 

You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this. 

“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.

“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”

“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth. 

They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty. 

“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”

“Simon! It’s not—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”

Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you. 

You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you. 

The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong. 

But you weren’t having it.

Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing. 

“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.

You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior. 

For his own good? What in the hell did that mean? 

Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground. 

Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet. 

“Trick’s in the damn building!” 

No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach. 

In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.

Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther. 

“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”

“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”

“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon. 

You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it. 

But Simon had not. 

“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast. 

You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.

“Trick!”

“Simon, get back into bloody cover!” 

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.

You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder. 

Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.

Of the love.

Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same. 

Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself. 

The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils. 

John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared. 

And he just might pay the price for it.

—

Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources. 

To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.

But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.

It was safe to say you despised him. 

But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless. 

He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch. 

Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.

Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.

During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you. 

Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away. 

In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons. 

You’d never be able to tell him now. 

Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting. 

You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal. 

Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.

Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.

“Trick!”

You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.

“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.” 

“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”

A slow smirk runs on his lips. 

“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing. 

Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”

He was why. 

Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really. 

Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw. 

“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”

“Negative,” you spit, heated. 

He scoffs. “Of course.” 

Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain. 

Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears. 

“Let me get my knives.” 

—

They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal. 

Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away. 

Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson. 

Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this. 

There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to. 

The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips. 

It was half your choice, after all. 

You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.

ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could. 

You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips. 

“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”

“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”

You hear a low grunt. 

“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg. 

You blink over at him, raising a brow. 

“Looking for me, Ghosty?” 

“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above. 

“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.” 

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”

“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash. 

He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.

“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.

You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.” 

A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement. 

After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.

“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.

He glares. “No.”

You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”

“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name. 

“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.

“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”

“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”

“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”

He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars. 

You’d both known each other too long for that.

You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one. 

“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”

“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…

Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.

“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.

“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.

“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?

“Trick, fucking wake up!”

Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs. 

The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts. 

Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present. 

A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion. 

Simon?

“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?” 

What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood? 

The man frantically goes to press into his radio.

“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder. 

“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”

Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe. 

Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base. 

“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”

Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars. 

Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state. 

“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.

“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.” 

You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down. 

The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat. 

“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker. 

It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming. 

“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”

Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up. 

“Good.” 

There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.

“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.” 

The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.

Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal. 

“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.” 

Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”

The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles. 

The slam of a body to the ground. 

Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline. 

“Slag,” he spits. 

Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter. 

“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.” 

It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell. 

He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again. 

Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf. 

“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant. 

John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!” 

“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets. 

“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you. 

“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!” 

You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now. 

Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing. 

No!

“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain. 

Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped. 

“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!” 

You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating. 

Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off

“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!” 

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling. 

The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done. 

“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.” 

You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time. 

“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.

“Let ‘em fix you up—”

“I love you.” 

It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.

—

“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”

You sigh and rub at your face.

“Trick.”

“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”

“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.” 

“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.” 

You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights. 

“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”

“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”

You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”

John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly. 

Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore. 

You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered. 

“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”

“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.

Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists. 

They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.

And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.

You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.

“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”

A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”

“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”

“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”

Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.

“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed. 

You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.

The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.

Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.

You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks. 

The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach. 

You wanted to see Simon. 

You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.

Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.

You had to try.

When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear. 

It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.

Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver. 

Lifting up a fist, you hesitate. 

Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.

The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.

The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.

You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room. 

Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.

“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.

The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you. 

You come to a slow halt behind him and stare. 

It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.

The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.

“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”

Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward. 

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”

His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.

“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.

“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.” 

You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.

You had done…what?

All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.

“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”

Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.

“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”

“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling. 

He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.

“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow. 

He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing. 

His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.

“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving. 

Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.

“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse. 

You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.

Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.

“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be. 

A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.

“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.” 

His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours. 

You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock. 

You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips. 

Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh. 

No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.

A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive. 

To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference. 

Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him. 

Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.

He guessed that was all that mattered.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[flowersandbigteeth]

Meeting your shadowbeast boyfriend

Shadowbeast X Reader

Word count: 1.5K

Summary: You break up with your boyfriend only to find a new lover

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Headcannon

W: name calling, general breakup, mention of drugs, character death

You’ll never know exactly when it happened. It could have been when he took over the company or when the first billion hit his bank account, but you were watching your once sweet and nerdy boyfriend packing his bags in front of you. Only he was no longer your sweet, nerdy boyfriend. When did that happen?

His face was red with anger as he enumerated your many faults to you. 

Lazy, he said. Undignified, he said. Dumb as a rock, he said. A bitch, he finally noted.

Every word was punctuated by another one of his new suits being stuffed into his brand new designer suitcase. 

You tried to hold your tears back, be a real bitch. He deserved it after all, but you weren’t any of the things he said you were and you certainly didn’t have his cold heart. 

How could he say these things to you? You thought as you sniffled in front of him. 

You’d been a happy couple for five years!

 You were a photographer for the local paper. You didn’t make a lot of money, but it was a noble profession. The city was a small one with little going on, so you mostly showed up at citywide events and sports games to take shots of the mayor. You came home on time every night and made your boyfriend dinner. 

He’d been the workaholic, code obsessed nerd who worked late into the night at the office. It bothered you, yes, but you never said anything. Rick had ambition, who could fault him for that? You’d always packaged up his dinner and had it waiting for him when he came home. Sometimes you’d even walk to his work late at night to bring him a sweater and thermos of coffee. 

There was a time when he would welcome you with a kiss and chided you for being out in the dangerous streets after dark. That time had passed, eventually those kisses turned to harsh rebukes about how you were bothering him while he worked. Finally, one day the security guard stopped letting you past the front door all together. 

So you just shivered and sobbed while he told you that you could keep everything in your shitty apartment because he never wanted to have to think of your sorry face again. 

When he’d finally slammed the door, you just collapsed into a ball on the couch and cried. When had things gotten so twisted? You really couldn’t put a pin on a particular day or event, but slowly your boyfriend had become a different person. 

The man you knew before would have never blackmailed the CEO of the company so he could take his place in a hostile takeover, but this man did. He hadn’t bragged about what he’d done or anything, but despite what he said you weren’t stupid. You’d overheard the threatening calls he’d placed from the bathroom and even cleaned up some of the magazines he’d cut up to write his evil notes, even though they were your expensive photography issues. 

You’d try to stick by him. He was your boyfriend after all and you wanted to be a supportive lover. Surely he had a plan. He wouldn’t be doing all of this for no reason, right? 

It doesn’t matter now, you thought, sinking into your familiar couch cushions. 

You were so exhausted from crying, you slipped into a deep slumber, your jaw clenched and your fists tight. 

You were so tense, you didn’t wake to the gentle scrape of claws over your cheek as they brushed your hair out of the way or the soft kiss that was placed on your forehead before the creature that had been watching your tragedy slipped out of the room. 

You woke to your phone blaring on your kitchen counter. You untangled the blanket you must have wrapped yourself in in your sleep from your limbs and scrambled over to pick it.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N). You don’t have to cover this story if you don’t want to. We’ll send someone else over,” your boss said into the receiver.

“What…? What are you talking about?” you murmured back, rubbing sleep from your eyes. 

“The police haven’t contacted you?” she asked. 

“No…what’s going on?” you muttered. You didn't want to play twenty questions right then. 

There was a pause on the other end. 

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Rick was found dead in a hotel room with four or five sex workers. They're still investigating, but the rumor is it was a drug overdose. Tainted cocaine. They all died of heart attacks. Spooky stuff really….but erm…I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Please take as much time as you need.”

You numbly hung up the phone and ran to the television, flicking it on. 

Sure enough, your ex boyfriend’s name was all over the local news with a photo you took of him, smiling in front of his company plastered on the screen. 

Local CEO found dead in hotel full of sex workers. 

You glanced at your phone, noticing you’ve missed many calls. The numbers you don't recognize must have been reporters.  You’re thankful you somehow slept through them.

You flopped back down on the couch feeling strangely numb. You’d never wish death on Rick, but that’s where he went straight from breaking up with you? To party with girls and do drugs in celebration? Did your relationship really mean nothing to him? Were you really just a burden to him all along? 

A fresh batch of tears threatened to flow over your face as the poisonous thoughts rolled around in your head. You looked at the apartment you’d styled to Rick’s picky preferences. Gray everything, because he couldn’t stand color. There were mounted computer processors hanging on the walls instead of pictures, because he didn’t like them. 

You snarled at the bland decor and hopped to your feet jerking the processors down one by one and tossing them in a pile on the floor. Then you yanked up the ugly gray rug you’d compromised on and tore the boring gray sheets he insisted on off the bed. 

To your surprise an envelope flopped to the floor from Rick’s side of the bed as you removed the sheets. 

You gasped, thumbing the hundred thousand dollars that was stuffed inside in mixed bills. This must have been Rick’s emergency fund. He’d gotten so rich he’d forgotten all about it. You shrugged and peeled off a few hundreds, stuffing the rest back under the mattress. It’s not like he was coming back for it. 

With some money in your pocket and a pile to take to the thrift store, you spent your afternoon avoiding phone calls and shopping for new home decor, returning with a brightly colored rug rolled up over your shoulder and a handful of colorful posters in bags. 

As the sun set you turned your attention to redecorating your apartment. You laid down the rainbow braided rug and hung up the framed posters you bought from the comic book store. 

Finally, when you were happy with their placement you sat back to look at the new pictures. 

Rick had always thought your love for fantasy fiction was uncultured, but since he was gone you indulged yourself with illustrations from your favorite series. There was a fantasy landscape with some pretty waterfalls, a picture of an elf riding a buck, and your favorite a spookier one…a picture of a dark monster with large teeth hovering over a little forest nymph. 

“I like that one,” a deep voice behind you rumbled and you jumped three feet in the air, whirling around to find…nothing…just an odd cloud of smoke. Shivering, you slowly raised your fingertips to the black whorls and they coalesced into a massive form. 

Before your eyes a creature 7 feet tall with midnight blue skin appeared before you. His arcing horns scraped the ceiling and his large teeth grinned down at you with an evil smile. He extended a long claw and gently pushed your hair out of your eyes. 

“Don’t be afraid, darling,” he said, his voice deep and husky. 

Your brain tingled as the sultry tones hit your eardrums. 

“W-Who…W-what…What are you?” you stammered. 

His smile got even wider revealing how many sharp teeth he had. 

“I’m a shadow beast,” he said cheerfully, “and as for who I am, my name is Rafe Boldjaw, your mate. It’s a pleasure to speak to you finally, my darling.” 

The words rattled in your head like loose teeth. 

“A shadow…what?” you mumbled, then you glanced up at him, “mate? W-why are you here?” 

His long tongue rubbed his large canine thoughtfully. 

“I was here to eat a dark soul,” he said, “we shadow beasts are attracted to them.” 

Your heart pounded. A dark soul? You didn’t feel dark, but you had stolen a dead man’s money. You held up your hands. 

“I’m sorry! It was just a few hundred dollars! I’ll put it back I swear! I get paid on Friday! Please don’t eat my soul!” 

He chuckled and circled you, his eyes eating you up, while his long claws lifted your hair off of your neck. You were so incredibly cute, he thought, the way you stuttered and trembled in front of him. 

“Your soul is too pristine to eat,” he said, smiling, “though it is quite beautiful. No, I’ve already consumed the one I was hunting…I’m here for purely…personal reasons.” 

You gulped, unsure what that could possibly mean. 

Behind you, you felt a hot rush of air hit your neck as he sniffed you. 

“B-but…i-if you don’t want my soul…whose soul did you eat?” you asked, unsure if you even wanted to know. 

“No one of note,” he said casually, his long claws scraping your lower back, making you a tingle go up your spine, “a twisted CEO like many others I’ve eaten in my time.” 

You gulped. 

“You ate Rick’s soul?!” you whispered, hoarsely.

“Was that his name?” he chuckled, “he tasted the same as the others. Deliciously dark from all of his misdeeds. Though I have to correct you. I don’t want to eat your soul, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

He returned to your front sliding a thick finger under your chin and tipping your face up to him. Smirking, he lovingly considered the light freckles on your nose and the little lines around your eyes hinting at your age; the things that made you so perfectly you. 

“You are so soft and lovely, like a blooming flower,” he said, “I’m taking you as mine.” 

“Y-yours?” you asked.

He gave you his eerie smile and glanced around your living space. 

“It seems you have room now that a certain pest is out of the way,” he said, “so I’ll be moving in.” 

You gulped. Moving in? 

[lulublack90]

Prompt 16 - Tear

@jegulus-microfic February 16 Word count 538

Previous part First part

“It’s too dangerous, Reg. You’ve only just gotten back. They’ll be watching every move you make.” James tried to be gentle, but each word was like a stab to his chest. Regulus felt the tear drip down his cheek but didn’t have the energy to wipe it away. “Oh, Reg love, I’d be there in a heartbeat if it wouldn’t put you in danger.” Regulus nodded sadly. He understood he really did. But that didn’t take away the feelings he had. He’d gotten so used to being around James again in that last week, even when it was awkward. Heck, he’d even enjoyed being around Sirius. He wanted out of Voldemort’s clutches. He just needed to figure out how to do that without putting anyone he cared about in danger.

“How’s Sirius?” He asked. Fenrir would have wasted no time in collecting Remus. Fenrir had been after him since before he left Hogwarts. 

“He’s okay. Remus is still with us. We think the failed takeover of the Ministry might delay Voldemort’s plans to enlist him. He’s brushing up on his wand-less magic in the meantime because they’ll probably take his wand as soon as they take him as a precaution, and he needs to be able to defend himself.” James was skirting around his question, which probably meant Sirius was a mess. His brother wore his heart on his sleeve and always had done. He wouldn’t be still again until Remus had finished his mission and was safe in Sirius’s arms. Regulus was just glad he’d have James to help him through it, and he never thought he’d feel that way, ever.  

James had helped bring the brothers closer again, and Regulus felt the loss of Sirius as well. He never thought he’d long to be back in that dank little cellar, but for the first time in years, he’d felt safe and happy, well apart from his first day where Moody had interrogated him, but other than that, he’d been able to breathe. Here in this house, he was alone. 

“He doesn’t suspect me. I managed to pass his legimancy tests twice.” He told James, changing the subject.

“That’s good, Reg. Just be careful, okay. Don’t push it.” Regulus was sure James hadn’t meant to treat him like a petulant child, but Regulus couldn’t help sulking. 

“I need to go, love,” James said, sadness creeping over his features. “I’ve got a meeting.” Regulus forced a smile.   

“Okay. — James?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” He hadn’t said it in so long, but he still felt the warmth those three words had always brought when he’d said them as a boy to James. James’s face softened. 

“I love you too, Reg. Always have, always will. Be safe, okay? Don’t do anything reckless.”

“I’m not Sirius,” He returned to sulking. 

“You’re more alike than you care to admit. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Check you’re alright.”

“Bye,”

“Bye, love,” James’s image vanished, and Regulus felt lonely. Another tear escaped from his eyes. He roughly brushed it away with the sleeve of his robes.  

It was late now, but he decided he needed to be around someone, and the only people he could stand who wouldn’t arouse suspicion were Evan and Barty. 

Next part

[horizon-verizon]

Have you met Daemon Targaryen ?? No seriously, what book did you read? For god’s sake, did you read the scene with Blood and Cheese? It’s unspeakably horrifying! We are supposed to come out of that room realizing that nothing is worth this, that a line has been crossed and innocent lives utterly destroyed, that the man who ordered this is not roguish, but GENUINELY EVIL AND MONSTROUS. Daemon is responsible for ordering his 6 year old great-nephew killed. That the Greens betrayed Rhaenyra does not mean they can be held to account for everything the Blacks did for the rest of the war. This is Morality 101, Daemon is a grown man who knew exactly what he was doing, if he wanted to avenge Lucerys death, why he didn’t murdered Aegon or Aemond?

Really, I know that the ASOIAF fandom is full of male obsessed pick me, but how is it that Daemon, sexual predator and child murderer, never lacks for defenders? Are people just confusing their archetypes and thinking of him as an appealingly roguish and dashing rulebreaker? Because, no, he’s just a blatantly and consistently terrible person. He’s a bland and deathly boring parody of Oberyn (and it’s highly offensive to Oberyn because he seeks vengeance for the violent death of his sister and her babies, while Daemon violently murder children and drive their mother to insanity and suicide).

*EDITED POST* (6/11/24)

A)

We are supposed to come out of that room realizing that nothing is worth this, that a line has been crossed and innocent lives utterly destroyed, that the man who ordered this is not roguish, but GENUINELY EVIL AND MONSTROUS.

Anon may be answering to this post or any of the last dozens of helaena posts.

So....apparently, you didn't think this way when Lucerys (13) died, who was the first child who was killed in cold blood by his older uncle, Aemond (19) after said dude rushed after him, incensed and eager to prove his masculinity after Maris Baratheon mocked him for not fighting this 13 year old. Who killed a child who was acting as an envoy, who was acting as an envoy because their side decided to takeover the Red Keep to hold a council to persuade/force them to crown Aegon and usurp Rhaenyra, thus pushing the blacks to search/survey those who would be at their side in case a war broke out?

Who drew first blood? Who was the first to kill a child? Who invited the inevitable anger and grief of the family of the murdered child? This isn't Romeo and Juliet where the origins of the rivalry are unknown, lost to time.

Who created the heft of the conditions that lead to Rhaenyra's usurpation?

And when did I say Daemon was just and deserved to wreak revenge through a another child's murder, anyway? IF HE ACTUALLY ARRANGED B&C. Show me where I say that, anon. There's such thing as "nuance",

(if Daemon actually did it, bc again link above where I note that GoTHistorian of TikTok explains how it may not have actually been Daemon bc it was just too strategically stupid and risky, and Daemon has shown enormous restraint during the black council--for him, or the expected/reputed version of him--it could have been a party who wanted to either push the sides to war or want to sow discord amongst the greens and withi the blacks as well) Daemon was wrong and responsible for his own response, yes...AND it wasn't an act he just decided to do willy-nilly, as if the other side hadn't done anything likewise.

Look, I'm sorry that not everyone is as sympathetic or as hateful towards Daemon AFTER said kid's adult relatives decided to begin the war in the first place and murder Rhaenyra-Daemon's child. When they were never in any actual danger from either person (you'd have to prove that Daemon was making plans to and under Rhaenyra's nose other than vibes, aside from his last act w/Nettles, he has performed no serious act of rebellion against Rhaenyra's authority/clearest orders). No, his laughing, making fun, and ignoring his own nephews in favor of Rhaenyra is not evidence of him actually plotting their deaths. Does that mean that every time someone you hate or hates you laughs at you, they have to be willing to murder you if they have the chance? The nephews didn't present any sort of active threat, but neither was Daemon really fond of them bc--as the text states--they made him more insignificant....or more likely, bc they happened to be the scions of his own rival, Otto/the Hightowers instead of someone like Aemma Arryn, who was both his first cousin (through his aunt Daella) and from a more dedicated house. We have never seen Daemon perform violence against a perceived enemy unless there are imminent or already-done attacks done against him and those close to him. The greens attacked, so he went after them.

Yes, it ruins Helaena and leads to her suicide. Yeah, murder is bad, and yes this was a tragedy...did you (Aemond) have to invite the anger of the other side without the assurance of meeting them in arms?

And once, more, if we trace the fault, who exactly taught Aemond to be so hostile and mocking of his own nephews? To see Rhaenrya as "stealing" his and Aegon's supposed "birthright"? Since you claim to have read F&B? To inspire him to stoking his rage and jealousy towards the ruin of these "bastards" who he feels has what he is owed--again, not just recourse for the idea, but actually the "birthright"?

I suppose the counterargument is that Jaehaerys' death was "more" tragic or horrific bc he was younger than Lucerys and he wasn't on a dragon or had anything substantial to protect himself. But Lucerys' dragon, Arrax, was way smaller and younger than Vhagar. He was lunchmeat. And Lucerys was still much younger than Aemond, his killer while also being a child himself as Jaehaerys' childness was to Daemon's adultness.

B)

how is it that Daemon, sexual predator and child murderer, never lacks for defenders? Are people just confusing their archetypes and thinking of him as an appealingly roguish and dashing rulebreaker? Because, no, he’s just a blatantly and consistently terrible person. He’s a bland and deathly boring parody of Oberyn (and it’s highly offensive to Oberyn because he seeks vengeance for the violent death of his sister and her babies, while Daemon violently murder children and drive their mother to insanity and suicide).

Well, do you know who Lestat the Vampire is? He's a sort of "rogue" figure in his own way--while being one of the most charismatic figures in literary and fiction history. Called the "Brat Prince", too. Also hates to be told what to do, but very loyal to those he loves. I imagine that some fans' love or awe for Daemon is similar. Lestat is also an objectively terrible person...doesn't stop people from loving and "loving" him for his unpredictability and ability to shake stuff up. People like devil-may-care attitudes with hearty hearts who nevertheless value loyalty, and Daemon's got it all that. So does Oberyn. Both are extremely loyal to their houses and families and indifferent to every one else.

Also part of it is that many of the stuff that people accuse Daemon of doing bc of HotD, he can't have done or he wouldn't have done not out of morality but because it'd bite him in the ass--therefore he's not as "crazed" or irrational as some make him out to be. What's offensive to some people is the disingenuous and/or misinformed indictment of a person--even when that person is evil OR morally ambiguous. Because that disingenuity is more often not about them but about stifling the roguish behavior, the disorder element or because they feel that this attitude reflects an event they experienced at the hands of someone like this character and perceive/relive--like the greens and Otto did--it is a way for people to resist or become some sort of threat to their own plans. Last one may be too personal & reaching, but I'm covering my bases here so I won't have to repeat myself.

C)

I also wouldn't say that Oberyn was a "good" person either. We should probs be careful: but one could say that there's an indication that the way he raised three of his eldest his daughters into them also not doing great things to kids--or planning to--in his name for revenge shows a lack of real care for altruistic morality on his part. Oberyn himself, yes targets the right person, but this doesn't mean he also wasn't doing crazy shit--Obara's mom? Alayaya, the 16 year old prostitute he has sex with while at KL?

And before we say Daemon and the maidens, IF Daemon did that in his youth...

and Oberyn did that to Obara's mother in his youth // Oberyn sleeping with 16 year old Alayaya in his adulthood (42-43)

VS

Daemon didn't continue to sleep with young girls into his 30s or by some evidence b-y-the-text like he did in his late teen-early 20s. There's more evidence from the respective texts to say Oberyn is still sleeping w/teenagers into his 30s and 40s while with Daemon it's much more up in the air officially. Me, I think he didn't--the greens/maesters/people around Dragonstone and Driftmark and KL would have talked of it either against Rhaenyra or just to gossip.

Well. Doesn't look good for your guy.

Look, I do like Oberyn, but I'm not going to say he was Mr. Angelman, that he was Daemon's moral superior either--esp to women, compare his morality to another person, or erase Daemon's decision to sublimate his own claims to support/protect his own family by the Gods Eye episode to do so.

Oberyn, Elia/her kids--Daemon, Rhaenyra/their kids.

It certainly doesn't help that Daemon is a character we have no PoVs for, and we see Oberyn through other characters' PoVs--namely Tyrion's. Or that we aren't in Oberyn's head. Much easier to paint Daemon as categorically worse if we just desire to without feeling the need to support our own thoughts with text-based evidence. But by text-based evidence, Oberyn is not at all a moral superior to Daemon.

I really hope to god you are not also a DaemonxNettles truther. Please. The "sexual predation" better be more about him and Rhaenyra, where it's much comparatively more plausible. The mentioned comparison to Oberyn is sending red flags.

[the12thnightproject]

Title: Help Wanted

Event: Mayday Heyday OC Exchange 2024 organized by @lorei-writes and @olivermorningstar

Giftee: @fighting-and-drawing

OC/Fandom: Thai Bulan / Ikemen Sengoku

Genre: Urban Fantasy AU

Warnings: Very Large Spider, some violence (involving said arachnid)

Word Count: 1500

See notes/dedications at end

As the sun sunk, building shadows elongated, creating patches of darkness on narrow, meandering streets. Parts of the city had been planned; every road numbered and set out in a precise grid. This was not one of those parts. If anyone planned out the Echigo district, they had done so by tossing noodles onto a map and putting the streets where they landed.

Thai was following their progress on a phone app, and wondered if his driver actually knew where to go. At least once the Uber doubled back, taking a longer, indirect route. As a precaution, Thai made an obvious show of texting the driver’s information to “a friend” (his own cloud account).

In truth, there were no friends to wonder or worry if he disappeared into a void, never to return.

Too many things had disappeared for him this year, the most pressing being a promised job, the one he had uprooted his life for. He’d travelled over 1000 miles, only to discover the job no longer existed. The entire company no longer existed – it had fallen victim to a takeover by Oda International, then dismantled. All previous employees were fired, all pending job offers rescinded.

Now trapped in a new country, with unpaid moving expenses, a dwindling bank account, and no solution for either, he was desperate for work… any kind. Having burned his bridges back home, in fact, having firebombed those bridges, he –

Screech!

The Uber slammed to a stop in the middle of the street, nearly garroting Thai with his own seatbelt. “Get out.” The driver flicked the automatic locks. “Now.”

He checked his phone. “We’re nowhere near-“

“Get out, or ride back to the city with me, but this car goes no further. Not here. Not after sunset.” The driver pulled a thick cudgel out from under the seat. “Yokai. It’s not worth my life to drive through the district.”

No use arguing with superstition. Grumbling to himself, Thai climbed out, then leaped for the gutter as the car zoomed away. He was surprised it hadn’t taken his leg off with it when it sped into the night.

The lights and press of the city’s humanity were far behind. Here in this strange neighborhood, the sounds were alien. No traffic hum or buzz of neon, just a steady drip drip drip of thick liquid onto pavement. The road was gritty, he could feel tiny grains of gravel and dirt slipping under his feet. A stench of rotting garbage hung in the air, dense, motionless, as if not even the wind would dare come to this place. Even the graffiti was different: its colors sharper, appearing bioluminescent, glowing talismans against evil.

Or warnings.

No… he was being fanciful. The driver’s obvious fear had gotten into his head. He wasn’t a big man, but he moved with strength and purpose. He wasn’t worth attacking, was not, even in his best interview outfit, dressed in a way that would not suggest wealth. Because there was no wealth. Even less now that most of his remaining funds had just sped away with the Uber. He’d have to walk the rest of the way.

At least he was within walking distance, as confirmed by his smartphone’s GPS. The voice of the AI (“Alex,” programmed with a soothing attractive Australian accent) told him to continue along this road another 500 meters.

Good thing I’m still within view of a satellite.

Plonk.

Something wet dripped on him and he squinted up at the tangle of ivy that covered the wall of a warehouse. Ivy? In the middle of the city? No time to investigate, he was already late for the interview. Besides… there was something sinister about that mass of ivy, as if it hid watching eyes.

When, as Alex directed, he turned left at a street so narrow he’d have hesitated to call it a street at all, something skittered past his leg, something furry and malevolent.

Yokai…

It had been a cat. Or… a very large rat (not that that possibility was reassuring).

Still, with Alex giving him updated directions he felt almost comforted. As if the AI was his friend, a non-judgmental friend who would help him navigate the worst of life’s bumps. If only Alex had told him, “Stay in college. Don’t move to a foreign country, don’t break up with -.”

Crash! Thud. Ooof!

“You have arrived, mate.” The AI went silent.

Arrived where?

The noises were coming from the bar on his left. With late summer humidity streaking the window, he’d missed the sign. Kasugayama. Through the fogged glass, he could see two shapes locked in battle.

Anyone might have been forgiven if they’d performed a 500 meter sprint back to relative safety. But acting on instinct, an instinct that he cursed a moment later, Thai ran into the bar. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Expectations and instincts did not generally go together. Still, one might have expected a simple bar fight, or a less simple robbery. And not… a spider the size of a pony.

Yokai…

There was probably a more proper name for a spider demon, but Thai’s language skills temporarily deserted him.

Of all the gin joints…

Spiders… why did it have to be spiders?

Why am I thinking in movie quotations?

Fighting the spider was a man who wielded a pool cue as expertly as a spear. But the spider had a six arm advantage and…

Sproing!!!

Holy fuck… it can jump!

That damn instinct took over again and Thai grabbed a chair and threw it at the spider. This had the stunning effect of breaking the chair and getting the thing’s attention. It charged toward him, then screeched when the other man drove the pool cue into its butt.

Now it’s just pissed off.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Thai flipped himself over the bar top, grabbed a bottle from the speed rail, and smashed it on the edge of the sink. The scent of fermented rice mixed with the aromas of spider goo and blood. The blood belonged to a rather nasty looking slash on the man’s leg. The spider goo was … well, obvious.

At the sound of the breaking glass, the spider scuttled toward him again, a glare of uncanny intelligence in its red eyes. Thai slashed furiously with his improvised weapon, drawing more goo from the spider, and dammit, there was a paring knife right there on the garnish station.

The spider jumped to the bar top, stretching out a spindly leg (arm?) toward him. Thai switched the bottle to his other hand, grabbed the knife, and slammed it down on the arm/leg, severing it at a joint. The limb snapped off with a sickening crunch and slid halfway across the room. The spider emitted a high-pitched shriek, then the other man drove the pool cue through its head.

It twitched three times, then went still.

In the sudden silence, Thai could hear himself and the other man breathing.

Later, he might think back and take in details – the man’s warm brown eyes, the feel of the sticky floor under his feet and the flicker and hum of fluorescent lights. But the instinct that drove him into this place took over again. While the other man retrieved a well-used first aid kit and treated the slash on his leg, Thai soothed his jangled, spider-hating nerves with the ritual of cleaning. Wipe down the bar top. Sterilize the knife. Sweep up the glass…

Noticing the pool cue samurai was eyeing a bottle of iichiko Shochu, Thai poured him a glass, adding blood orange juice, tonic water and ice when prompted.

Finally the other guy spoke. “No idea why you came crashing in like a wild boar, but… thanks.” The blunt speech was softened with a wry smile.

“Job interview? Advertisement for a barback?” Thai unearthed his phone, getting ready to pull up the confirmation email. “I’m Thai Bulan.”

“Oh, shit.” The other man raked his hands through a mop of sweat-soaked brown hair. “It completely went out of my head. Sanada Yukimura.” He bowed. “Any chance you still want the job?”

It had been listed as minimum salary, but it did come with the mention of a studio apartment above the bar. “Um.” Thai indicated the spider. “Is that what happened to the previous barback?”

“No. This… was new. Never seen one those in here before.” Yukimura took a deep breath. “The last guy quit. Kasugayama’s owner is a bit… unique.”

Then, with what might have been called perfect timing, the front door opened and a man with heterochromatic eyes entered and surveyed the scene. He eyed the dead spider. “Good. I was in the mood for takeout.”

He pulled a sword out of the scabbard on his waist and cleanly sliced off a limb. Then, gnawing on it like it was a turkey leg and he was some medieval king, he disappeared into a back office.

Thai took the job.

Thank you @lorei-writes and @olivermorningstar for organizing this event (and it was super organized with check ins and google docs and everything I could ask for. If they ever do another event, jump at the chance to join).

To @fighting-and-drawing , I really hope I have done Thai justice. Heart of The Warrior has been one of my favorite Ikemen Sengoku fanfics (I've read it more than once), and I was thrilled when I learned you were the giftee. I'm not nearly as confident writing fight scenes though, so I hope it made sense. And yes, I was the anon who asked you what Yukimura might order in a modern bar (and then had to figure out whether he would still drink a sweet cocktail after killing a giant spider).

To anyone else reading this, I encourage anyone interested in reading a fantastically well written, well researched Ikesen longfic to read Heart of The Warrior either here or here

[rahadaddy]

I am so excited to share art of my rogue, Percy Brightstar, as done by @spicyspell! I've meant to share this sooner, but life has gotten so hectic.

Percy Brightstar is a swashbuckler rogue, ostensibly from the city-state of Daggerford. More accurately, he's from a lot of places. He grew up in a nomadic elven community, which has traveled all over the Sword Coast and beyond. For many years, the Caravan Elves worked as bandits and highwaymen along major trade routes. The push of industrialization drove many elves out of big cities and in some cases, industry seemed to be directly tied to the death of elves and their communities, as nature was mowed down in favor of factories and their pollution. Still, Percy found as much happiness as he could while living on the run. He fell in love and would eventually have a daughter, Daphne. But before she was born, Percy became the leader of the Caravan Elves and realized that there was no escaping human influence on the world. If you can't beat 'em...

He orchestrated a takeover of the Daggerford criminal underground with the help of the Duchess of Daggerford and his band of trusted rogues and ne'er do wells. They installed themselves as the thieves guild in Daggerford. However, around this time, Percy's wife, Talia, disappeared, leaving him with a young daughter to raise alone in a strange society that saw him as the Duchess' court jester some days and inhuman on others. He realized that Daphne would need a human governess to teach her how to exist in society, especially once he was given the honorary title of baronet by the Duchess. He's been raising Daphne with the help of his governess (and longtime crush), Keres, who is our party's cleric.

Percy is the kind of guy who is extremely kind, but savvy enough to know when a lie or a little bit of trickery or thieving is needed. He is the man with the plan in the party and he's gotten all of Vallaki fooled into thinking that he is the Duke of Daggerford, traveling with his lady wife and their friends. He has befriended Van Richten, tried to mentor Victor Vallakovich just a little (and also tortured him just a bit), and has been a thorn in Strahd's side since day one. He's personable, chatty, and a little bit dangerous. He's a devoted father, who just wants to get home, and occasionally, he's a bit of a scoundrel if it means furthering that goal. I love him so much!

Fun Fact: While the other characters are shown wearing Victorian fashions, I asked Spicy to draw Percy in fashion from the late 18th century/early 19th century, when Percy came of age and took control of the Caravan Elves. He's a very stylish man, don't get me wrong, but I wanted art that captured the flamboyance I picture in his manner of dress and self-carriage. So, speaking of...

This was a bonus piece of art Spicy did of him and I absolutely adore it. My girlfriend, who plays Keres, and I have joked that this is how she must see him, that this is Percy in full anime love interest form, and that this is definitely how he dresses on the regular. That last bit is less of a joke than a deep appreciation for how well Spicy captured my guy! <3 <3 <3 They do impeccable work and I highly recommend them as an artist if you're looking to commission anything!

[andimoon]

Unknown Thoughts (Part 4)

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Romance / Eventual Smut

Warnings: Um, idk for this one. Maybe be prepared to be stressed.

Work count: 2.8K

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Finally, a letter from her beloved. Finally, after months of busyness and silence, she finally received an invitation to visit him. Baekhyun’s letters reached the Lady countless times, words of longing and contempt over their distance. And each and every word made Vivian want to run to him, to tell him everything, to embrace him and beg forgiveness for her months of silence. Her fingertips grazed over his lovely writing and released the ache in her chest into a soft hum. As much as she missed him, she knew she needed to keep on edge and that would be a difficult task when Baekhyun knew how to break down all of her walls. When everything he did left Vivian feeling like a puddle on the ground.

She would need Eloise’s support in keeping their secret. They’d done the thing her prince had told her not to do.

“No, absolutely not.” One of the rare instances where she saw genuine anger behind those black eyes. “How could you give up that much time to that woman?”

“Baekhyun, that woman saved my life. She’s the only reason I’m in front of you right now.” She was practically yelling at him and she could see the hurt takeover his face. With a steady breath, she lowered her tone, willing herself to calm down, “I can’t just let her die, especially when I have so much time to give.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his frown deepened. Vivian hated it. “So much to give? What about your time with me? Is it worthless to you?” Worthless? Her time with him was the most valuable thing in the world. Did he not see how important this was to warrant such a thing? He sat on the mattress where he’d made love to her the night before. When he had that smile plastered on his gorgeous face and the love in his eyes as he stared only at her. Her fingertips traced his cheeks as she leaned onto her knees in front of him, willing him to stare into her eyes just as he had the night before.

“My love,” she begged, “I need to save her. Please.”

That argument happened nearly a year prior and after being far too persistent she finally convinced him to meet with her closest friend. Vivian was certain that when they met he would finally realize how important it was to have Eloise in her life. “Please try to get along with her. Ellie is the closest thing I have to a sister.”

“Only for you,” was his response and yet his efforts were obvious to the lady, though the maid didn’t seem interested even as he tried to break down every wall that divided them. Eloise had always been kind and formal with everyone other than Vivian. She knew that was the way Ellie had always been, but even still, she desperately wanted her beloved and closest friend to get along with one another.

Despite the Transferring having occurred months ago, the noble couldn’t help but still wonder if Baekhyun’s prayers were the cause of the error with the procedure. His energy always had a magic within it so it couldn’t have been that far out of the range of possibility. Another deep grounding breath and she finally packed up the sweet letter along with her most valuable possessions into her smallest case.

A voice rang out from behind the door along with a soft knock, “My lady, The Duke has requested that you join him for breakfast this morning.”

“Alright, I’ll be right there.” This was fortunate timing, she’d be able to tell Kyungsoo about their change of plans. Surely he wouldn’t mind, they’d already taken away so much of his time. Kyungsoo always had so much to do, she wasn’t surprised that upon hearing of their departure he took the opportunity to return to it. The day was busy and passed quickly as a result, but Vivian kept contemplating everything that had happened. Ellie had lost most of her memories, which didn’t seem to be returning, but it was nice to see her returning to some semblance of normalcy. Perhaps since her lover and her maiden were not that close to begin with he wouldn’t notice the changes in her.

Baekhyun didn’t even know when Eloise’s last day would be, there was no way for him to know the procedure had already taken place. So it bought Vivian time to come up with the right way to tell him about it, but she knew for a fact that the news needed to come from her lips. If her prince heard about it from anyone else… She feared his reaction.

“It’ll be okay.” She reminded herself in a soft huff, smoothing her hands over the front of her gown. Eloise’s presence in the carriage made the trip bearable. Most of her stresses were successfully smothered by the time they arrive to her lover’s castle.

The lavish display was normal for Baekhyun, and the way his eyes instantly locked with hers, the utter adoration is his gaze. He was her everything, her very breath and the reason her blood flowed under her skin. The world disappeared, only his smile, his warmth in the fingertips that reached for her and held on for dear life. It had been so long she thought her soul would shatter in his absence. She longed to embrace him and never let go. “My love,” she breathed out, holding his hand just as tightly between both of hers, “it’s been so long, I’m glad to see you.”

“Why haven’t you responded to any of my letters? Did they not reach you?” His pout made her chuckle, just a second ago he was acting like a god on top of the world, and now he was complaining like that, with the press together of his pretty pink lips and the furrow of his eyebrows.

Vivian wanted to press her thumb against the little wrinkle and a small kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry, my love,” she was sure he could sense the teasing in her tone with the way his head tilted to get a better look at her, “Kyungsoo invited me to visit. I thought it would be a good opportunity for Eloise and I to get away for a little while.” His pout deepened at the mention of the other man and she tried to bite back her smile, leaning in a little closer to her lover, “So please don’t be mad, okay?” The softest huff left his chest followed by a rather dramatic sigh.

“You did enjoy your stay with The Duke?” his tone slightly mocking the title but Vivian knew that her lover adored the man just as much as she did.

“I did. It was a pleasant trip.” Now that she had her dose of the prince and was able to think clearly for a moment she risked a glance at Eloise who was a solid two meters away. Baekhyun followed her gaze and he made a small sound of confusion, a thousand thoughts flashing behind his eyes and Vivian feared her betrothed was noticing something in her maid’s demeanor.

He called out to her, using the nickname Vivian called her by. The nickname she had given him permission to use. The name he used when he tried to befriend Eloise. Vivian knew that. She knew that, but still hearing the casual words, the seriousness behind his tongue. It felt foreign. He noticed something.

He called to her again and this time Vivian silently urged her to act normal. This was okay. But Eloise’s silence was deafening. Those amber eyes downturned and the same look of surprise she had when they met with Kyungsoo. Luckily there were no tears this time, but Vivian made a mental note to talk with her when they had a chance. She needed to know what was going on inside her maiden’s brain.

The walk was long and uncomfortably awkward as they made their way to a parlor room, one that had seen a major renovation. “Wow, Baekhyun, this is incredible.” His contagious smile lit up his face and he took a seat on a gold accented couch, he patted the spot next to him but Vivian knew better than to be that close with Eloise in the room. She shot a little crunch in her nose as she sat across from him. Those black eyes and that knowing smirk on his lips left her breathless.

“We’re so behind on wedding plans, I hope you know.” Vivian almost believed him. Baekhyun loved to tease but he would never actually let anything for her fall behind schedule.

“I see,” she hummed, “this is quite serious. We really must do something about it.”

He leaned onto his knees and the look on his face told Vivian she was about to regret playing along. “I can think of a few things, Princess.” She shot him a warning. Now was not the time or place for his shameless flirting. Not when Eloise was in the room with them. The prince hummed in amusement before shifting his attention back to the woman he wasn’t supposed to be ignoring this way. In the silence they heard the way her breath came out in short huffs, Eloise’s knuckles had gone white from how tightly she held onto her skirt. Was she afraid? Perhaps it was unfair of Vivian to ask such a thing from Ellie.

His seriousness was back as he tried to get the maiden to speak again and Vivian’s heart sank. This was getting too close for comfort, if she was going to step in, it should be now before he realized anything more. “She’s been having a hard week, my love,” she tried to keep her voice as light hearted as possible, “Perhaps we should let her rest.” It wasn’t a lie so she had no reason to feel afraid, yet the seriousness behind his eyes, the slight jut of his jaw and the bob of his Adam’s apple with that forced swallow. It all had her trembling. He needed to agree. Eloise needed to step away before their secret was revealed.

Much to her relief he did. Whatever the prince had noticed, he didn’t mention it even after the maid had left them. This was the first time Vivian felt uncomfortable alone with her beloved. The nerves slammed against every bone in her body, and she smothered the feeling the instant it arose in her. “A hard week?”

“You know how straightforward Kyungsoo can be,” she was lying through her teeth and it tasted like spoiled milk on her tongue. It felt so wrong but she knew better than to admit wrongdoing. He knew. He knew she was lying and the scornful downturn of his lips left her biting her own.

“Vivian.” He used her real name. He was upset. He knew.

She masked her worry with a light hearted brush off, “I brought you gifts from our visit. We should open them.”

“Vivian,” he started again, “What happened?”

“What do you mean? The gifts? It’s been so long since I saw you, you were on my mind the entire—“

“Vivian.” He stood and in an instant he was looming over her, the anger roaring off of him in waves. He knew. It was irrefutable at this point and Viv closed her eyes, a defeated sigh leaving her lips.

“I told you,” she hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of, it was her body, her life line, her family, “I needed to save her.” No matter what he did, Vivian held onto the knowledge that he loved her. He would never hurt her. Baekhyun was silent and she saw as the anger slowly disappear behind his eyes, she watched as he sank to his knees in front of her exactly as she had done the last time they talked about this exact situation. No words were spoken as he reached for her hand, tracing those beautiful fingertips over the mark on her wrist. The ‘96’ previously edged into her skin was replaced by ‘66’ and his eyebrows dug together in pain. “My love,” she reached for his face, searching for his eyes, “It’s alright. I’m alright. I’m here, I’m alive. And that time is yours, I promise.”

After what felt like an eternity he finally let out a sound, a small breath that told her Baekhyun believed her. He trusted her and he leaned back onto his heels from his spot on the ground. “And Eloise?”

Eloise. She was different, that much was clear to everyone involved. “She,” the words got stuck in a lump at the back of her throat, “She lost her memories.” The warmth of his palm against her cheek comforted her and Vivian leaned into his touch.

“I’m sorry.” It was genuine. He felt remorse for the impossible choice he had forced her to make.

“It’ll be alright.” The same line she’d been repeating to herself for months, willing her mind to believe the words. “This is an opportunity to give her a good life. She’s worked so hard her whole life, taking care of me. It’s time I do the same for her.” His eyes lowered once more and Vivian lifted his chin, needing him to know how important this was. “I can only do that if you’re by my side. I’m stronger when you’re with me.”

He searched her gaze for a moment, licking his lips and swallowing down whatever words he wanted to say. A small nod of his head and he leaned up to kiss her, relishing in the softness of his lips against her own and her fingertips sought the feathery hair at the nape of his neck. It had been so long since she felt his warmth, the sweet love that melted from his tongue and the press of his forehead against her own. “I’m here. I’ll always be by your side.” His reassurance swelled in her chest and the relief exploded through her, her smile came naturally for the first time in months. They spent most of the day together, making up for lost time in any way they could, but Vivian knew she needed to talk to Eloise tonight.

Somehow, by the grace of some god, she managed to convince her lover to leave her alone. Surely he’d gone to bed already. Surely after the near hour she waited, the coast was clear. The need to hide her actions burrowed itself in her stomach, it felt wrong but necessary for some reason. The looming halls held no place to hide and she moved quickly, ducking around corners whenever she heard the echoes of sounds around her, and eventually Vivian arrived at her maiden’s hall. Only, she didn’t find the solidarity she anticipated, instead the prince stood at the entrance. Outwardly laughing and teasing the maiden. “You’re cute when you try to be serious.” The familiarity in his tone, the smile on his face, Vivian had never seen him react that way to anyone but her, and her heart sank. She could feel the shift in energy.

Their words blurred but Vivian could hear stifled whisper-yells from the maiden. The world around them felt heavy with infatuation and desire. And it was directed at Eloise. How could he do this to her? What had he done, exactly? And why did her chest feel like it was crumbling into a million pieces? She didn’t know how long she had stayed up against that wall. How long her mind stayed thoughtless, how long she recounted that moment in her brain. Warm hands held onto her arms, sturdy and safe, and amber eyes nervous and trembling.

“What the hell was that?” Eloise looked manic, pacing and pulling at her hair, “the prince was just here, did you see what happened?” She was speaking so fast, so agitated Vivian knew that her maiden wasn’t involved the way she initially thought. The silence was overwhelming, the pacing continued just as fast and Eloise was biting at her fingers, too engrossed in her own thoughts to say anything for far too long. Until, “I have to ask you a weird question, Vivie.” A deep breath and the maiden was sitting beside her, “Have,” holding her hands so tightly, “Have the prince and… me ever had moments like that before? Were he and I ever close?”

The look in her eyes. Not curiosity, desperation. As if her answer would mean the end of life itself. “Why are you…?” Of course they hadn’t ever been that close, Eloise didn’t… like Baekhyun’s advancements. She didn’t let him break down any walls, but she couldn’t remember him being so coy and direct, either. Had he always been that way? Vivian was trying to recall the moments when the efforts were made. It was superficial compliments and the simple nickname. Sweet smiles and courtesy he showed everyone. Where had this moment come from? But still, the fear in her maiden’s eyes was odd. As if it was so much bigger than Vivian could even comprehend.

“Vivian, I need you to listen to what I’m about to tell you,” she took a deep breath and steeled her gaze before continuing, “I’m not Eloise. I know what’s going to happen over the next year and you’re going to lose everything.”

Previous

@makemedoitlikedis @kawaii--mommy @soobadnoonecanstopher @colognedecigarette @doitsosweet @shewantsmeshesgotme @ira-itzel @nadiecomonadia @mgg-81 @scentlacigarette

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 373: Evolution Concerns

We’re just worried that her growth chart is beginning to look logarithmic came the message, the most recent in a series of alarmist communiques from a technician at their daughter company in the US.

Kristina Zhestakova had received the first text as she’d been talking with prospective recruits, young women in their second and third year. She was now between meetings, walking down the hallways of The Medical University of Warsaw. The school was her alma mater and she recognized most of the landmarks, the twists and turns of the old passages, the labs and classrooms. Many of the professors were new; the plaques on the office doors had been largely replaced by female names. Twenty years, she thought with a nod, had brought on some welcome changes. 

You are working on the sequencing data? she replied, relying on the translation software of KOLECTV’s encrypted messaging app. Her English had improved over the last couple decades, ever since she’d been tasked with establishing the company’s first North American facility on the island off Mexico's coast, but she still preferred writing in her native Polish. She was glad this technician - Marcia was her name - used the secure proprietary messenger as she’d been asked; not all at this upstart American company Evolution Pharmaceuticals did. 

Yes we have the bloodwork. Working on it but it’s complicated, came the tech's next message. They all knew that MM-1A’s eldritch origins complicated things, making the polymerase chain reactions difficult and keeping them from using the Sanger or NGS. The witches and their ways tended to do that, make everything either too easy or too much of a chore. But KOLECTV’s science had learned and become powerful. We’ve already identified the location of the breath and the voice. 

Yes. Doctor Zhestakova’s heels <click-click-clicked> on the tiled hallways of the medical school. Ostensibly, she was still, in title, Senior Vice President of Biotechnology at Gray Global Enterprises, once an American shipping empire that was now little more than a shell company for a good-sized group of the collective’s holdings. KOLECTV, technically, was one of those. However, in the early days, like a tick it had drained GGE’s resources and quickly came to dwarf its parent company and now controlled its interests. It was now an enormous, if still shadowy, network with tendrils not only in the medical and scientific industries around the world, but deep in other businesses, banking and politics.

The hope was that, soon - especially after the victorious results in the recent American elections - KOLECTV would finally shed the false auspices of GGE and begin to reveal itself. It would  grow in power tenfold, it knew, when it could step out of the shadows on its six-inch stilettos and begin to claim its empire. When it is done send the sequencing package to my team at Coronado. 

Of course Doctor. We’ve also located multiple other newly active gene loci, of unknown phenotype expression, the technician’s next message explained. Dr. Zhestakova knew what that meant, other potential abilities budding within the subject. 

She’d spent many of her early years with the company, after being sent to America soon after medical school for project “Bridesmaid”, and then setting up and studying at their island research facility, KOLECTV’s first in the New World. The project, nearly twenty years prior to today, had ultimately resulted in the takeover of GGE and the facility was now one of many jewels in the crown of the movement. Dr. Zhestakova had been not only an operative (088) in that operation and an integral player in building the prototypes for what the women of the new world could be, but an early beneficiary subject (Program, 3133j) as well.

Send it all. But tell no one else, for now. I want Coronado to go over it so we can develop an isolation plan. Dr. Zhestakova knew that Oksana and others in KOLECTV’s higher ranks were made nervous by her tendencies towards self-autonomy and transgression; she’d seen the old files they kept on her. She knew that her independent streak, coupled with her Program-gifted intelligence and with what they called her “relative lack of empathy” was seen as both a powerful opportunity for the movement but something they struggled to keep in check. She knew her file also described her tendencies for excessive behaviors and indulgences. Those, over the past decade or so, she’d made good progress in controlling, reining in. 

She could really use some vodka. 

The height? The explosion in strength? We’re not worried? came the technician’s concern.. 

Fuck the height and strength. I’ve seen the monsters they’d made, the failed experiments in Siberia and Kazakhstan. That can be dealt with when the time comes. Let the other abilities manifest first, so we learn, glean, farm. No we are not yet concerned.

Others would be, she knew. Others would be very concerned. Dr. Zhestakova could only do so much, but she had been trying her best to keep the snowballing irregularities in Project MM-1A's case “under the radar”, as they might say in the US. If they were to attract notice, the project could get shut down; Kristina knew there was so much potential to be culled, so much that could be achieved. Just imagine, she found herself thinking, an army of superwomen not only bigger, taller, stronger than any man alive, like we’d planned…

No, the possibilities might go well beyond that.

…but impervious to heat, and harm, and bullets…

And in a rare moment of heart-pounding speculation…

Imagine an army of women that can fly…

=========================================

for more on the enigmatic, psychopathic and high-functioning alcoholic Dr. Zhestakova,  as well as “Project Bridesmaid”, please see required reading “Trophy”

[bonewaryreblogs]

Silver Boom

Feeling in a Sonic mood, let's see how long it lasts :p

So I've had my main hedgehogs done for a while, finally finished Tails, and I'm halfway done with Knuckles and don't feel motivated enough to finish him -.- but this is more or less what he'll look like

I have an older version of the 'hogs and a lot of info on Reddit

Anyways

Silver the Hedgehog is my favorite Sonic character and the initial idea for this was to add Silver to the Sonic Boom franchise, rewriting the mess that was Rise of Lyric. Then I could add him into the show's timeline and fix some things that bugged me there. Like Sticks' whole existence.

But we'll get to that!

I realized at some point that I can basically do whatever I want with this universe, so I decided to utilize elements of most of the Sonic games/media I was familiar with, researching what I was less familiar with, and throwing it all together to create a mostly coherent story. I'll try to use (or at least touch on) as much as I can but forgive me if I leave out your favorite thing. If I do, please tell me about it! I can always be persuaded to add more and this universe is hardly set in stone :p

Basic History of Mobius

While the planet mobius was mostly formed like any other, its molten core contained magic mixed with magma. From the tumult, some of the magic magma crystalized and found its way to the surface, forming eight crystals directly linked to the eight quadrants of the spherical molten magic core. Lesser crystals filled with magic power grew in caves near the magic magma but their powers were finite while the connected eight, eventually called Chaos Crystals, were seemingly limitless as they drew from the core directly.

The Ancients, as they would come to be known, used the “clean” energy of the Chaos Crystals to fuel their hi-tech society but removing the Crystals from their proper places and using their energy with such reckless abandon unbalanced the planet’s magic and the society crumbled under its own weight. Many of the Chaos Crystals were taken and jealously guarded by what would become a magic fueled ruling class, generally influenced by the crystals’ instinctual will to return to their rightful places in the world.

Such was the fate of the Sun Stone of Soleanna, Spagonia; The Radiant Opal in the Kingdom of Acorn, Northammer; the Sky Garnet of the Babylonian Gardens, Shamar, until its cataclysmic demise and subsequent withdrawal into a desert storm; the Verdant Emerald of Angel Island, guarded by the near extinct Knuckles Clan of echidnas; and, in a way, the Twilight Amethyst of the Moonlit Mountains, Holoska, whose protectors are “recruited” from across the globe for their powerful potential. Of the remaining Chaos Crystals, the Shock Zircon powers a prison holding a mage and mechanist from the Ancient War; the Tidal Sapphire is protected by a powerful water elemental in the depths of the sea; and the Flame Ruby is sealed and resealed within a host, the latest of which is the heir to Soleanna’s throne. Having two Chaos Crystals in such close proximity to each other, and Angel Island traveling overhead, unbalanced the magic enough for Lyric to escape his prison and begin to plan his takeover.

~

In more recent history, humans arrived in the Space Colony Arc about 150 years ago, enough time for the first generation (Gerald Robotnik) to have died off, the second generation (Professor Pickle) to be old and retired, the third generation (Ivo Robotnik/"Eggman") to have been at least raised on the planet if not born there, and the fourth generation (Chris Thorndyke) to be in school, having known nothing else.

Mobius was in a medieval type of era when they arrived and relied heavily on a magic-wielding ruling class with various magic artifacts. The humans, only about a thousand strong when they arrived, bribed their way to peace by selling their tech and knowledge, allowing the average citizen to be able to stand toe-to-toe with magic-wielders. This lead to rapid advances and an odd mix of extremely advanced technology right next to medieval magic, as well as a combined magi-tech emerging in prominence, as they begin to understand the mechanisms behind their magic.

The Arc is in approximate geosynchronous orbit over Spagonia and is considered the capital “city” for humans, though they’ve been allowed to make several colonies on the planet itself. Eggman is essentially kicked out of the human civilization for being too reckless and unpredictable to fit into the box most humans set up for themselves. He’s mostly harmless, unable to take over a single island due to Sonic and friends stopping him.

~

Our story begins as Silver wakes up from another nightmare, the same one he always has; the blue hedgehog, surrounded by flame and rubble, turning to look at Silver with a cocky smile. The details would change, of course, but the hedgehog and the dread was always the same. Silver goes about his day (possibly several days, depending) before Mephiles contacts Silver to come see him. Mephiles is the personification of the Twilight Amethyst and leader of the Twilight Clan; he knows of Silver’s constant nightmares and wants to hear about this latest one. Eventually the discussion turns to Silver’s increasing desire to leave, find the blue Hedgehog, and prevent the destruction he always sees in his dreams. Mephiles eventually relents; Silver is banished from the Clan, as is their custom with anyone who leaves, but he does so with Mephiles’ blessing.

Led by instinct, Silver finds himself at Bygone Isle and immediately recognizes Sonic from his dreams. Having heard horror stories about outsiders all his life, Silver decides to hide and observe for now; it’s against his nature to hurt the innocent but he isn’t sure Sonic is innocent of the impending doom. Some stories were confirmed to be true, like everyone living separately, but some seemed to be false, like nobody helping each other. Of course, it doesn’t take long for Silver to be found out; he was well trained but still young and inexperienced. In a panic, Silver spouts off about the inevitable doom of the planet and Sonic’s connection to it, leading to misunderstandings and general caution between them. Silver still watches but doesn’t bother hiding as much.

Thus begins the main storyline of Rise of Lyric. Race around the globe with Sonic and friends to see who can get to the Chaos Crystals first; can our heroes keep them long enough to keep the world from falling apart?

[some-pers0n]

Part of the Process

Fandom: WoF

Characters: Morrowseer, Mastermind, Battlewinner

CW: Mentions of RainWing torment and torturing (what fun!!)

Summary: Mastermind's just finished up with some work on a project, so he's dragged along Morrowseer to present to Queen Battlewinner.

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: Oh. Ohoho. Did you think that one post I made about wanting Mastermind to be silly was a one-off thing? How wacky! I miss writing silly characters in WoF so much. Mastermind is very near and dear to me for no reason because I'm completely altered his personality now. He's such a jerk (I love him). I want to rewrite his introduction scene in TDS as well...

It was a rarity nowadays for Morrowseer to drop by and visit Queen Battlewinner. One may chalk it up to how it was quite difficult to get her to speak, considering how she's been submerged in the same vat of lava for decades now, but Morrowseer found himself...busier these days. Between having to assist Nautilus with the Talons of Peace and joining hunting parties to feed the starving populous, it's been a lot. He almost envied his queen. All she had to do was sit there in a pool of molten rock and spout vague three-word orders from time to time.

Regardless, envy is for those who aren't strong enough to do better, and Morrowseer was no weak dragon. The Dragonet Prophecy plan was working. Word from the guardians told them that their precious harbingers of peace were healthy. The stern and haughty rambles from Kestrel about their physical training were a bit much though. That dragon got on his nerves a lot. Thank the moons he had the idea of shoving her into a cave for all of time.

However, the false prophecy was the only part of this plan. No, their grand return to the continent would include an invasion. While the others tried to downplay it, calling it a "takeover" or an "occupying space", there was no question that they were planning for battle.

They were going to take the Rainforest Kingdom for themselves.

The tunnels that the betraying animus made for them once upon a time showed Morrowseer how much they suffered. While the NightWings rotted and withered away from disease and hunger, the RainWings carelessly played with their food. They had enough fruit to spare the wildlife! They would laugh and dance in the treetops and breathe in their fresh, luscious air. Sometimes when life grew too stressful, Morrowseer would risk everything to stand at the edge of the tunnels and breathe in that blissful, glorious air of the tropical forest.

He needed it. The whole tribe needed it. They deserved it after thousands of years of suffering and torture on this decaying island.

But, they needed a plan. RainWings are unfortunately annoying to handle. While the rest of the continent forgot, the NightWings remembered the days when they were feared. When the rainforest dragons would be used as monsters to scare the dragonets, for their deathly venom and ability to disappear into the shadows were their greatest strength. It would be foolish to go running into their domain, even if they've been reduced to half-minded pacifists.

Yet, they figured out a solution. What was it? Well-

"Uhh, excuse me, Morrowseer?" a tenor voice rang in his ears. Morrowseer could feel his associate tapping his scales impatiently. "Are you done brooding by any chance? You've been staring at the entrance for ages. I haven't got all day."

His eyes glanced over to see a smaller NightWing standing beside him. His round glasses sat crooked on his snout, enlarging his dark green eyes. He fidgeted with his scrolls and blueprints in his claws, scowling.

"I suppose I am. Thank you for interrupting me."

"You're very welcome!" It was hard to tell if he picked up on Morrowseer's sarcastic quip or not. "Now then, let's move on. I need to get back to my work."

"Your work," Morrowseer said. "Your work involves you staring at dragons trapped in cages. You do not ever leave your lab unless I drag you out. Half the time when I come and check in on you, you are just sitting there and laughing to yourself while writing incomprehensible notes."

"Research! All research! Trust me, the scholars of the mainland would kill for what I've learned about these dragons. It's all a part of the process."

"Including having a RainWing run on a treadmill for nine hours while threatening to kill them if they don't?"

"That is precisely it, my friend," he said with a smile.

Morrowseer felt his joints stiffen from that mere sentence. He didn't care to be called a friend by this dragon. Their relationship was more one of...forced compliance. Mastermind on the other talon believed it to be more friendly than it truly was. Only natural. Morrowseer is the only dragon who talks to him.

"Now, let's move on. I don't want to be kept waiting. Time is valuable. A minute wasted is a minute you'll never get back."

"You can wait, Mastermind. It wouldn't kill you to learn the value of patience." He unpinned a corner of the map before then, lifting it up. Behind it was not a rock wall, but a tunnel large enough for both of them to comfortably fit through.

"Out of the way." He pushed past Morrowseer, scampering into the tunnel. Irritation flared up in him and he was ready to speak, but he swallowed his words. Anything he said would turn into an argument. Mastermind could never possibly be wrong or inconsiderate.

He trailed after him. As they continued, their pathway only grew smaller and smaller. Finally, a sharp curve. Mastermind trotted over to it, his talons clicking against the floor. "Finally! Took us  long enough."

It was a large and spacious room made of marble, streaks of obsidian black flowing through it. It was unbearably hot, with half of the room being floor and the other half being a massive pool of lava.

"I trust you told Battlewinner that we would be here by now."

"I did tell our queen that, yes." He checked Mastermind in the side. "Show some respect for her as well."

He scoffed. "If it makes you happy."

"It's so that you don't end up dead. I wouldn't go around insulting the flaming dragon that can drag you into your scorching and agonizing death."

"Eh, whatever. I don't care." He shrugged. "Besides, she knows I'm the most valuable dragon on this island. Without me, the whole operation would fail."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" He snorted.

"It's true though, you simply don't want to admit that you're not the only one with some power here." He straightened his neck, trying to look as tall as possible.

"Bold words coming from you." Morrowseer snapped. "If you had any sense of decency, you'd know when to shut your trap-" Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of rumbling and bubbling came before them.

The lava twisted and shifted before a pair of claws shot out of it, grabbing onto the ledge. The lava splattered and sprayed, some coming dangerously close to Morrowseer. Moments later, the head of a large NightWing breached the surface, steam and smoke pouring from every scale. She opened her mouth, frigid cold air fuming out. Then, her eyes opened. A dark black with a piercing blue glow that could only be described as the embodiment of frost.

"Ah, pleased to see you, my queen." Mastermind dramatically bowed, shooting Morrowseer a cocky look upon uttering those words.

"Enough with that..." Battlewinner hissed, her voice rough and scratchy, like the bellows of a horn before battle.

He blinked. "Hm, as you wish. Whatever happened to politeness and greeting your queen? To valour and respect and treating your ruler with-"

"Enough!" Battlewinner snarled, her claws scraping the floor. "I grow tired of your voice very...very quickly, scholar..."

"It would be more accurate to call me a scientist, but regardless-" He smirked, "-at least I'm the one who showed honour and respect to our glorious queen."

"Queen Battlewinner does not and should not feel obligated to give you any more attention than you deserve, especially over something as idiotic as bowing and spewing empty praises. If you want to find someone who'll listen to you spout nonsense and arrogance, you should look for the dragon you see when staring into a mirror; they're the only one who can stand to be around you," Morrowseer said.

"Is that what you really think of me? Eugh, to think I have to work with you..."

"Yes, how terrible for you."

"Silence!" Battlewinner growled. "Both of you..." Her eyes turned towards Mastermind, her head following suit. "Explain yourself... What news have you brought before me?"

"Finally! I have been preparing this all week. I believe you'll finally come around to appreciate the work I've done to support our plan."

"My plan." Morrowseer corrected. "Or rather the plan Queen Battlewinner and I made. You have no part in this. Don't pretend you're some great contributor, for your own sake."

The corners of Mastermind's mouth tightened. "Oh, please." He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I've drawn up a plan. I would've brought more to show, but none of the RainWings felt like accompanying me. They just sat there dejectedly or tried to claw my eyes out, screaming obscenities and madness." He giggled. "Ah, what fun!"

"Make it quick..." Battlewinner rasped. "I don't have all day..."

Mastermind exhaled. "Fine. I can make do with that." He pulled out some scrollpaper, clearing his throat. "So, I've been experimenting a bit. I recall our previous conversation. You told me that you wanted a way to join us on land. Reasonable to want to walk amongst your citizens on the land you've fought so hard to rightfully claim. However, due to your- ahem- situation, it's a bit difficult to do so. I've spent weeks and weeks of countless nights, having to listen to the perpetual wailing of those RainWings. Do you know what it's like? It's enjoyable in the daytime, but at night it's quite annoying-"

"I said make it quick."

He snorted. "Alright. Fine." He presented the paper to Battlewinner. "I've been drafting a suit of armour. A light enough design for you to comfortably walk around in, but with enough space between the plates for one to pour fresh lava to keep you from dying." He pushed up his glasses. "Enough of an explanation to hold you over?"

Battlewinner stayed quiet for a second. "...you're certain it wouldn't kill me?.."

"Oh, definitely. I mean, what kind of royal scientist would I be? To kill my own queen by tricking her?" He laughed, pushing Morrowseer in the side. "Funny, isn't it?"

"The idea of you murdering our tribe's queen isn't exactly what I would call 'humour'."

"No fun. Neither of you. Don't know how to take a joke." He looked towards his queen, who was submerged in boiling hot lava and glaring at him with murderous intent. "But, back to the topic. I'm still working out some of the kinks in order to get a proper design that won't let the lava bleed through and kill you, but the idea is solid enough. Lava is extremely dense. By my calculations, it's practically three times more dense than water. There should be enough room between the plates and your scales for as much lava as is necessary to keep you alive as well as to let you move around freely. Perhaps even fly! Although, it'll take quite a lot of testing."

"How long will this take?..."

"Well, let's see." Mastermind held his talons to his chin. "Combined with the materials and...no, carry the fourteen...adding on that I'm dying of seven afflictions...hm, yes! My prediction is that I will complete a prototype version in less than two weeks."

"I need a better answer than that, scholar..." she grumbled. "I need a final product. I need it now. I need armour to protect me from venom. I need to walk among my dragons once more. I need to lead them into battle and take what's OURS-" Battlewinner cut herself off, going into a coughing fit. She quickly submerged under the lava once more.

"Uhh...she alright?"

"Yes. She tends to get...ramped up. It speeds up the process of the frostbreath. Too much and she needs to warm her body once again."

"Oh, thank the moons. I believed she was furious at me."

"She definitely is annoyed by you."

"Hm. Don't care though." He shrugged. "This is who I am. If anybody doesn't fit it appealing, it's their issue."

"Yes, it really is our issue that you go around talking like an idiot with no self-awareness or humility." Morrowseer glanced at him. "When was the last time you had a dragon nearly kill you? Remind me again. I think it's been far too long since the last time someone had put you in your place."

Mastermind chuckled. "I didn't know you were capable of such bold words! Ah, but I do understand. The wisest dragons shouldn't need to bother themselves with such brutality though. It's much...simpler, fighting and war. Doesn't require half a brain to use your fire and claws. It must be why you're in charge of that department."

"You..." Morrowseer's claws tensed. Before he could get another word out, Battlewinner came rising from the lava once more.

"I accept your proposal, Mastermind..." she said. "I expect you to show me progress soon..." Without saying anything else, she dipped back into the pool.

"She said yes! Aha!! I knew she would!" He laughed. "It's truly a fool-proof plan. I would start to question the leadership and intelligence of her if she had refused." He turned around. "Now! I must return to my lab. I have a suit of armour to build. Finally, something other to do other than poke and prod the RainWings. It's invigorating, but tiring after a while, no?"

"Yes, it gets exhausting to watch the torment of a dragon."

"It does! You get it."

"I was being sarcastic."

"...oh."

[thekimspoblog]

Yet Another Synopsis/Outline of "Slippin Kimmy"

Episode 1 "November" is set in 2016. Kim is devastated by the outcome of the election, and decides she can't watch idly as the country goes to hell. She approaches Jimmy with a plan to get him released on house arrest, but he rebukes her, saying he wants to stay in prison. However with some goading by the other inmates and his general living conditions, he begins to entertain the idea. Meanwhile we see Kim training with a pistol.

For Kim, who had been volunteering at CFLA, she realized immediately the implications this would have for the women she was trying to help... and herself!

Episode 2 "Howard": This episode is mostly flashbacks to Kim's life in Florida. Her boss at CFLA, Dorothy, asks her to escort a 17 year old to get an abortion. But while they're there an active shooter incident occurs. Kim manages to disarm him, and that's how she got the pistol we saw in Episode 1. There's also a subplot fleshing out Cheryl's backstory; why she fell in love with Howard in the first place, why their marriage was failing, and now her torn between wanting revenge against Kim and just wanting to let go and move on.

Episode 3 "Just Like Magic": Kim is approached by a televangelist, a shady but flamboyant man who wants Kim to come work for him. In exchange, he says he can pull strings with the Colorado parole board. Reluctantly, Kim agrees and moves to the community in Riverton, Wyoming. There she rediscovers herself, drumming up publicity for the church with fake miracles, while sabotaging the tax-exempt status of Dawson's competitors.

The surrounding churches seriously WERE supporting conservative candidates (which as we know is against the law) whereas Dawson was an openly gay Unitarian. More libertarian than liberal, but Kim can't help but sympathize with his hatred for the government. There is a theme of corporate takeover with how Dawson is cannibalizing smaller churches, even if those churches were homophobic, but mostly Kim will come to regret helping fill Dawson's coffers. I'm not NOT ripping off "Righteous Gemstones".

The timeline of events is approximately "Episode 2, then Episode 3, then Episode 1, then Episode 4" Although all these episodes have a lot of flashbacks and flash-forwards.

Anyway we're back to the meat of the story, in winter of 2016. Jimmy's got one of those annoying ankle monitors on, but who cares! He's home, and Kim is in a hurry to make up for lost time. That's Episode 4 "Golden Rings, Golden Watches". The couple retie the knot, but meanwhile two of Dawson's most devoted followers, a brother and sister duo named Mary and Peter, are preparing to assassinate a Republican senator.

The senator dies, but Mary and Peter are spotted. Dawson offs himself to save the church from the crime being connected back to his business.

It's a little corny, but I have this mental image of Episode 4's cliffhanger being that Wexler-McGill just got done re-consumating the union, and they turn on TV and the news shows a house on fire. I haven't quite figured out how or why Kim would instinctively know this is her fault yet, but Jimmy's expression is shock and horror, while Kim is just thinking "Fuck, not again!" and then we cut to black.

I want to play with the idea of spirituality more in this series than it had been in previous BB shows. On the surface Kim only joined RUIC to help Jimmy, but the fact is some of the things Dawson said, specifically about feeling forever watched by a judgmental eye, resonated with her. Rationally, legally, Kim had no way of knowing this would happen. But her gut instinct knew she was falling in with extremists and she ignored it.

Episode 5 "Better Build an Ark" is mostly dealing with the fallout from the previous episode. Without a leader, the congregation is in chaos. Meanwhile Mary and Peter are on the lam when Peter is killed by police. Having always had a codependent relationship with her little brother, Mary is devastated and it takes a toll on her sanity. Jimmy is suspicious; Kim's been scaring him a little for months now, and he demands to know what Kim knew and when she knew it. Ultimately, Kim figures out how to commandeer the business and appoint herself president of RUIC's treasury.

Episode 6 is a flashback to a point between Episode 3 and Episode 1. Episode 6 is just called "Your Mom". The cold-open confirms that Kim was at least dealing with a pregnancy scare during the events of BCS Season 6. And then the next scene is one long dialogue where Kim tracks down her mother and attempts to "forgive" her, only for Loraine Wexler to say she's not sorry... for anything. Then the second act is a bottle episode where we check back in with Skyler, Flynn, and Marie.

Mostly, Marie has gotten into deep shit with the kleptomania, and even if Skyler isn't as predisposed to "The Game" as Kim is, Skyler is still crafty enough to pull her sister out of a jam. They end up reconciling now that both their dickhead husbands are gone.

Episode 7 "What do you mean by EVIL?": Kim discovers Mary hiding in the church so Kim pulls a gun on her. What ensues is a protracted debate about the ethics of vigilante justice, and hopefully I can avoid it sounding formulaic. Interspersed with this are flashbacks where we finally learn Dawson's backstory; back in the 70's, Dawson moved to LA hoping to become a producer/director. But he was never able to break through and instead started experimenting with various counter-cultural movements, everything from occultism to secessionists. This is where he met his May-December romance with an older mentor figure, and the pair traveled all along the west coast. In Albuquerque, Dawson made the acquaintance of Ricky Sipes, a name you might remember.

Sipes was incensed that Saul was willing to help the cartels but not him, but he never gave up his plans for a micronation. Eventually he found a second plot of land in Wyoming, somewhere remote where law enforcement could be easily bought-off. Sipes hired Dawson to be a religious/community leader, but the pair had a falling out over whether the community should allow gay marriage. Dawson ultimately killed Ricky so he could marry his husband without objection. Caleb and his husband had over a decade of happy years together, but by the time Kim joined the picture, he was a widower. It's one reason he was so ready to off himself at the first sign of trouble.

Back in the present day of January 2017, Kim and Mary are stuck basically playing out an homage to "Under the Red Hood". Mary says her home was destroyed in a landslide Senator Cooke caused; that's why she killed him. Kim says revenge is never the answer. Mary says this wasn't about revenge; Cooke was lethally negligent and the System wasn't bringing him to justice; this was preemptive self-defense. Kim tries to make counter-arguments, but Mary can't be dissuaded. Mary says that if Kim won't be her accessory after the fact, Kim should just go ahead and kill her. She just wants to see her brother again. Kim refuses to do either and - for all her disillusionments with the law - calls the police. But they take forever to get there. Mary tackles Kim and steals the pistol, then escapes out the door.

Episode 8: "Pirouette": The action is dying down; Kim can breathe again. But managing the church means being the center of attention in a way Kim was never really comfortable with, even if it comes naturally to her husband. Finally, she tells him that she wants a child. She expects him to be overjoyed, but instead Jimmy puts together that she had this planned as far back as Episode 1, and she lied by omission, because she knew he would say no if she had asked him in prison. He feels like a chump! And when Kim finds out that the congregation was relying on Dawson to supply them with narcotics, Jimmy tells her that if she gets involved in dealing drugs he'll leave her for good this time. So instead they try to help the whole church go cold turkey.

We also get more flash forwards to ~25 years later. The future Kim's children inherit isn't full-on dystopia, but it's pretty close. Climate change has caused a severe drought in the western hemisphere. The US dollar has collapsed, leaving a patchwork of digital currencies and bartering for water as the basis for the economy. Various oligarchic city-states are as hard to enter as they are to leave. And in the season finale, we find out what was inside the time capsule the daughter, Iris, dug up: evidence of election fraud in the Wyoming senate. What will our post-apocalyptic survivor do with this information? Stay tuned 'til Season 2!

The final shot of the season is Kim and Jimmy riding in a hot air balloon; one of the many perks of assuming control of Dawson's estate. Thom York's "Suspirium" plays over a montage of what Kim imagines the rest of her life to be, both the good and the bad.

[rueririn]

Hi, same anon, thanks for answering my question. Can you give some more headcanons, shenanigans, etc. if you're still up for it. When will we see others pov? Will they never meet each other? It's a rather… sad ending. Will Kurama's story end with Aliea's storyline or will he and team enter FFI? After the last chapter with Kirino, I honestly didn’t think that you would be able to give them any way out of the situation and that they would just lose the match, but you somehow managed to not only get them out of this situation, but do it in a believable way that gives light and hope . I was very impressed and I liked the last chapter not only for the plot twist but also for the style. Thanks in advance for your answer.

Hi hi ~ always happy to answer. I do think we'll see the other POVs eventually, but it's... well, a long way off, since these fics are all very long and I hesitate to start another installment before finishing one of them. I plan to go into FFI for Kurama and Chrono Stone for Kirino (not so sure about beyond) so yeah. It'll be awhile.

Thanks so much! I'm happy to hear you liked it, and sorry it took so long to get the update done though. Since it is technically a Holy Road match, they've gotta win somehow instead of ending in a draw so I had to really have some creative liberty on the way :/ I do think it would have been much more difficult if I put Hakuryuu in xD good thing I took him out of the equation for the sake of balance, I would've written myself into a corner otherwise.

Unfortunately, they'll never meet again :( Only the members in the caravan survived, so one day they'll likely reunite like Shinsuke and Kurama did, even if briefly-- but for everyone else that was left behind, nothing remains except the found footage.

Onto happier thoughts.

I really do have a lot of headcanons on the OG generation that don't really have any basis but I find them fun? Like Natsumi being a genuine girl gang type delinquent-- her father, in an attempt to contain her, put her in Raimon and told her she had the authority to do whatever she wanted as long as she didn't send more kids to the hospital over minor feuds again. It would be a funny explanation to why she had a different uniform from Aki and Haruna, (Midori, for example, has a longer skirt because she IS is delinquent archetype) haha

I do think it's funny to think that they used to be kinda unhinged already even in canon, but now, they've grown up and somehow have been set loose into the world. The only thing between Former Terrorist Kiyama Hiroto and starting another alien takeover for fun is Endou Mamoru's smile and hope in the good of humanity. Which is shattering right now.

There are a variety of things the OG Raimon left behind after their road trip across Japan, which includes a recipe book for camping food, training menus from hell, a tradition of annual bootcamps, and a set of wooden signs that read 'Currently in Reflection'. I'd like to think some rational person over these ten years saw these training menus, established "hell no, you are not bringing the kids into the woods they are not YOU GUYS" and then got the budget to make the soccer building. They're still gonna do the training, but they are not diving into mud for hissatsus ffs.

[azielgordy]

VAMPIRE

Character Biography: Aziel Gordy

Character Name: Aziel Gordy Character Faceclaim: Michael B. Jordan

Age: 39-Year-Olds.

Current Location: New York City.

Affiliation: Dracula.

Occupation: Joint-Partner of Gordy Technology conglomerate.

What ties them to Salem?: His wife is from Salem.

TIMELINE

Aziel Gordy was born into his family's tradition without much of a say for how his life would go: the oldest male child of Michael and Anette Gordy. His father, Michael, was a successful businessman. Known for his classic stoic demeanour, tempered by a deep, if not always visible, love for his oldest son. Anette was a devoted stay-at-home mother, dedicating her life to raising her children, with a big emphasis on good manners and a strong moral compass. Their household was one where church was the cornerstone of family life, Sundays reserved for worship and prayer. As a child, Aziel often spoke about becoming a priest when he was older. It was a childish notion, or at least, it was in his parents' eyes. They harboured different ambitions for him. And while his siblings would get to follow the lives that they wanted…

Aziel would always have his path lay out for him.

Michael knew his son would become his successor. There was no doubt in his mind. As soon as Aziel was old enough, he began shadowing his father, learning about the corporate world for what it was: money, reputation and a lot of double-talk. Aziel had always excelled academically, becoming a straight-A student and earning a full-ride scholarship to Columbia University, where he studied Economics. It was during his time in Manhattan, where the music in greenwich village had been the only time he felt truly happy, a rare slice of joy.

Graduation came, and life finally kicked into gear, joining the family business, as the plan had always stated. Although it wasn't the path he would have chosen, he found himself increasingly drawn to the challenges, and he couldn’t lie – the benefits were worth it. He’d always thrived on the need for intellectual stimulation and over time, he finally began to appreciate the legacy his father had built. It was during this period that Aziel met his future wife, a woman whose qualities he could only ever aspire to emulate.

The marriage came quickly – not even six months later. It’d been something for the newspapers to talk about, some wondering if it was because he’d knocked her up — in all honesty, he would've married her tomorrow. No questions asked, regardless. But finally, outside of work, he finally felt like he had something that was his. Something tangible and real. 

Aziel's career was all smooth sailing until it wasn’t. Atticus Hempstead was a rising media mogul with the desire to acquire stakes in the Gordy Conglomerate. The meeting set off a chain of events that would alter Aziel's life, and he very quickly learned one thing – read the FINE PRINT. 

A hostile takeover, threatening to wrest control of the company from the Gordy family – they’d break it up, selling it off piece by piece until it was but a shell company. Everything his father had worked for, gone. Without as much as a thought to what it’d do to the employees.

His father looked like he was ready to give up. To let the company go, even if he could see it killed him. It was in that fire, with the rage of hell in his stomach, that Aziel sought out another buyer, and hastily signed a contract with Niram, another corporate name, in which he’d previously done business with. Of course, in his haste, Aziel, without fully understanding its terms, signed his death warrant. Buried in the fine print was a clause that meant one thing: Aziel would become a vampire of the Dracula bloodline by midnight.

A meeting was called at the head office in New York City. It was meant to be a celebration, a cheer to all the good work the company had done, and of course, to their new leader Aziel. 

But Aziel had no control, not that he or they knew that yet. Once the office had cleared and Niram and Aziel discussed the terms of the contract, the other lunged. It happened so fast; he had no way of reacting, or knowing what he’d done when he signed.

He might as well have done it in his own blood.

The transformation left Aziel lost, a pawn in the hands of the Dracula lineage. With his father having just transferred control of the company to him, Aziel found himself trapped in a nightmare, a horror film, that had jumped out of the screen and become his reality. He might’ve ‘saved’ his company, but he’d traded his soul in return. Not only that, but his home life began to suffer. Sneaking out at night to feed led his wife to suspect he was cheating, and arguments that had been barely non-existent before were now a common occurrence. Meanwhile, the company pressed him for increased profits, and the need to feed only grew.

Good traits: Loyal, Morally right & Diligent.

Bad traits: Inflexible, Resentful & quick-tempered.

[spongebobafettywap]

It's so weird how by giving Nightcrawler 1) a prophecy, 2) a weird and overly complicated origin story and 3) a "chosen one" label, he became way less interesting and special as a character

The prophecy showed that technically the world would have been fine without him until Azazel decides to do a takeover... Which only happens when Nightcrawler is like what ? 30+ years old ? Meaning : The X-Men and Excalibur ? Fine. Every X-Men story and plotline that featured him would have went down the same even if he wasn't there. Don't believe me ? It's pretty much stated that Nightcrawler being part of the X-Men wasn't something that was predicted/part of the plan. His entire time as an X-Men and saving the world apparently doesn't matter in either shaping who he is or changing the world and his friends ever so significantly. This low-key makes any time Nightcrawler was involved in anything be pointless since the universe would have found a way around it to make things happen the same as 616 canon.

The overlycomplicated origin story is a staple of the superhero comics genre so the more complicated a character's is the more cliché and boring a character gets by rule of "your past is your present and future actually". When Nightcrawler was the result of an affair that backfired, the way he came out being unknown to either of his parents and his life being up to him since neither cared about him beyond him existing (Mystique needed him to keep her lavish life and Azazel needed him for his schemes : Him being a good or bad person didn't matter to them in any way so that was always up to him to make all his choices in life) made his struggles in life mean so much more and feel real. Now, everything was planned about him and the character we see today was specifically molded to be this way from birth with outside intervention making sure he never stays from that, even tho he never would have by design.

The chosen one bit makes him by far the most pathetically useless chosen one in the history of chosen ones : The X-Men setting has every tool and every character possible that could have stopped Azazel by the time he did a takeover. Any shapeshifter could have pretended to be Nightcrawler when the time came, any of Azazel's kids could have been convinced to do what Nightcrawler did. When he was around, Nightcrawler needed the X-Men to stop him both times, Nightcrawler needed a power nullifying collar to stop him the last time. The only key contribution Nightcrawler brought to the table was through his blood ties to Azazel (as his biological son) which were needed on both occasions... But now, since he's "no longer related to Azazel", anyone's blood could have literally been used. He wasn't even the one to definitely put a stop to Azazel in 616, an alternative reality version of him (the Bamf Dragon) did who neither looks, acts, thinks or is made like him. That version of him didn't even put a stop to his own Azazel as far as we know so there's a world out there that's apparently out of balance. The chosen one trope has a character "being framed as the inevitable hero of the story" but Nightcrawler's entire existence is null in the great scheme of things if he was brought to this world to stop Azazel as anyone could have done what he did.

Agreed with what you said and wanted more people to see it so I'm publishing this ask.

It's also just like with origin stories the best ones are simple and memorable, Spider-Man got bitten by a radioactive spider, Superman baby refugee from a dead planet, Batman witnessed his parents murder and vowed to fight crime for their memory.

Nightcrawler's was a Demonic Mutant and a Shapshifting Assassin had an unexpected child who grew up to be a hero. Now it's Nightcrawler is technically the offspring of Azazel, Mystique and Destiny so all those references to him being a blood relative are still true but we needed to shoehorn Destiny into his backstory and also there's a prophecy he is going to defeat Azazel who is now the strongest Marvel being as evidenced by the prophecies depiction of him defeating everyone unless Kurt exists.

[artemisia-black]

I really love your Black family metas and over the years I’ve definitely become more interested in the family than I was when I first read the books. I always thought that Regulus was very interesting to me, because canonically we know very little about him, but ofc fandom has taken that to mean he can be either very softened or turned into a Death Eater at like age 11(I’ve read both of these lol). Anyway, I was wondering what you thought about how Regulus came to join up with the Death Eaters. I know a lot of people try to have him be forced into it(I think as a way to excuse his actions), but there’s no real evidence for that, and also in order for him to have a redemption arc(of a sort)- he needs to have done something wrong lol. I always thought that it was a mix of Regulus genuinely being interested in the DE’s and also Bellatrix(and perhaps Malfoy) seeing that interest and grasping onto it. So there could have been some manipulation involved for sure and peer pressure going on, but joining the Death Eaters was also something that Regulus did seem like he was interested in. Not to mention he literally has news clippings about Lord Voldemort hung up around his room- which Reg? Buddy? You good? He’s not James where you would probably have to like erase his mind to get him to join Voldemort’s side. Rather I think he was someone who already showed an interest/fascination in what Lord Voldemort was doing and this would make it easier for Bellatrix to use that to get him to join(and I wouldn’t be surprised if she used his parents as leverage too-like “This could make them proud,”). So I really do love him and I do think that there was some form of pressure/manipulation involving his joining of the Death Eaters, but I also think a lot of it was his own idea and that’s where he would need a redemption arc, because he did some bad stuff before his death. Also I’m sorry this is so long- I just have so many feelings about this subject 😂

I also don't see him as being forced into it. During Kreacher's exposition speech he literally says that Regulus joined willingly:

"he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns . . . and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve."

So Regulus was talking about joining the Deatheaters for years before he actually did and had clearly bought into the surface-level ideology. It's interesting that Kreacher also includes 'muggles' and not just muggle-borns, so Regulus was fully up for a complete world takeover, not just a 'reform' of the wizarding world's intake policies.

I also don't think his parent's forced him. Even Sirius, who claims to 'hate the lot of them,' can't bring himself to actually call them Deatheaters. Although he does say that their pureblood ideologies primed Regulus for Deatheater recruitment. And going back to Regulus being 'happy to serve,' I think the proud and haughty Blacks would have been horrified at that alone.

I'm not sure if you're reading my WIP Pietas, but this quote (get me quoting myself haha) summarises what I think set Regulus up on his destructive path:

‘Of course, father,’ Regulus said, returning the smile as his pulse quickened in anticipation. He had been dreaming of this moment for years, the endless possibilities chasing each other around his head as he replied with a simple, ‘I am keen to hear both yours and grandfather’s plans for me.’

Orion nodded returning his goblet to the table, ‘Well, you will of course be expected to achieve both excellent OWL and NEWT results,’ he paused and allowed Regulus to nod.

Orion’s voice softened and he indulged in yet another smile, ‘And in the meantime, we will procure you a wife from an excellent family.’

Regulus nodded once more, despite the desire to question his father bubbling inside him. The anticipation becoming almost intolerable as it caused his heart to beat uncomfortably fast. The moments seemed to stretch into infinity, as he silently willed his father to continue talking.

‘As for your long-term future,’ Orion began, once more pausing to eat as Regulus suppressed the urge to throw a Sirius-esque tantrum.

‘Your grandfather Arcturus and I, feel a Black is needed at Hogwarts. As in recent years, that school has allowed too many dangerous ideas to fester and corrupt children from pureblood families.’

 His eyes pierced Regulus as they continued. ‘You will help tamper the nonsense down and one day you will become headmaster.’

As his father finished, Regulus took a large gulp of his wine and almost spluttered as his thoughts chattered over each other.

Disappointment clanged through him, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest. He had been hoping to help with his family’s political dealings. He had yearned to dedicate his life to something that would aide in bringing wizards out of hiding and help his family take their rightful place on the world stage. He had dreamed of the day when wizards could openly use magic and their superiority was acknowledged by all.

Annoyance rose in his chest, but determined to not act like his brother, he willed his emotions into check.'

I basically interpret him as someone who feels superior but lives in his brother's shadow. But is equally as determined and intense as his brother (the Note is as feisty as anything Sirius would write) and puts his beliefs into action. I interpret his defection as being about the Horcruxes rather than because he suddenly got all woke about muggles. I have a meta about souls here.

Also, his Voldy mood board can be interpreted as him intelligence gathering after finding out about Horcruxes- it's described as 'ragged', which is a contrast to the rest of his room (also Sirius gathers intelligence in a similar way in Gof). Or it could be that he walked into the DE's knowing full well what they were about and did so willingly because he was willing to spill blood for his ideals.

I love chatting about Regulus- so thanks for this :D