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thran-duils · 3 years

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Nowhere to Run (P.2)

Title: Nowhere to Run (Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Stony. Reader was caught unknowingly stealing from the capitol harvest and is drug to the capitol for punishment. She is offered an option to go to trial or accept work in the main government building. Upon her tour, she ends up in trouble and catches eyes of two of the Master Council that decide she needs to be broken in by their hands. Words: 6,130 Warnings (for this chapter): Non-con, servitude, forced orgasms, verbal and emotional abuse, double penetration, unprotected sex Author’s Notes: Definitely biting Mother Gothel vibes when Tony says, “No? Oh...” Also, sorry that this got so long but also not sorry.

Part One || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

The courtyard between the villas was swathed in flowers and shrubbery. Despite how scared you were to be here, you came to a stop in the pathway, looking around in awe. This kind of garden was one you dreamed of to have and lay in, soaking up the sun. Your hands came up to your sheer hood of your robe to push it back — before leaving the Capitol you had been given a robe, a symbol of your assignment. It was white and embroidered with flowers and upon seeing the garden, you spotted the flower it was based off of. You had not seen it in any other part of the Capitol yet and surmised it was specifically here and therefore, the reason for the embroidery choice. It was deep blue, weaving in vines around the pillar. You reached out, rubbing one of the petals between your fingers gently.

Tsu snapped his fingers in your face, getting your attention once more.

“We don’t have a lot of time. The Masters are in a council meeting, and they’ll be expecting you to be settled in and starting your tasks by the time they return. Now I was told you will be assigned primarily to Master Rogers and Master Stark.” He leaned in close and hissed, “And please heed my warning: obey. They are not known to be forgiving.”

He looked serious and you nodded, “Noted.”

“I hope so. They won’t be lenient about back talk. Do not repeat what you did at the capitol building.”

Tsu turned on his heel and continued on, taking a path towards one of the villas. “This is Mr. Roger’s.”

It infuriated you that they all had such large houses just to themselves. Many around the country shared the houses with multiple families and they were nowhere near the size of these.

And being inside, you were even more upset seeing how lacking homeliness there was to the place. It was all marble flooring, minimalist, and cold, really. He gave you direction about the rooms, nodding in acknowledgment when you passed a couple of other servants. They nodded quickly back before moving on to continue their tasks. Your eyes lingered on the large, canopied bed in the master bedroom. Why someone needed that big of a bed just for themselves was beyond you. But the Capitol was greedy, and it was so because of the council members living above their actual needs.

Your mouth watered as you were led to the kitchen; dinner was being prepared and it smelled delicious. The cook himself was skinny and you wondered if he was ever rewarded with the fruits of his labor. You were to attend to the morning tasks specifically and the cook showed you where the coffee was — a delicacy that apparently Master Rogers enjoyed every morning — and where he would leave the prepped food for you to cook for breakfast. On top of preparing his outfit for the day to lay out and getting his toiletries ready for after his shower.

“Am I to do the same at Master Stark’s as well?” you asked Tsu, who nodded. “How can I be expected to be in two places at once? Who is first?”

“They will work that out amongst themselves and inform you. Come now, over to Master Stark’s. Apparently one of his maids has fallen… under the weather.” You furrowed your brow at the hesitance and Tsu leaned in, “We shan’t expect to see her for probably nine months.”

You felt bile swirling.

“It happens from time to time with the Master’s maids. Why, Master Wilson had one just last month.”

“Charming. I’m so glad that’s a common occurrence that no one bats an eye,” you muttered.

Tsu wagged his finger at you, “That’s that attitude I was talking about. I’m not going to be here to remind you to keep it reined in. You’re gonna have to do it yourself.”

Master Stark’s house was across the courtyard. His house was just as unwelcoming and darker in interior design. There were many sky lights, a huge one over his sunken living room. You stepped down, looking at the plush couch and the large flat screen mounted on the wall. Again, so much space for just one person. His bedroom was facing the forest with a bed as large as Master Roger’s and you walked along the windows, staring out as Tsu led you to show you the master bath. You stared at the shower, taking in the floating shower head above and the wooden bench along the wall. That must be relaxing.

“Servants quarters are downstairs. There’s some in every villa. I’m not sure which one you’ll be in but again, they’ll let you know.”

He was leading you back through the hall, pointing out an office and a library. You stuck your head inside the library curiously, your mouth falling open at the walls of books. Back home, you had the pleasure of a collection, but it was not even a quarter of this.

“Come on, Y/N. We don’t have a lot of—” he stopped hearing noise downstairs, the front door slamming it sounded like.

“Matilda!” A man bellowed.

“Shit. He’s back already,” Tsu hissed before grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the library.

Coming along the exposed hallway, you looked past the glass railing over the living room. A woman was in front of who you assumed was Master Stark. He was sneering at her already, “You forget yourself, Matilda. I told you to have my bath ran by the time I returned. Perhaps missing dinner will be in order for you.”

“I’m sorry, master,” she said looking nervous, her head bowed.

Master Stark was dark haired and handsome. He was dressed smartly in a fitted suit, you still able to make out the tautness of his body. The movement at the stairs caught his attention. He took his sunglasses off seeing the pair of you coming down the stairs.

“Master Stark,” Tsu greeted as you approached. He gave a curt bow, and you followed his lead.

Chestnut eyes followed your movement, and you did your best to avert your own gaze. You instead looked at the other woman, seeing the red in her cheeks at being berated.

“I was just showing Y/N around yours and Master Roger’s homes to get her acquainted.”

“Right. The new wench,” Master Stark remarked. You bristled at the term ‘wench’ and shot him an annoyed look. His lips twitched seeing your expression before you averted your gaze again, knowing you had let your temper get the better of you. “Leave us. I can take it from here.”

Tsu nodded and gave another bow. “Good day, Master Stark.”

He left without looking back and you suddenly felt vulnerable without him.

“Girl, come to me,” Master Stark said, snapping his fingers at you like you were a pet. To Matilda he ordered, “What are you still doing standing there, you idiot? Get upstairs and start my bath! Do you wish to miss breakfast as well?”

“No, sir,” she said shaking her head and turning to go up the stairs you had just come down hastily.

You closed the space between the two of you, standing a foot from him, your arms clasped in front of you.

“You were told you are to prepare my clothes and breakfast later in the morning than Steve’s?”

Steve must be Master Rogers.

“Yes, sort of,” you responded in a timid voice.

“Speak up. Muttering annoys the absolute fuck out of me.”

“Yes,” you rose your voice. “But I was unsure which house to be at first. Thank you for answering that for me. What time do you want me here, Master Stark?”

He sighed, “Steve is always up at the asscrack of dawn. Usually about five.” You held back at a grimace knowing you would need to be awake well before then yourself then. “I don’t usually get up until eight. That gives you a couple hours at least at his place beforehand. And you know, before this goes any further, let me see you. Strip.”

“Excuse me?” you asked mortified.

“Did I stutter?” Tony asked dryly. “Untie your dress.”

“No.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose, “‘No’?” He looked sinister, “Oh…”

“No, I mean you didn’t stutter,” you said quickly, trying to correct your misstep.

Amusement was still evident; he did not believe your lie. “Well, get to it then. As I’m sure you heard, I have a bath running and I would like it to be hot.”

Heat creeped up your neck as you reached up and untied the fabric at the back of your neck. He circled slowly, his fingers brushing at your side. You flinched away instinctively, and his hand latched tightly.

“Did I give you permission to move?”

“No,” you whispered.

“What did I tell you about speaking up? Are you daft?”

“No,” you said louder.

“Good girl,” he said, his hand loosening.

It was one thing to have him examining you like cattle at auction but touching you on top of that was humiliating on a whole new level.

His lecherous examination continued, his fingers following his circle he walked on your skin. He traced down from the nape of your neck to the curve of your ass. His fingers fluttered down and gave a squeeze. You sucked in your cheeks, tensing, but you did not say anything like you had at the Capitol. He held, as if he was waiting. When you stayed still, he made a hum of approval before he moved on.

Fingers ghosted along your shoulder. He was so close; you could feel his breath on you. He was frightening, his presence ominous. You fought to keep your eyes forward and not meet him. You had a feeling that would result in punishment.

He stepped away from you, his hand thankfully gone.

“You’ll do,” he said dismissively.

‘You’ll do’? That was more hurtful than outright telling you that you were not up to his standards. Or was he playing mind games?

“Dress yourself. Before you head over to Steve’s, go and straighten up my library. I had young Master Parker over earlier and he has a terrible fucking habit of not putting things back. I like authors by their last name. Don’t fuck it up, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

<><><>

You awoke at 4:30am and dragged yourself from your small cot. You took on the friendly advice given to you by the other servants to use the small glow stick like device to light your way without turning on the actual lights. There was no need to rouse Master Rogers from sleep before he awoke himself; that would piss him off.

Picking up your list that had been left by one of the head servants, you saw you were to pick out his outfit, sort his toiletries, mop the kitchen floor – where were those supplies? – prepare his coffee and breakfast, and lay out his newspaper for him. And wait for further instruction if there were to be any. The only order for his outfit was ‘casual’.

Master Rogers – Steve – was sleeping soundly still. You stared at his form for a few seconds, his muscular arms and chest that were exposed from his silk sheets. He was a large man, handsome too just like Master Stark, with a strong jaw. His blonde hair was splayed across his forehead from his tussling in the night. You were given little to no instruction for his clothing, and you went into his closet blind, holding up the small light you were holding. His room was shrouded in darkness from the curtains being pulled and you were grateful you had brought the light.

In his closet, you fetched a relaxed top and a soft cardigan with slacks. That was as casual as it was getting in his selection of clothes. You kept the hangers and brought them soundlessly out to his bathroom door, hanging them up. You went inside and began gathering the toiletries listed and separated them between the counter near the sink and his shower.

Down in the kitchen, you made first to find the mop and thankfully, it was in the pantry. It was fairly easy to mop the floor, that you were used to. But after that, you stared at the oven before clicking a button you thought was the correct one. It came to life. This was far more technological than you had dealt with, but you had to figure it out. You wished you had had more time with Tsu or the cook yesterday. It took you a moment to figure out where the skillets were, but you were able to get his bacon started and his eggs. His coffee was more difficult than you thought originally. He wanted a latte. You followed the instructions to make an espresso and then whisked the milk, pouring the espresso over it.

As if on cue, you placed the latte next to his plate on the counter as instructed next to his newspaper, and he walked in.

His eyes ran over you, and you gave him a curt bow as Tsu had done for Master Stark. “Good morning, Master Rogers.”

“We haven’t met,” he responded, coming over to his plate and grabbing his newspaper.

“Y/N, sir.”

“Hmm, right. I remember you.”

He remembered you from what?

“I’m to help you in the morning. I hope my outfit choice was appropriate.”

Steve looked down and shrugged half assedly. “It’s comfortable enough.”

Holding back your attitude, you asked, “Is there something I can do different in the future that will please you more?” His eyes flashed lasciviously, and you quickly added, “In regard to your outfit, I mean, sir. Just so I know what to choose.”

“I’m not sure I can teach a mountain girl anything about fashion on a whim. So, just watch the rest of the masters and the council members outfits. I don’t have the energy to try to explain it to you. I’m sure this long, halter gown is the fanciest thing you’ve worn and it’s merely a villa servant’s dress.”

How you wanted to knock him a good one for being so crass. It must have been evident in your expression because his eyes crinkled as he picked up a bite of his eggs, taking a bite.

“Did I strike a nerve?”

“No,” you blatantly lied. “How are your eggs, sir?”

“Fine, surprisingly. You made them quite fluffy.”

Steve’s hand moved in what seemed like a very deliberate movement, knocking his cup, and it fell to the floor. Ceramic shattered and his latte flooded around it.

You bit your cheeks to keep from screaming, staring at it. You had just cleaned the floor.

“Oops,” he said flatly, not sounding sorry at all. “Why did you place it so close to the edge?”

He was saying it like it was your fault. This pompous asshole. But you inhaled deeply.

“I’ll make you another one,” you told him calmly although you were screaming internally. He was not going to get a rise out of you that quickly and that easily. Tsu had warned you to obey and you were not going to risk being beaten or worse – time added to your sentence – over spilled coffee.

“Another one…?” He asked expectantly.

“Master Rogers,” you said stiffly.

You bent over and began picking up the shattered pieces first. Scooping them up you brought them over to the trash can and tossed them in.

Turning back around, you caught sight of him staring, his eyes focused on your hips before he met your gaze. He looked aroused and you knew he had been staring at your ass as you were bent over. Nonchalantly, he cleared his throat and looked back down at his newspaper.

You felt relief surprisingly when he said, “I’m sure Tony will be coming back from the land of the dead soon enough. You should hurry over there.”

<><><>

You cracked Tony’s door open and quietly slipped in. You saw two figures in the bed as you crept by towards his closet. You used the natural light coming in from the windows to guide yourself through the closet. He had said dark grey for his color scheme, so you did your best, matching the jacket, vest, and slacks but a white dress shirt. The socks and tie you chose were burgundy, a contrast. He had not asked for that, but you would see how that worked.

Quietly, you came back out of the closet and stilled when you saw someone slipping out of the bed. You recognized her in the light… Matilda. She stopped only for a moment, locking eyes with you before snatching her dress off the ground and bringing it up and tying it around her neck. She sneaked out of the room, more than likely going to start her chores. So, he forced someone he verbally abused to his bed.

Gently you walked over to the bathroom and hung up the clothes on the outside of the door. You moved inside and got together the materials the same you had for Steve and put the appropriate ones in the shower and by the sink.

When you emerged, Tony was stirring, and you moved quicker to get out of the room before he was fully awake.

But to no luck.

“Morning, little vixen.”

You stopped in your movement and turned back to face him, clasping your hands. “Good morning, Master Stark. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

His lips up ticked into a closed smile, “I’m sure it is time for me to be awake if I find my bed cold. Night is over and consequently the fun.” He threw the covers back and got back out of bed unabashedly of his naked form. Your eyes widened at his brazen behavior, all of him on display. You turned your head, avoiding looking at him and he chuckled. “You’ll get used to seeing this.”

Tony moved towards the door and eyed the suit choice. He shot you a look and said, “Look at that slight boldness of color. It’s subtle against the neutral but it’s nice. Good choice.”

He winked at you before going into the bathroom. You took that as permission to leave to start his breakfast.

<><><>

The whole first day you had put up with both of their antics. They were trying your patience and it was getting to you. You had never crossed two more pretentious men and they were so insulting to their staff. Steve had called you “pigheaded” for placing his newspaper on the right instead of the left of his plate this morning and you wanted to just tear it up in front of him.

You were currently in Tony’s office waiting instruction. There had been a task after breakfast to clean his office and before you started, you wanted more direction, so you did not make a mistake.

He walked in finding you still standing still, and he asked, “You know, to clean, you need to actually be moving?”

“My instructions said to dust but I was not sure what I should touch and not touch, Master Stark. I was waiting for you to give me direction so—”

He cut you off, “When it says dust, just dust. But, you know, I’m actually glad you waited so you’ll be in here longer.” He stalked over to his desk and opened one of his drawers, pulling out a box. He unwrapped it and you watched him pull out a pair of lace, barely there panties. Your heart clenched – he surely did not mean to give those to you? He placed a small device into the crotch of them and held them out to you.

“What’s that?” you asked slowly, not moving.

“I like some entertainment while I work,” Tony commented. “Put them on. They’ll be a snug fit, right up against what I’m sure is a beautiful pussy.” You stared back at him, and Tony returned a challenging look. “Are we going to have a problem?”

At loss for words, you stammered, “I… for what?”

“A problem ‘for what’? Yeah, that’s exactly what my question is. There should not be a problem when I tell you to do something directly. Come over here and fetch them and put them on,” Tony ordered you impatiently. “Before I lose my temper.”

As if you were moving against your own will, your legs moved forward, and you came to the desk. You reached up underneath your gown, his eyes raking over your exposed bare legs. Yanking down your underwear, you tossed them to the side by the desk and took the underwear from him. Hunger was swimming in his eyes, and you swallowed sharply. He was right; they were snug, the protruding part right up against your bud.

He clicked a button on the small remote and the underwear turned on. You grimaced your teeth as you felt the vibration, if only for a few moments.

Tony looked elated at the expression on your face. “Sweetheart, if you can dust everything here without coming, I’ll be so proud.” He leaned forward and winked, “But I’m going to make you work for it. Our work meetings are so boring, and I enjoy watching you women fighting against an orgasm.”

You hated this. You were to clean his office and he was going to be brushing your cunt with his toy.

He picked up the glass by his desk and opened the mini fridge, pulling out the ice cubes. He clunked some into his glass and poured some water over the top of it. Settling back into his chair he eyed you, waiting.

Swallowing your pride, you turned from him and began at the far end at the stacked bookcases. You shuddered as the panties worked at your clit, longer this time. He did not hit the button at regular intervals, so it caught you off guard every time. You would be holding a porcelain figurine and clench it, hoping to God you would not drop it. You were bound to break something the closer you got to coming undone. He was continuing on with his virtual meeting as if nothing untoward was happening to you. You bent to grab a book that had fallen off the shelf and he hit it again. You snapped back up and exhaled sharply, clenched as it vibrated relentlessly against you. You gave the book a quick brush over before placing it back on the shelf. You took a step and he hit it again.

Having had enough, you turned around and hissed, “You’re distracting me. How am I to work, Master Stark?”

He muted his microphone on his computer and blocked his camera before turning in his chair towards you. You saw the bulge in his pants and that only served to make you more upset with the situation. How much he was getting off on this was unbearable.

“That’s kind of the point of this. But, really, you’re distracting me, little vixen. With your hips and those soft sighs leaving your mouth every time I press the toy. It’s very beguiling,” Tony argued, relaxing back in his chair. You heard the ice clinking in his drink as he brought it to his lips. “And I’ll distract you however much I want to. Don’t you forget that. Get back to work. Now.”

He clicked his microphone and camera back on, resuming his meeting. His fingers were tapping the remote that was lying on the desk, teasingly. Pissed, you turned back.

It buzzed again only moments later, and you clenched, squeezing your thighs together as you brushed the bookcase.

“Ah ah. Naughty girl. Let me in,” Tony intoned, and you loosened. He took the opportunity and hit you again with stimulation.

You let out a frustrated noise and threw the duster onto the ground.

“Fuck this!” you exclaimed.

Tony hit the hide and mute on his computer quickly at your outburst, caught off guard. You got a small satisfaction out of that in the heat of the moment that you had thrown him off his game.

He turned towards you again, looking furious. That did nothing to throw water on your temper. You hastily tore the underwear off and threw them in his general direction. Tony’s eyes followed the descent of them to land at his black oxfords. “Send me back! I’ll take on an extra month — six even if I can just be back in the capitol building! This is torture!”

Tony drug his gaze from the panties back to you. His elbow was still resting on the arm of the chair.

Chest heaving, you watched him and slowly felt the dread creeping in. His eyes were hard, and you remembered who exactly you were dealing with. He had all the power in this relationship, and you had just lost your temper with him, outright disobeying something you had been ordered to do. And you may have embarrassed him in front of other Capitol council members in your outburst.

Tony stood from the chair and stalked over to you, peering down his nose at you. His voice was dangerously low when he said, “Go up to my bedroom and wait there for Steve and I. On the bed. Naked.”

Naked? You gulped.

Even you knew better than to argue with him with that scathing glare. You slunk away and you felt his glare burning into the back of your head as you closed the office door behind you.

<><><>

Curled in on yourself, you waited. It seemed to drag on forever, the waiting. You just wanted them to come up and belt you and get it over with.

When the door opened, you dared to raise your gaze, finding the both of them coming in. Their jackets, vests, and ties were gone. The top buttons of their dress shirts were undone, apparently have relaxed before this. Tony must have called Steve to his office and relayed to him what had transpired between the two of you.

You were doing your best to try to keep your breasts hidden, your legs crossed to hide yourself as well.

Tony came to a stop in front of you and he held out two fingers, pulling your chin up to force you to look at him directly. His stare was cold.

“You really pissed me off earlier,” he informed you point blank.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m sure you are now. At the time, I know you meant every little ounce of venom you spat at me. And that I won’t abide. And neither will Steve. What goes on in one villa, goes on in the other. You will be well behaved in both.” When you did not say anything, his hand came to clench your jaw and you winced as he forced your mouth open as he mocked in a higher pitched voice, “’Yes, master. I understand’.”

“Yes, master, I understand,” you repeated, wincing against his tight grip.

“And we’ll make sure that sticks. We are in charge here,” Tony told you, letting go of your face and going to work on the rest of his buttons.

You had hardly noticed Steve had undressed himself to his briefs. You had been so focused on Tony’s imperious presence before you.

Steve was holding the panties you had thrown at Tony earlier. You felt sick as he told you, “Let me put these on you and don’t make it difficult.”

No. They were not going to beat you like you feared. They were going to do worse. Matilda came to mind being in Tony’s bed when you knew that was the last place she would have wanted to be and your eyes shot to the door before landing back on Steve who was coming close now.

Freeing himself from his boxers, Steve’s hand ran up and down his length. You cowered back, crawling back on the bed, tucking your feet to come onto your knees. You did not want to be in here. He smirked seeing your fight or flight kick in.

“Sweetpea, you know that’s not an option. Come back.” You tensed, shooting another quick look at the door. Steve’s expression melted from amusement to annoyance. “Now.”

You unfolded slowly, coming back to the end of the bed, your heart hammering. You had had sex before, but it had only been with the boy next door, the one you had thought once that you would marry before you had been brought here. Not like this. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you sat still as you could to let him slide them up and you allowed him to pull them all the way up. You spotted Tony still had the remote, a wicked grin on his face.

Steve was jutting out towards you, and you stared down at his length.

“Your hand,” Steve told you. “Wet it with your mouth.” You shakily did as he asked and he ordered, “More spit.” You did that as well. “Touch me.”

You felt humiliated but you did what he asked. He was thick and your hand slid up and down his length, wetting him with your spit. He moaned softly, his hips moving ever so slightly as you continued to stroke him off. The underwear vibrated and unlike before, they were not turning off. Tony was not giving you any reprieve. You tried to adjust so the movement was not directly on your bud but no matter what you tried, it was right there, and some angles made it worse, causing you to shiver at the direct contact. You caught Tony’s eyes and he was watching with heightened arousal, his erection evident in his slacks.

Steve was leaking precum in no time and you were short of breath with the stimulation on your cunt. You had shot a look at Tony finding him naked now, working himself up at the scene before him. You were getting the panties so wet and you wondered if that was going to affect the toy.

It reached a moment when Steve had had enough of just your hand. He stopped your movement and tossed your hand aside. You leaned back as he towered, his hands snatching at the sides of the panties and yanking them down your legs roughly, tossing them aside. You barely had time to react before he was picking you up in a fluid motion. You yelped at the airborne movement as he dragged you onto the bed with him. Steve laid down and pulled you in top of him, your hands planted by his head. His cock slid in with ease to your wet pussy, his lips sucking at your breasts.

The bed dipped with Tony’s added weight, and you heard him adjusting in between Steve’s legs, his hard cock brushing up against your tight ring. You realized fully what he was aiming for when his thumb met your ass and it was cold, covered in lube. You felt him squeeze some into you.

Having their way with you in your pussy was one thing but this was something else entirely, especially since Steve was already inside you. You had never had anal sex, let alone two men in you at once. This was their punishment.

Desperately, you begged, “Please don’t!”

Steve’s laugh was cruel. “‘Please don’t?’ Me? I’m not doing anything, darling. I’m just sitting here. Fully...seated... inside your tight cunt just enjoying it.”

You tried to look over your shoulder at Tony, “Master—"

But Steve grabbed your face and forced you to look back at him. “Relax…. Relax….” he breathed encouragingly. “You don’t want it to really hurt do you?”

There was no time for you to answer him as Tony started pressing in. It burned and you cried out. Steve was whispering in your ear to encourage you to relax, telling you to be a good girl. You choked on a cry, tears stinging as Tony continued to sink into your ass. You were so full.

“Aw, she’s crying, Tony.”

Tony sloppily kissed your temple, his hand tight on your throat. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re doing so well! Taking it like the little whore we knew you are. Take your punishment… you’ll be loving it in no time.”

He pulled out slowly before pushing back in, keeping a slow steady pace. You breathed, trying to focus on the way it was subsiding to pleasure. You sniffled, hanging your head as he continued using you, Steve still waiting inside. You were sure their cocks were brushing each other in that thin membrane.

“Well-behaved now too. Just gotta fill her with cock to train her. Make her needy,” Steve rasped. “Tell us how much you like it, you little slut.”

It was an order. And you were just a rag doll between them right now; what other choice did you have but to comply?

You could not lie to yourself either, you were being stimulated to a whole new level.

“I love it,” you breathed shakily, a sharp whine escaping as you felt them both rocking in and out. They had a rhythm going, like they had done this before.

Steve continued with his dirty talk, “You want it? You wanna be fucked?”

“Yes, I want it. I wanna be fucked.”

Tony groaned at your declaration, slapping across your ass as you rocked between them. The reverberation sent a tremor through you, further stimulating you.

Steve bit roughly at your nipple and you yelped. His breath was hot as he growled, “You wanna be used like a perfect doll. Right? You wanna behave? Because if you don’t we won’t finish.”

Every nerve was on fire, and you were losing yourself to the feeling. No, they had to finish.

You nodded fervently, “I wanna behave. I wanna behave.”

“You know how lucky you are to be filled? What women would beg to be in your spot? You should be thanking us!”

“Thank you for filling me up,” you cried as Steve buried himself roughly. The shame of your pleading and groveling was overshadowed by every brush of their cocks inside you, pushing you towards the edge to come tumbling down.

They were working you like the doll Steve promised you were going to be. Your breath was short, and you were beginning to shake on your arms.

You heard Tony groan, “There you go, there you go. Fuck!”

“I got her Tony,” Steve grunted, holding you tight as broken cries left you. “I’ll hold you, sweetheart.” You trusted him in your delirious state and collapsed against him as your body gave way. You shouted, stuffing a fist into your mouth. Steve yanked your hand away and you cried out. “Let us hear what we’ve done to you, you naughty girl.”

Steve held you in place as Tony sped up, thrusting quick. You continued moaning with the heat tearing through you.

“You’re gonna take every fucking drop,” Tony husked. “Perfect little cumslut!”

He groaned animalistically, his cum emptying into your ass. You sighed relieved and buried your face into Steve’s collarbone. Tony slid out and you whined pathetically feeling him spill out onto your thighs.

“Almost done, doll. You’re taking your punishment perfectly, shaping up so well,” Steve kissed along the side of your face. “Tony, you did nothing to help me stalling myself with those hard thrusts of yours. Felt every rib of your dick, you bastard.” You heard Tony chuckling as Steve resumed his own thrusts. You whined, so sensitive but he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, and he was finishing soon, spilling his seed into your aching pussy. He gave a few more lazy thrusts before he picked you up and rolled over to drop you onto the bed.

You laid there exhausted, bare in the center of the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath.

Steve was pleased. “I love that gaped, cum filled look. Especially on her.”

They sounded a million miles away, you still drowning in what had just happened.

Tony came into your sights, and you turned your head towards him, exhaustion in your bones. “Gather yourself and then come join me in the shower. I’ll give you that before you come back out here and strip my bed to clean the sheets. Can’t keep you off your duties for too long, can we? I won’t be giving you special treatment no matter how well that perfect ass of yours just milked me.”

He turned before stopping and then he added, “By the way, I will not be sending you back to the Capitol building. If we have our say, you won’t be going home any time soon.”

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx

#steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #dark steve rogers #dark marvel #my shit

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stillebesat · 4 years

Text

The Sweater

Cartoon Therapy: Emile Sanders Shorts: Remy (Sleep) Sanders Sides: Janus Blurb: Emile had said he was making a sweater for a friend. Only he neglected to tell Remy that this friend wasn’t exactly...well...human. Fic Type: General, NotQuiteHuman!AU, Kid!Janus Overall Fic Warnings: Extra Limbs, Implied Child Abandonment Taglist in Reblog

“You didn’t have to come.”

Remy flinched at the unexpected rumble from the towering man walking next to him. After three days spent with Emile, he was sure that he would have such a reaction under control sooner rather than later...so long as the dude stopped speaking up out of the blue like this that is.

Emile licked his lips, adjusting his glasses as he held the tissue wrapped package closer to his chest. “Really.”

Remy took a sip from his Starbucks cup, savoring the warmth of the hot chocolate in the chill evening air, glad that the snow had stopped falling for a glacier minute. “Gurl.” He looked up over the rims of his sunglasses and smirked, again trying to not take it to heart that this guy was a good hulking foot taller than him. “I soo did. With all the blood, sweat, and tears I put into helping you--you owe me this at least.”

It wasn’t everyday that he walked into the room reserved for teaching beginners how to be dressmakers in search of an extra spool of green thread to find this unexpectedly gentle giant awkwardly hunched over the sewing machine attempting to make….something.

He’d heard the term bull in a china shop before, but Remy had never felt the term applicable to anyone until he saw Emile. He’d been sure one wrong twitch of his dinner plate sized hands would mean bye bye sewing machine.

Of course, after getting the big guy to spill the beans and admit that he’d been trying to make a sweater for a ‘friend’ by threatening to kick him out of the sewing lab for being there outside hours; Remy had learned that just like the Mythbusters had proven, despite Emile’s wrestling sized figure, he was just as delicate as the bull in the episode had been. His large fingers were far more dexterous -if prone to being pricked by needles- than Remy had expected of the guy who could probably crush a watermelon with his bare hands.

But that didn’t mean he’d leave this amateur to his own devices. No Ma’am! Not after he’d seen the pitiful first attempt of something that could have been a sweater fit for a large teddy bear or maybe a small child, Remy had delegated himself as Emile’s pseudo teacher if only to ensure no sewing machines ended up crushed into teacups.

He needn’t have worried though. Emile had a soft touch.

The big guy bit his lip, keeping his eyes firmly straight ahead in a way that told Remy he didn’t want to make eye contact.

That was probably wise for him because Remy could pull a mean puppy dog look when he wanted to. He’d received more than his fair share of drinks on the house from it and he could and would use those eyes against Emile if he thought it would help his case.

Emile exhaled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I just--I don’t know if--if Stitch will like...well...strangers. He’s very shy.”

Stitch. Like the alien from that kids movie.

Kids movies that Emile was rather obsessed with once he opened that particular can of gummy worms though Remy was sure he was only beginning to uncover that massive iceberg of an interest. This intimidating mountain of a man had morphed into quite the giant nerdy softie when it came to him talking about his cartoons.

Maybe that was why the sweater had been comically small. Of course, getting the proper sizing for this gift from Emile had been rather...like pulling teeth. It had taken a full hour of wheedling before Emile had admitted that he was only guessing at the size he needed for this...friend.

“Sugarbee.” Remy shook his head. “If he likes you I don’t see how little--” and it galled him that he had to call himself little because he was a good five foot eleven inches thank you very much. “Old me would frighten him away.”

Emile shrugged a shoulder, fingers brushing the string on the package. “He’s just...I don’t want to scare him. I barely have any trust with him as it is and if I bring someone new--”

Remy rolled his eyes, flexing his fingers around his cooling cup. It was like the guy was talking about a feral dog and not a person. “Trust me, babes. I ain’t gonna scare him.”

The sweater on the other hand?

That was less certain.

Because it had to be the strangest one ever created.

Like Remy had seen his fair share of Ugly Sweaters over the years.

But this one would probably take the cake if only for the fact that Emile had insisted that said sweater have six arms.

After having to figure out the logistics of that particular snag, and after doing most of the sewing of those extra arms himself, there was no way Remy wasn’t seeing the reaction of this ‘Stitch’ kid to this particular present.

Maybe the dude just liked pretending to be the alien and Emile was humoring him.

Regardless, Remy wanted to make sure that said monstrosity actually fit. It was a good eighty-two percent of his work after all and he prided himself on his garments fitting perfectly.

Emile exhaled, still avoiding eye contact. “Just...stay behind me okay?”

Remy gulped the last of his hot chocolate, tossing the cup into a nearby trash can as he followed Emile around the corner into a tree filled snow covered park. “Three steps back. Got it, Princess.”

Though seriously, if Stitch wasn’t afraid of Emile, towering giant that he was, he highly doubted his presence would be an issue.

Remy shoved his hands into his pockets, letting the big guy move ahead to cut a swath through the untouched snow like a snowplow on a highway towards a huge pine tree in an out of the way corner that had branches all the way down to the ground, hiding the trunk completely from view. It was an odd spot to meet a ‘friend.’ Especially since said friend had apparently not arrived yet.

Remy exhaled, hunching his shoulders. “Looks like we’re early.” He commented, glancing around the park, seeing no one else. Which made sense. It was nearly sunset. It was cold. The sky had a dark enough overcast that he was sure it would start snowing again any second. Who in their right mind would be out right now?

“We’re not.” Emile said, glancing over his shoulder. “Remember. Stay back.” He again cautioned before he knelt, letting out a soft three pitch whistle. “Stitch?” He called softly. “Hey buddy, it’s me, Emile. I--I brought you something.”

Remy frowned, staring at the silent tree. “Did you actually have me help you make a sweater for a mutant squirrel?” That or Emile had a screw loose and he’d just spent three days making a monstrosity of a sweater for an imaginary friend. “Shh!” Emile hissed before again whistling at the tree. “Stitch? It’s okay. This is Remy. He’s a…”

Remy raised an eyebrow as Emile bit his lip, glancing back at him.

“He’s a friend, he won’t hurt you.” The big guy edged another foot closer, hand brushing the tips of the pine needles sending snow showering down off the branches. “Please come out? I--we brought you something.”

The pine tree remained silent.

Remy shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, regretting more that he’d drunk all his hot chocolate. “Maybe he’s not home.” Everyone who was anyone in their right mind would be anywhere but outside in this weather.

“Maybe you’re scaring him.” Emile snapped back before wincing. “Ah...could you like...kneel down? Please.”

Remy scoffed. Him? Scaring the imaginary friend? If Emile wasn’t scary then Remy definitely wasn’t scary either. “And freeze to death?” He asked, awkwardly crouching on his heels. His designer shoes were already feeling the damp chill of the snow working its way in to soak his socks, there was no way he would allow his knees to experience the same torment.

“Stitch?” Emile pleaded, again whistling as he edged closer. “Stitch.”

They were gonna be out here until midnight at this point. “Come on, Stitcharoo.” He said ignoring the big guy’s frantic hissing to shut up. “I’m friendly. Emile is friendly. We’re all friendily freezing here so how about you come out an--” Remy cut off as the branches rustled.

A single yellow eye peered out at them, glinting in the fading sunlight.

Okay. Imaginary friend out. Mutant feral squirrel back in.

“Meal?” A shaky voice asked. A young shaky voice.

Ooohhh Goodie. Remy pressed his lips together, fighting the way his heart had jumped into his throat. Freaking talking mutant feral squirrel. It had better be a mutant squirrel because if there was a freaking child living in this tree in the middle of a freaking snow storm--

Emile visibly sagged with relief. “Hey Stitch, buddy. You okay?”

The eye gave a slow blink. “C-c-cold.”

“Aren’t we all.” Remy muttered, glad that his sunglasses protected him from whatever baleful glare the creature was casting on him now. He gave a two fingered wave. “I’m freezing too, buckaroo.”

“Remy.”

“What?”

Emile gave him the patented Will you shut up look that would have made any mother proud.

Remy made a face. “You never said I couldn’t talk.” He was still behind him wasn’t he? He was crouching in the freaking snow freezing his toes off. He should be allowed to talk to the glowing eye that had better not be a child living in the tree in the middle of winter!

Emile exhaled, before pulling off the string on the present, unwrapping the black and yellow sweater. “Remy and I made you this, Stitch. To help with the cold.” He said, holding it out in all its six-armed glory.

A soft gasp came from the tree as the yellow eye opened wide. “Me?”

“Yah, kiddo.” Emile said, nodding. “Can I help you put it on?”

The branches shifted, the yellow eye glancing to Remy before vanishing.

Sugarbee hadn’t been kidding when he said his friend was shy.

“C-cold.” The voice whispered from somewhere within the tree. “Meal. Safe?”

Remy fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, anger burning in his chest. They’d be out here all night at this rate. “Yah, honeysuckle, you’re safe. Let Emile put the sweater on you okay? I’ll stay right here.” There was no one else in the park. Who would leave a child out here alone! One that had apparently been out here for a while if previous conversations with Emile were anything to go by.

The branches didn’t move.

Perfect.

“Stitch.” Emile whispered, slowly lowering the sweater, stretching out a hand to the branches. “Please? You’re cold, let me help you this time.”

Remy frowned again, poking Emile in the back. “This time?”

Emile flinched. “He--ah...he hasn’t actually let me...touch him? Before. This is the closest I’ve gotten.”

Oh for the love of! Remy shot to his feet. “Gurl!”

The big guy was there, a plate sized hand on his chest holding him back and radiating heat like the sun, before he could take a step. “I said he was shy.” Emile said, eyes wide and pleading. “Don’t. Scare. Him.”

Ah huh. And in the process of not scaring him they were just going to have this mysterious friend freeze to death because there would be no way a simple sweater would help the kid survive the night! Remy growled trying to move around Emile, but it was like trying to move around a mountain. “The sound of that voice tells me that’s a child, Sugarbee. A FREAKING CHILD and you’re just letting him stay here.”

“He doesn’t trust humans!”

That pulled him up short. “Humans.” Remy repeated, lowering his sunglasses. “HUMANS? Is he not human, Emile?” If this was an actual real life Stitch then--then!!

Emile had the grace to look embarrassed. “I--I---uhh--”

Remy threw up his hands. He would burn that particular bridge when he got there, But right now, he needed to see this ‘not human’ child and make sure he was safe. Remy ducked under Emile’s arm, scooping up the sweater in the process. “Hey Stitcharoo.” He said crouching at the base of the tree branches, ignoring the frantic warnings hissing like a teapot behind him as he pulled off his sunglasses, hanging them from the collar of his jacket. “It’s gonna snow again, tonight. You know. Get colder? Freeze. And my buddy here is like this giant heating blanket and wants to keep you warm. You’ll like the warm. I promise it’s--”

He froze as a child’s pale hand, nearly tinged blue, popped out of the tree, visibly shaking as it poked his cheek before jerking back out of sight.

“It’s--it’s--I uhh Hi?” Remy stuttered out, brain trying to process what had just happened as he rubbed the spot the child had touched.

Surely. Surely, he hadn’t seen what he thought he’d seen. There hadn’t been glittering scales on that hand. No. No trick of the light. Maybe it was cosmetic? Part of a costume?

The branches rustled before two hands, two scaled covered left hands, parted them, revealing a child’s face half covered in scales, peering back at him. “Hi.” The kid said, eyes -one golden, one a regular brown- shifting to Emile as he knelt down next to Remy before focusing on Remy himself. “Safe?”

“I--” Remy blinked before nodding dumbly as a third hand, a right hand with no scales on the pale skin this time, reached out to Emile’s ginormous hand.

Suddenly Emile’s insistence that there needed to be six arms made a lot more sense. If Remy had already seen three hands, surely that could mean that there were three more still hidden out of sight.

“You’re safe.” Emile said, gently taking the boy’s hand and squeezing it.

The boy bit his lip before he surged forward straight into Emile’s chest. “Wa-warm.” He whispered, multiple hands gripping onto his coat as snow from the branches above showered down on top of them.

Remy tsked, quickly shaking off the white powder, heart pounding like a drum as he took in the ragged state of the kid’s clothes, the so called ‘sweater’ he currently wore was barely worth the name, only having two proper arms and four more holes in the sides for the--for the, Gee Manetti, the kid actually had six arms!!!! as Emile pulled open his tent of a jacket to wrap around the boy.

“I got you. I got you.” Emile soothed as he scooped Stitch--Remy really hoped that wasn’t his actual name--into his lap, getting his bare feet out of the snow.

The boy visibly shivered, tucking his toes -normal human toes beyond the left set being more scaled- into the crease between Emile’s shirt and pants.

Remy bit back a growl. No shoes. Barely any clothes. Some welcome to Earth this kid got. Just because he had six freaking arms didn’t mean that the boy deserved to be abandoned! Even Superman had had a willing farm couple to look after him!

“I hope you know he is not staying here.” Remy softly scolded, moving cautiously closer. Despite his misgivings about exposing the boy to the weather, he pulled Emile’s coat away so he could get his divine gift of a sweater onto the kid, a difficult feat as Stitch had practically glued himself against Emile’s side.

The boy made a sound of protest, but didn’t fight him, eyes barely open as he watched Remy finagle the sweater over the rags he currently wore.

It was pathetic. The boy was practically skin and bones! Remy could feel each individual rib as he tugged the fabric over him for crying out loud! Not to mention the arms themselves were practically sticks! This kid had been neglected for some time. It was--it was---Remy did growl. No one should have to live like this!

“If you aren’t taking him home with you, by golly I will bring him to my place.” He said, pulling each sleeve over the boy’s ice cold hands. “Crofters! Emile, he needs another three sweaters, new pants, socks, SHOES, mittens--no no gloves. Probably gloves. This isn’t RIGHT!” The boy was COLD. His scales were like ice. How he wasn’t dead yet from hypothermia or frostbite was a mystery but No Ma’am was the kid gonna spend another night out here. “He needs soup, hot chocolate, a warm water bottle, a heated blanket a--”

“I know.”

Remy jerked his head up at Emile’s quiet words. “Well. Good.” He pulled off his coat so he could slip his own sweater over his head and use it to create some temporary pants for the kid, until he could find something better. At least the boy had two normal legs so he could stuff one into each sleeve.

“Do--” Emile cleared his throat, keeping his eyes firmly on Stitch’s hair. “Do you...have a place for him?”

Remy blinked as he slipped his own coat back on. “Do I---of course I do--do you not?!” What had he been planning to do once he got the boy to trust him? Leave him here?

Emile flushed, ducking his head.

Okay. Okay. He took a calming breath as the boy dropped two of his hands down to grab one of Remy’s in a tight grip, golden eye practically glowing as it flickered between him and Emile. “Rephrase. Do you have a place to stay yourself, Em?”

“Not one safe for him.” Came the soft response. “I...it’s barely safe for me.”

Barely safe for a guy who could feasibly dead lift a car? Punch a hole in concrete? He’d have to unpack the meaning of that particular admission some other time. Right after he had time to process that this kid had six freaking arms and was either an actual alien or escaped mutant experiment of some sort.

“Right.” Remy exhaled, running his free hand through his hair. “Right. First. We get you both back to my place. Second. Get him warm and fed.” Maybe to a doctor--did he even know any doctors who could handle this?! “Third. Figure out living arrangements. Capiche?” Oh and Fourth. Figure out the boy’s actual name or give him a cooler one because no way would he be continuing to call him Stitch.

That was a simple enough list right? Just four things. Nothing complicated about that.

Emile blinked, adjusting his glasses. “But you don’t know me.”

Remy scoffed, squeezing the boy’s hands. Sure three days haraunanging the guy on how to properly thread a bobbin wasn’t a normal way to invite someone to be your roommate, but it wasn’t the worst way either. “I don’t know the kid either, Em. But I do know that he needs a home and if you need one too then you’ve got one with me.” The dude had a good heart. He’d been attempting to make a sweater instead of buying one and poking holes in it for crying out loud.

“I--uh--” Emile cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” At least not until he got them all out of the cold. Then they could talk.

The kid shivered again, tightening his grip on their hands. “Safe?” He whispered, resting his head against Emile’s chest, eyes flickering between them both.

Safe? There was no question about it. Not with another snowstorm coming. Not when Remy desperately itched to pull out all his extra fabric from his sewing closet to throw onto the kid just to give him a proper, better fitting outfit. “Of course, honeysuckle.” He said, pulling the tent of a coat that Emile wore back over the boy to protect him from the cold. “We’ll keep you safe.” He looked up, meeting Emile’s eyes, smirking as he found acceptance there. “We promise.”

#The Sweater #stillebesat #Emile Picani #Remy #Sleep #Janus #Deceit #extra limbs tw #child abandonment tw #Kid!Janus #Kid!Deceit #Stitch #Cartoon Therapy #Sanders Shorts #Sanders Sides #Sweater Verse

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Scarlet Moon

Genre: Scarlet Heart Ryeo!AU, Time Travel!AU, Alternate History, Royalty!AU

Pairing: OC x EXO OT9

Summary: This isn’t Gwen’s time. She was from the modern era, with technology and electricity. But during a solar eclipse, she’s transported back into a previous life in a time and place she does not know. Now, as the foreign daughter of a merchant living in a prince’s household, she must tread carefully, watch her back, and guard her heart. But with the princes locked in a battle over the throne, the chances of her making it out alive might disappear.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

********

The paper sliced across the skin before any action could be taken to avoid it. A high pitched hiss followed by a short whine. The flap of skin that had been separated was being dyed red.

Gwen stuck her index finger in her mouth to sooth the stinging. It helped a little bit. Still sucking on the appendage, Gwen stumbled over to the supply closet and opened the thin metal doors with the other hand. She kept this feat up as she opened the first aid kit and pushed around the different types of bandages, trying to decide which one to use. The cut was right on the tip, right where you never want it to be. It was hard to get a band aid on that kind of cut. Eventually, she found a smaller version of a standard design and ripped the paper covering opening. She wrapped the band aid around her index finger before heading for her desk. It was back to the files that had injured her in the first place.

The pile was tall; by her standards, at least. Gwen had been dealing with it for the past hour. The dates on the files needed sorting, separating the ones could be sent to long-term storage. She almost gave out another whine, but she didn’t want the others to hear and start the relentless teasing. Her coworkers were quick and very witty.

It was a friendly floor. Everyone joked and played around without the fear of feelings being hurt. If Gwen didn’t have to do the actual work that came with the office space, she wouldn’t mind staying here forever. But dealing with these files and demanding customers and meeting quotas was not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Not that Gwen knew exactly what it was that she did want to do. She’d tried a lot of things over the last few years in her slow going college years. Marketing, history, education - hell, she even took several makeup courses and skincare lessons that focused on natural resources. None of it stuck, none of it held her interest, though the information could be recalled if needed.

“You alright there, Gwen?”

Drudging up from the bowels of her thoughts, Gwen looked up at Kimberly, who had stopped at her desk on the way back from the printer.

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded with a sigh. “Just… ready for the week to be over.”

“Ain’t that the consensus,” Kimberly laughed.

“How are the dogs?” Gwen was seizing the opportunity to distract herself from work. Kimberly owned two dogs with opposite personalities. One was the well-mannered older brother, the other was the skittish, hyper younger brother. She loved to talk about them and there was never a shortage of entertaining stories.

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Kurt is back to back to demanding his breakfast at five a.m. Oh, but Kent now does this thing where he walks backwards. Whenever he starts doing that, we’ll beep at him. You know, like the garbage trucks? Then he gets all shy and hides his head.”

Gwen couldn’t stop giggling at the thought. “Oh, the poor thing!”

“You’ll have to see it next time you come over.”

“I can’t wait.”

As Kimberly walked away, Gwen sighed. She didn’t get out too much and the humor that most of her socializing outside of work was with one of her coworkers wasn’t lost on her. Just another dart to throw at the board that was Gwen Sinclair.

It wasn’t like her life was a complete disaster. Really, it could have been worse. She could imagine a thousand different scenarios that she could be living right now that were worse off then her current situation. Truthfully, if glanced at from the outside, Gwen’s life was simply... mediocre. She was blessed with tolerable roommates, an okay job that provided a nice paycheck for a twenty-three-year-old who had yet to finish college. But… the loneliness was killing her and overall, she was craving for something more.

She was exhausted from obligation and responsibility. She wished to go back to the days where she read about adventure and intrigue and imagined some day living that out herself. After having those words in her hands, she felt empty in her reality. Somehow, each day felt even more draining.

With the end of another workday, Gwen packed up the files that still needed to be sorted, locked up her cabinets and tugged on her coat as she waved goodbye to Kimberly and the others. A few other coworkers were chatting excitedly about the solar eclipse happening in a few minutes. Gwen, however, was annoyed. Annoyed at the fact that all anyone - online or in person - could talk about was the solar eclipse, as if it was the only one that had ever been seen in this generation. When one person mentioned the eclipse, it was fine. When it was every post and every comment and every conversation, it felt a little ridiculous. Gwen couldn’t care less about the event. Getting home was her current priority. But escaping wasn’t that easy.

For the millionth time, Gwen rolled her eyes as she scrolled through the newsfeed, waiting for her car to warm up in the parking garage. The weather was cold and dreary, slowing down her progress on getting home. Puffs of steam escaped her lips in the below freezing temperature. Other employees hurried past the back of her car to get to their own tiny sanctuaries. An alert for a new email popped up at the top of the phone screen. From the quick scan of the notification, she saw that it was from her eastern history professor. He wanted to go over the latest paper from class. Oh, no. That was never a good sign.

Gwen huffed, threw her car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking space. First the papercut, now this.

Since all her classes were online, Gwen had the minor luxury to not be forced to talk to her professor face to face, which surely would have been humiliating. But it couldn’t be avoided completely. She’d email him back once she arrived home. Or maybe she’d put it off until tomorrow. Dealing with this was the last thing she wanted to do. Stress was already causing her skin to revert back to puberty, she didn’t need this as well.

Her phone rang and she struggled to answer it while carefully winding down the levels of the garage. It was Jaynie, the favorite of the roommates.

“Hey, Janie, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if you were coming straight home today.”

Gwen smirked, knowing exactly where this was going.

Over the past several months, a bit of an obsession had developed with Korean dramas. The shows the two of them consumed were different from the same old, boring American television and there were years worth of stories to choose from. Currently, they were in the middle of another romantic comedy. While Gwen loved the storyline and was in a constant state of swoon, as soon as the credits started rolling, she was reminded how pathetically uninteresting her life was. But those sixty plus minutes of pure escapism made it all worth the crash that came afterwards.

Gwen tried to wait patiently in the line to leave the parking garage, but her frustration was getting the better of her. It was stop and go, stop and go, stop and go.

“I’m planning on it. That is, if people decide any day now to not drive idiotically.”

“Ugh, I had the same problem on my way home.”

Curious. Both of them worked in the downtown area. “How did you get home so fast?” Gwen asked.

“I got off a little early today.”

“Lucky.” Her accounting job often led to flexible hours. Gwen was jealous of that level of freedom.

The road was slick from the freezing rain. Weather like this brought out all the stupid drivers as if this wasn’t a yearly occurrence. She was careful to look both ways before exiting the garage and inching into the street. What she didn’t account for was the other emptying lot across the street. A large black SUV pulled out right at the same time, but went too fast, hitting the water that was slowly turning to ice on the asphalt.

With no time to react, the SUV slammed into the side of Gwen’s compact car. Glass from the driver’s side window shattered and sprayed her face. Her phone flew out of her hand. The crunch of metal hit her ears before she could fully process what had happened. With the force of the collision, her forehead slammed against the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. The sound of screams echoed around her, but the words were unintelligible. Slumped over in her seat, a shadow creeped over the scene. Through the slits of her barely open eyes, Gwen watched as the sun disappeared behind the moon. Then all went black.

********

The water was what brought her back. It filled her lungs and surrounded her on all sides. She flailed her limbs, desperate for traction that couldn’t be found. Her clothing weighed her down, the hems being pulled as if hands had gripped tight on them. She needed a miracle. And a miracle she got. Two hands held onto one of her wrists and pulled her to the surface.

She gasped for air as her rescuer struggled to bring her to shore. The cloth that covered her felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, making it nearly impossible to move. Water made its way up her throat, spilling over her lips. Her lungs were finally clear. They took in as much oxygen as they were allowed, burning with each brath.

“Lady Gwen! Lady Gwen!”

A young girl blocked out the bright sun. She shook Gwen’s shoulders desperately.

Gwen’s brain processed that the girl was not speaking English, but… she could understand her. The girl’s damp, dark hair was pulled into halves on either side of her face held in place by wide red straps. She looked at Gwen with deep concern, like a lifelong friend. But Gwen was sure she had never seen this girl before in her life.

“My Lady, can you hear me?” she asked frantically.

“Who are you?” Gwen finally choked out.

That made the girl pause in her panic. “What?”

Slowly regaining her strength, Gwen pushed herself up to her knees. As her eyesight cleared, she took in her surroundings. Gone were the tall metal and glass buildings, traffic lights, and speeding cars of her modern home. Now all that surrounded her were trees and a sandy beach of a large, calm lake. In the distance, wooden houses with curved rooftops, painted in bright reds and greens dotted the horizon. The heaviness that weighed her down was a dress made of too many layers and of no western fashion that she’d ever experienced before.

Whispers bounced around the rocky shore. All the faces that were looking on with concern around were unfamiliar. Gwen grabbed the hair cascading down her back, but it was still the red she knew, darker from the dampness of being pulled out of the water but still her hair.

“Where am I?” she asked in a quiet, gasping voice.

“My Lady, don’t you remember?” The girl panicked. “You’re in Songak. Goryeo.”

“Goryeo?” Gwen screeched. All the minor details she could summon up of the country came rushing to the forefront of her mind. It was information overload and her brain couldn’t handle it. Her lungs tried desperately to keep up, breathing in as much air as they could, but her throat was closing up from the panic. The landscape blurred and she fell to the ground.

********

She was in a bed this time when she regained consciousness. The room was cold and dimly lit with soft, orange candlelight. A man, Caucasian unlike the others, sat beside the bed on a stool, worry etched into every facet of his face.

“Gwen, sweet, are you all right?”

English. He was speaking English. But that was a footnote of comfort to the bigger problem. She still didn’t know what had happened to her or how she got here or who these people were that seemed to know her. The man, who was about in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair, smiled down at her, though his eyes were confused. “Gwen, does it hurt anywhere? Can you tell me if you hit your head?”

Gwen took a moment, to calm down and to evaluate what she was feeling physically. Her head didn’t hurt, nor did any other part of her body. Wordlessly, she shook her head. The man seemed relieved.

“Are you all right?” He asked again, a different meaning under the question this time. “Chae Ryung said you couldn’t remember her or that we were in Goryeo? Do you at least remember your papa?”

Gwen weighed the choices in her mind. There wasn’t a mirror around, but she started to wonder if she had taken the place of someone else. Someone who knew these strangers. She could say that she didn’t know any of them - the truth - but would they think her mad if she spilled too much? Perhaps she could say she remembered a few things. Like him, if he is this poor girl’s father. Why am I here? In this time?

Choosing to comprise with herself, she gave the smallest of nods. “Papa.” Sitting up, she pulled him into a hug and there was something comforting about his embrace. This body remembered him, at least.

“What happened?” she asked after she let go.

“Chae Ryung said that you’d wandered off again and she found you, you’d been the water a long time.” The man, Papa, sucked in a breath, his eyes beginning to water. His genuine concern over her wellbeing made Gwen choke up as well. “The doctor said you stopped breathing. That could explain your lost memories.”

Good. The excuse was already in her hands. That should make it easy enough to play along while being forgiven for any missteps. But they shouldn’t be in Goryeo. That didn’t make any sense, historically. If anything, they might have been in Joseon – late Joseon. Was this some sort of alternate timeline? Or maybe she hit her head really hard in the car crash and this is really all a dream from the stress of her paper and too much K-drama.

Yes. Too much K-drama.

That had to be the explanation. This was all a strange dream. Which meant, she could play along and not be afraid. She could ask questions and live out the day until she woke back up in her own time, most likely in a hospital with a bandage on her head and her mother fretting over her.

She glanced around the room, taking in the architecture that she had only ever seen in pictures. In person, it was even more stunning and intricate. This wasn’t an ordinary citizen’s home. Interesting. What else could her brain come up with? “Why are we in Goryeo?”

“Your father’s a merchant, remember?” He spoke slowly. Each word was deliberate, giving Gwen time to process. Good filler for her mind. “I made a large fortune here and planned on taking you back home, but… your mother is buried here. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

A wave of emotion hit out of nowhere. Though her mother was alive and well, it didn’t stop a tear from escaping. “Mama.”

Papa wiped it away with a coarse finger. Gwen gasped back, surprised by the realness of the touch. Her dreams were never this intricate. The blanket strone across her lap scrunched in her fingers. It was cold and soft… and very real.

She wasn't dreaming, was she?

Confused by her reaction, Papa paused for a moment before continuing his explanation. “The eighth prince is graciously letting us stay with him while we wait on the construction of our home to be complete.”

The eighth prince?

Panic grew tenfold. If this wasn’t a dream, then she was in very big trouble. If history told her one thing, it was that proximity to royalty was the most dangerous place to be. Gwen might possibly have been able to skate by if they were simply staying in some unknown village far from the capital, but they were in a prince’s home. Which meant they were in… Songak, the capital city, just like that girl – Chae Ryung – had said. Right under the King’s nose. Breathing became difficult again. Each one was shallow, barely letting in any oxygen. Gwen could feel her chest tighten and her vision blurred.

“Gwen!” Papa jumped up and tried to keep her straight to give her lungs as much room as possible. He switched to Korean as he called out over his shoulder, “Someone, get the doctor! Now!” Shuffling sounds echoed off the floor on the other side of the sliding door and then faded away.

A minute later, breathing no better, two men and a woman rushed inside along with Chae Ryung. The older man stepped in front of Papa and took his place. He pushed Gwen’s shoulders gently until she was lying down. Two cold fingers against her wrist checked her pulse. The other, much younger man stepped up to Papa.

“What happened?”

Papa frowned. “It seems she’s lost some of her memories. I was explaining why we were here when suddenly she had trouble breathing.” He stopped, struggling with his own breath. “I’m sorry we’ve become a burden to you, Your Highness.”

Gwen’s breathing was regaining strength and she was able to concentrate on the conversation. So that was the eighth prince. He was younger than she would have guessed, handsome even, if she had to focus on something other than her lack of breath.

“Do not think such a thing,” the Eighth Prince replied. “Your presence has greatly improved the household. Lady Gwen will get better with time.”

Papa bowed, obviously grateful at the response. He turned to the woman. “Lady Hae, may I enquire after your own health?”

“Today is a better day,” she smiled, though her pale, drained complexion said otherwise. “Please, don’t worry about me. Keep your thoughts for your daughter.”

The doctor released Gwen’s wrist, satisfied with the improvement of her pulse and breathing. He stood up.

“It was a mild panic attack,” the doctor said calmly to Papa. “If it happens again, she should lie down and focus on her breathing. The incident at the lake seems to have taken a toll on her body. She simply needs rest. In time, her memories and her body will recover.”

Gwen didn’t agree with that statement fully. This body might get better in time, but there was no way memories that didn’t exist would ever return. One by one, the occupants left the room until it was only Gwen and Papa remaining behind. Silence hung in the air. After a moment, Papa sat down on the stool and took Gwen’s hand.

“I was worried I had lost you,” he whispered.

Gwen’s eyes fell down to the blanket covering her legs. Things were becoming clearer to her now. This was not a dream and she was no longer Gwen Sinclair from the twenty-first century. Something must have happened. She didn’t know what exactly had occurred or what would happen now, but she was here. And little did this man – known only to her as “Papa” – know that he had indeed lost his daughter. The face may be the same, but the Gwen inside was different. She would try her best to be good to him, at least until she found a way to get back to her own family. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

********

The next morning, the doctor, along with the Eighth Prince, came back to check on Gwen. The doctor commented that her pulse was stronger and that she seemed well on the road to full health. However, he still insisted on keeping her on bedrest.

Bored with these same walls and too curious about her temporary home, Gwen sat up. If she was going to be here for a while, she might as well get to know it. “I’m fine. Please, don’t make me stay in here all day. The sun and air is good for you, isn’t it?”

The sudden rebelliousness against the doctor’s suggestion did not seem to sit well with any of them. Gwen gave Papa a pleading look. A father couldn’t resist those eyes. He sighed, turning to the doctor. “Perhaps, a little exercise in walking around the grounds would be all right?”

The doctor looked reluctant, but he agreed. “But she shouldn’t overexert herself.”

“Chae Ryung will stay with her,” the Eighth prince ordered. “If you’ll please excuse me, I must meet with my brothers.” He bowed and left, followed by the doctor.

Having heard her name from the hallway, Chae Ryung shuffled quickly inside and over to Gwen, holding out her arms for the latter to balance on as she slid off of the bed. “Are you sure you want to go outside?”

Gwen nodded. “Yes. Perhaps seeing more of this place will help jog my memory.”

Chae Ryung tilted her head. “How can your memory jog?”

Gwen snorted, both at Chae Ryung’s confusion and at herself for the slip of the modern phrase. “Sorry, I just meant, maybe my memories will come back.”

“Oh.” The look on her face was enough to make Gwen laugh again.

Gwen scolded herself internally. She had to be more careful with her words. Every step was one on thin ice. She couldn’t change who she was, not completely, but she would have to pull back. Chae Ryung, however, felt safe, like a shelter from the rain. With her, Gwen could find answers that might be dangerous to seek elsewhere. Straightening her shoulders, Gwen smiled broadly and took her newest friend’s hand. Chase Ryung grinned brightly at her and guided her out of the room.

#exo royalty au #exo royalty!au #scarlet heart au #scarlet heart ryeo #exo time travel au #exo time travel!au #exo angst #exo series #exo x oc #exo x original character #exo ot9 #Scarlet Moon

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lala-ladybug · 3 years

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Healing Hands: Chapter 7

Little bit of a filler, but we’ve got some fun shenanigans in store! >:)

Jasonette Sword Art Online AU

Read here on AO3

Chapter 7: Guys bein’ dudes indeed

Tag list: @iloontjeboontje

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Marinette was up early again. She found herself some breakfast, then went to the stables. The Order had made it back late last night, so they didn’t have time to groom the horses. She entered the first stall and started to brush the first horse. The routine motion let her mind drift, and she thought back to the events of the past few weeks.

Marinette, Kagami, and Luka embarked on their daily ritual of collecting the morning paper from town. It was the day after they’d beaten the first boss, which they had reported anonymously. Marinette and Adrien had agreed that taking the credit would only serve to draw unwanted attention towards their group, which could put them and the rest of their friends in danger.

But it apparently had another unforeseen advantage. As Marinette paid for the newspaper that highlighted their victory, she heard comments from other players around her.

“Are you serious? Some party went rogue and beat the first dungeon on their own?”

“Selfish assholes, can’t believe they got all that loot to themselves.”

“Well I think it’s good that we’re making progress!”

“Yeah, if you ignore the fact that they didn’t tell us what it was like at all, so now we haven’t got a clue how to face the next one.”

She shook her head in disbelief and glanced at her companions, who looked similarly concerned. They hadn’t even considered that the other people might not want them to take up the battle alone. Or that last comment, that they were actually hurting the other players by not giving them the chance to fight too.

The three remained quiet until they returned to Chloe’s house, or the manor, as they’d taken to calling it. By then, Adrien and Chloe were awake, and followed without question as Marinette ushered the two to join her, Kagami, and Luka out by the well.

She told them what the people in town had said, Luka and Kagami jumping in with additional comments they’d heard from passersby, and they talked it over. Maybe it was worth fighting with other groups. It would certainly beat the first boss.

They decided to try working with others for the next dungeon, but to lead the battle so that the civilians would stay as safe as possible. There were already groups in town recruiting for it and people exploring the second level, so it couldn’t be too long before they found the next fight. They’d be ready this time, they thought.

Less than two weeks passed before they were ready to take on the second dungeon. The Order had spent the whole time training and leveling up. There was hardly a moment where they weren’t fighting monsters or sparring with each other. They became almost more adept with their new weapons than they were with their ones from the real world. Those days of miraculous encounters seemed a lifetime ago.

The Order made preparations with other groups of players, determining strategy and planning to play to each others’ strengths. All the parties assembled at the dungeon and set up to fight the boss.

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. The support teams kept all the fighters’ HP high, and they had whatever cover they needed whenever they needed it. The battle was significantly shorter with around forty players there. But when the other players got hit....

Marinette could still hear the screams of the civilians as they went down. The blood oozing from their wounds was so very lifelike, and there was no cure to sew them shut. Or bring them back if they fell.

Kagami and Adrien were focused on taking what would have been killing blows if the boss had struck anyone but them. Chloe and Marinette drew fire away from the other players, and Luka used his mace and shield to defend his fellow healers. But Marinette saw the pained look on his face at being separated from the rest. She relived the moment Kagami and Adrien went down while fighting the first boss in frequent nightmares, and she knew Luka did too. The two of them had shared a few too many late-night cups of tea while avoiding sleep.

They won the battle, but there were so many wounded, so many close calls. One look at her Order and she knew they felt as lost as she did. Was it worth it? The thought seemed to echo through each of their movements as they returned to the manor.

“Marinette?” Alya’s call shook her out of her daze. She looked down at her hands and saw that she’d finished brushing the last of the horses. Putting the brush away, she returned to the main space in the downstairs of their home.

Home. She supposed that’s what it was now, but it didn’t feel like it. The design of it was very cozy, there was no doubt about that. But she saw it as little more than a place to eat and sleep. There were far more important things she could be doing, sitting down to relax was out of the question.

“There you are,” Alya grinned from the kitchen. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in days!” She carried a simple charcuterie board into the living/dining area and placed it on the table. Nino, Adrien, Lila, Alix, Nathaniel, and Luka were already sitting in the various couches and chairs gathered around it.

“We were just about to have a snack and play some cards,” Alya said over her shoulder as she used a poker to encourage a small fire in the hearth. “You should join us, girl!”

Marinette’s gut response was to refuse, and she waved her hands and made excuses but Luka and Adrien got up and marched her over to sit next to them. “C’mon Buginette, you need this,” Adrien said quietly in her ear. Luka just gave her a meaningful look.

Over-protective mother hens.

She sighed and gave in. One afternoon of cards couldn’t hurt.

Nathaniel was on her other side. While Alya dealt out the cards, Marinette asked him, “How’s the garden coming along?”

His face lit up with a quiet joy. “It’s going great! I don’t know if the weather is going to change, but the onions are taking nicely!” She listened with a small smile on her face as he went on about the different crops he was planting in the garden. He’d really stepped up to grow the bulk of their food, and seemed to genuinely enjoy spending his days taking care of the plants.

She was glad that he could still talk freely to her, even in the game. They’d always been close and it was nice to see his artistic spirit was unbothered by... everything.

Adrien nudged her to play her turn, and she did so quickly. Across from her, Alix and Nino were laughing at something Lila had said, and Alya sat up proudly with a comment that made them laugh even harder.

On Adrien’s other side, Luka had his hands of cards facedown on his lap while he strummed a lute he’d bought the other day. The pleasant melody lifted her spirits and reminded her of happier times.

This is what she was fighting for, she realized. For Nathaniel to take pride in his art, for her dear friends to laugh, and for Luka to play his music. She blinked away the tears that rose in her eyes. This is what was worth fighting for.

Even if she couldn’t bring herself to sew, to create like she used to love doing. Here she just had to be Marinette the friend or Marinette the fighter. It was almost easier, having less to manage. And yet... she couldn’t feel that same joy for herself that she found so precious to her friends. Not until they were all home again. She couldn’t let herself.

* * *

Jason trudged into the base, pack digging into his shoulder with all the loot he’d recovered. He’d spent the past few days camping and level-grinding, which was apparently the correct term for it. He couldn’t even remember what Dick had said to set him off, but he needed to be on his own for a while. The woods were surprisingly peaceful, and he found the time spent by himself in nature to be refreshing.

“Hey.” Dick sounded pissed. The hell was his problem? Jason wasn’t even back long enough to do anything. Jason turned on his heel and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Dick thrust a newspaper into his hands in response. He folded his arms, clearly expecting Jason to read it right then and there. Jason sighed loudly and slung his pack off. He turned his attention to the paper in his hand.

“Coalition of over forty players defeats second dungeon,” he read aloud. Shit.

“Just thought you should know,” Dick said in his I told you so voice. “When you went on your little adventure, you missed the next boss fight.”

Oh, now he remembered why he left! Because his “brother” is an asshole. “My little adventure was to get experience and level up,” he glared at Dick. “Which is still doing something more productive than just sitting on my fuckin’ hands.”

Dick’s nostrils flared. Good, he was itching for this conversation. “We are not doing nothing. We need more time to practice with the gameplay. Hell, Gar still tries to shift when we spar!” He threw up his hands in frustration. “We’re nowhere near ready yet, Jay.”

“You know, there’s more to this game than fuckin’ sparring.” Jason retorted.

Dicks brows shot up. “Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who so desperately wants to get back to our lives that he runs off on his own.”

“I can’t stand being cooped up in this damn house all the time! Just because we’re stuck in this game doesn’t mean we have to stop living,” Jason shook his head. “We’ve already been in here for over a month, who’s to say how much longer it’ll be? We can’t just put our fuckin’ lives on hold the whole time.”

“Training to beat the game isn’t putting our lives on hold,” Dick rolled his eyes. “This place is a death trap in case you forgot. We need to train to get our lives back.”

This idiot just didn’t get it. “Oh sure, and in the meantime we can’t have any happiness or fun. Sounds pretty miserable to me.” He picked up his pack. “You can level up without training at all hours of the fuckin’ day, no matter what a certain black-haired, blue-eyed bastard says.”

Jason stormed out the door, bumping into Garfield on his way back outside. The kid stumbled backwards before pointing finger guns at him. “Nice alliteration!”

He ignored him and kept walking down the path that led into town.

“Hey, hey wait a minute!” Seriously kid? He heard that argument with Dick but still couldn’t take the fuckin’ hint.

Garfield caught up to him and said, “You know, for someone who was supposed to have a relaxing vacation, you sure look tense.”

“Fuckin’ excuse me?” Jason growled.

“Wh-what I mean is you’re probably looking for a way to burn off some steam!”

This was getting old. “Get to the point, kid.”

“On the third level, there’s a quest we can do to make our own guild!” Garfield bounced excitedly, keeping pace next to him. Well, a quest would certainly help get this new brotherly stress out of his system. “We want you to join us, pleeeeaaaase?”

“Hold up, who the hell is us?”

Garfield grinned at him. “Oh you know, just a couple of the guys.”

They’d reached a junction in the path that led to the main road. Waiting beneath the tree beside the signpost were Roy, Jaime, and Bart. The ex-speedster waved excitedly while Roy looked about as pleased to be here as Jason did. They got along swimmingly.

“Hey dudes, everyone cool if Jason joins us?” Garfield reached out to pat his back then hesitated as he thought better of it.

Jaime shrugged while Bart gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Roy gave him a pitying look, like he’d been dragged into it too.

“Fine.” Jason muttered to no one in particular. “Are we heading out now?”

The other four got their things together. Jaime sent out party invites to everyone to better keep track of each other, which Roy and Jason reluctantly accepted. Garfield pulled up a pamphlet and started leafing through it. Jason spied the title, The Good Adventurer’s Guide to Guilds. Lovely.

“Alright,” Garfield snapped the papers shut and started walking down the path into town. “Let’s go to level three and get this bread!”

Roy narrowed his eyes. “The quest is to retrieve some bread?” He asked incredulously.

“Well, no but yes! But no. Man, we gotta teach you slang,” Bart slung an arm around Roy’s shoulders. The latter pushed him off and Jaime sped up his pace to plant himself as a buffer in between them as they walked.

Dumbasses.

The walk into town was easy, and they used the teleportation kiosk in the town square to get to the third level without a hitch.

The third level had some more interesting terrain than the plains of the first and second levels. Cliffs and quarries dotted the landscape in front of them. The main town itself was built onto a cliff, a gaping valley splayed out before them with minute details.

“Oh wow,” Garfield said. “This reminds me of that one town in France where--”

“Don’t care. Let’s move.” Roy cut him off and stalked down the winding road that would take them down into the valley. Jason smirked and followed suit.

Garfield made a face, then followed them along with the others. He pulled out his pamphlet again, then pointed them in the direction of the quest. Some quarry worker NPC wanted help collecting materials. If they got him everything on his list, he would apparently grant them the rights to start a guild? It made less and less sense as Gar read aloud from the paper.

They trekked on for a few hours, easily hacking apart the common monsters they came across. Between Jason and Roy, the others hardly had time to draw their weapons before the threats were gone.

“What’s better than this?” Garfield put an arm around Jason and Bart’s shoulders. Jaime grinned and put his arms around Bart and Roy. “Guys bein’ dudes!” He finished.

Roy, Bart, and Jason exchanged mystified glances. Roy and Jason had been out of the loop for roughly the same period of time, and Bart had told them before that not much of contemporary pop culture had survived into his future.

Guys bein’ dudes indeed.

Between the five of them, gathering the listed materials and getting them to the worker by sundown was easy. Well, it was easy for most of them.

“You look like a mess, ese!” Jaime exclaimed, seeing a very sticky and scratched-up Garfield. He groaned and replied, “Had to get tree sap. Trees fought back....”

Well, that served the little shrimp right, Jason thought to himself. He and Roy had been collecting gemstones, which could be mined out from the caves littered throughout the floor... or the infinitely more fun way of killing giant gemstone monsters. Take a wild fuckin’ guess which one they chose.

Jason was actually pretty content with the levels he’d gained from the quest. Not to mention getting his excess anger out from talking to Dick. It seemed like whenever he went to the house, there was always some type of disagreement between the two.

Damn. Maybe he should start saving for his own house.

His party currently stood in line at the guild registration office, also located on the third level. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the valley, highlighting the small clusters of houses dotting the countryside.

“Oh crap,” Garfield suddenly said. He danced nervously on his feet. “We did the whole quest, but I forgot the most important thing!”

Roy looked at him sharply. “What’s wrong?”

“We need a name for our guild!” Garfield wailed, clutching his hands to his head.

Seriously? Roy scoffed, “Why not just Justice League?”

Jaime rounded on him. “Are you nuts, ese? We can’t go around calling ourselves the Justice League. Secret identities and all that.”

Garfield paced in line, clearly thinking hard. “Hmm, justice. Juuuuustice. Just-ice. Just ice! Hey, we could do something with that!” He exclaimed.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah that’s great,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “How about On the Rocks.”

Bart put a hand on his chin, looking thoughtful. “Well, we should add a little pizzazz to it, don’t you think?”

“I’ve got it! Rocky Road!” Garfield threw his hands in the air triumphantly. God this kid was excessive.

Jaime and Bart, after the former had explained it to him, voiced their approval. Roy and Jason looked at each other and silently commiserated over their unfortunate situation.

Rocky Road it was.

* * *

“Ugh, that was way harder than it needed to be.” Alya slumped over her battle axe.

Marinette giggled and offered her friend some water. “Well, a ton of other people are starting guilds too! So I guess there are limited resources for a while.”

Nino took the water from Alya after she’d finished with it. He drained it and looked heartbroken until Adrien handed him a new bottle.

The four of them had decided to team up and do the quest to establish a guild. Not everyone in the guild needed to attend the quest to establish one. So when Alya and Nino had approached Marinette and Adrien, asking if the original friend group could be the ones to do it, they couldn’t say no.

“Well, I just wish Marinette had told us about the quest sooner. Then we could have had an easier time!” Lila simpered, sweet as ever. Oh yeah, Lila had invited herself to come along too.

“Weren’t you also a beta tester?” Adrien frowned innocently.

Lila blinked, looking startled. “Oh yes! But you know about my memory issues. I really wish I could remember all these things to help us out,” she sighed dramatically. Typical.

“So!” Marinette decided to move that conversation right along. “We need a name for our guild. Got any ideas?”

Nino rubbed his arm. “Actually dudes, I’ve been thinking of a name for a while.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it!” Adrien smiled and nudged his best friend’s arm.

“Well, I was thinking we could be called Miracle Workers,” Nino began. Marinette traded a look of alarm with Adrien. “You know, because Alya and I used to be miraculous holders? And I thought it’d be kinda nice to honor Chat Noir, Ladybug, and the other heroes. We could use some of their strength right about now.” Oh, that was actually really sweet of him. Marinette offered Adrien a soft smile.

Alya looked at him fondly. Adrien, with a slight nod of approval from Marinette, gave him a side hug and said, “I think that’s a wonderful name.”

Lila tapped her chin. “I don’t know, workers seems a little odd to me. We’re more like leaders or executives.”

“Well, I think Miracle Workers is perfect, babe.” Alya leaned in to peck Nino on the cheek. “Let’s go with that.”

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#jasonette #sword art online au #virtual reality #maribat #maribat fic #batfam #batfam fic #yj #yj fic #young justice #young justice fic #healing hands

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nelllraiser · 3 years

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hell’s true north | adam & nell

TIMING: current. LOCATION: hellscape number ??. PARTIES: @walker-journal & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: adam follows his compass home. CONTAINS: sibling death (brief references to the bea plot), mass poisoning (from inhospitable domain), parental death mentions.

Vines with the texture of withered leather fingers writhed under Adam’s feet as he stumbled out of a brackish puddle of ichor. Disaster response boots that’d been designed to weather fire, acid, and radiation had eventually yielded before the onslaught of otherworldly environs. Now the ragged soles barely clung to his feet, wrapped tight with bloody strips of bloody demon hide. The most cutting edge kevlar, environment-resistant tactical gear, breathing apparatuses, and deadly military firearms had been gradually ravaged into uselessness by universes full of chemicals and alternative laws of physics that Earthly science had never imagined. As the tactics, preparation, and martial science Adam had once relied on was stripped away in the nonstop battles with demonic flora and fauna, the title of Hunter had become brutally literal.

Adam spelunked through caverns that formed from the innards of sleeping elder things, scaled cliff sides made of solidified light and shadow, jumped across archipelagos of bone islands floating in stormy skies, climbed up trees the size of skyscrapers whose fruits were embryonic sacks in which monsters gestated, hiked across the savannahs with rolling plains of scalpel-sharp obsidian grass, and tightroped across worlds that were just spider webs of tentacles stretched across abyssal gyres.

Adam was now a ragged figure where a dauntless soldier had once been, the shreds of his tactical uniform stitched together with leather and pieces of chitin. Once the olympics-ready peak of health, the footballer’s veins were stained with dark lines across his skin and he stumbled across the landscape of grasping roots and tide pools of black blood. His breathing was shallow treks through world after world had wracked the Hunter’s body with alien toxins that even the mutant’s regeneration was failing to fight off. Adam’s vision was blurred with the edges and everything muscle in his battered body begged to just lay down in darkness.

But the compass in Adam’s hand pointed the way across the hellscape of fire, floating islands of tentacled flesh, and geometric monoliths to old gods that's already sunk into dreaming torpor long before humankind had discovered fire. Adam fought back agony and followed the compass needles across the poisoned land.

Everything had blurred together by now. Nell couldn’t even clearly remember how she’d gotten to this realm, just that she’d fallen through far too many holes in the ground, off cliff sides, or out of sky-hanging oceans to even begin to remember what world this was. The red skies she’d originally arrived under were long gone, barely a memory after all the worlds that had followed, and all the attacks she'd scrambled to come out of in one piece. Though perhaps calling herself one piece was being generous when she’d resorted to packing the missing chunks of her flesh with whatever she could find that didn’t instantly sting and burn at her open wounds. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d slept, time still immeasurable in places like these— just that she hadn’t done it since the baykok’s attack. The lack of sleep meant she hadn’t been able to replenish a single shining grain of her magic after she’d been quite literally drained and fed from, her body having nothing but sheer determination to keep her wavering feet from falling out beneath her.

Something was the very definition of fundamentally wrong with this world in terms of survivability. Nell could feel it in the way each breath felt sharper than the last, and the ugly coughs that had her spitting up black specks on the palms of her hands. None of the places she’d seen could have been described as friendly, but this one felt like it was digging her foot deeper into the grave with every second she stayed. She needed to find a way out if she wanted to make it another hour. Nell was far past the point of finding a way back to White Crest, ready to settle for a hellscape that wasn’t killing the witch with every inhale of her lungs, and go from there if she could manage to last that long. How long had she lasted already? How much longer could she last? She’d always been a fighter, refusing to go down without taking at least a part of her attacker with her. But how could she carve out a piece of a world? How was she meant to rage against an entire realm? Maybe sometimes there was simply nothing to fight against, the hand of Fate snuffing out her life whether she liked it or not.

And yet she kept walking, limping along as the injury on her leg oozed with some otherworldly infection that promised to kill her if this air didn’t. There was no direction, no plan, just the foolish hope that she’d stumble into a place where she could properly breathe. She walked until she could barely make out a figure on the horizon, squinting her eyes against the bright green and dingy brown of this place while she wondered if this would be the final creature to kill her. But the figure grew closer, and despite her best judgement an uncontrollable wave of hope flooded her chest. “Adam?” she dared to utter, even though she knew it was far too good to be true. Nell and the hellscape had done this before in the form of a tikbalang sending her astray with the perfect illusion of her hunter. “We’re doing this again?” she asked the air in a tone that was resigned to the disappointment of finding another falsehood, the high instantly giving way to a low. “What is it? Another tikbalang?” But this Adam was different. He looked sickly, and past the point of battered— like he’d already knocked on death’s door only for death to tell him to come back in ten or so minutes. They’d call him when they were ready. Why would an illusion-caster show her this?

Hallucinations had become ever more common as toxic environs and constant otherworldly stimuli wore down Adam’s nervous system.

Sometimes it was dad, gently reminding him of past lessons as Adam fought his way through nightmarish creatures and tried to find his way through landscapes only possible in other realities. Other times it was James or Terry, come to chat idly about football and girls as Adam trekked across wastelands whose sloping yet flat contours didn’t obey the rules of time and space. Dave gruffly reminded him about knots and the perils of marine warfare as Adam journeyed through rivers that flowed up into the sky and seas of sentint poison. Regan gave pointers on splinting a broken arm with a demon’s bones all while primly reminding him she wasn’t that kind of doctor. Orion nervously recounted facts about obscure demon types as Adam ducked claws and spines while trying to find a weak point. Ariana punched Adam in the arm and reminded him to buck up and put on a tough grin when everything was just pain. Athena gave advice on slowing the poison’s spread through his body with her mixture of tenderness and steel. Kaden brusquely correctly Adam on his stances as the younger Hunter’s limbs trembled with neurological damage, before reminding him to stay alive. Mina kept him vigilant, pointing out dangerous movements and sounds even when every fiber of Adam’s body wanted to sink into oblivion. Morgan spoke gently to him when the horror became too much, her hand on his shaking shoulders when the mental strain of glimpsing elder things sent Adam into seizuring convulsions. Dani reminded him of duty and their ancestral oaths with a concerned smile when ancient deceivers whispered in Adam’s brain, offering easy miracles in his moments of weakness. Luce yelled at him to get the fuck back up and fight when Adam could barely stand and death’s release drew close. Beatrice demanded that Adam remember who he’d come her for, when poisoned dreams threatened to swallow reality entirely.

So this was not the first time Adam’d met Nell and had to hold back tears when stabbing yet another shapeshifter to death or felt crushing emptiness when it turned out he’d only embraced only empty air.

Adam looked down at the compass needle, pointing unerringly forward.

“Hey Nell,” Adam rasped through cracked lips, taking a green stone with a hole through its center from a cord around his neck. He held out the Adder Stone in one hand, gory knife clutched in the other. “When’d you give this to me?”

Nell looked to the Adder Stone held in Adam’s hand, her solemn resignation to the illusion disrupted by the flickering of uncertainty in her eyes. The compass was a new addition as well, though she recognized the daffodil bloom she’d carefully laid into the face of it, the magic and flowers they’d made together under a full moon. “But I didn’t- I was gonna give you that after the date,” she mumbled, already chiding herself for how easily a couple of emotional trinkets could sway her mind towards what the demon world wanted her to see. But the compass wasn’t what he was asking about. The Adder Stone. Of course she remembered when she’d given it to him- the first of many things she’d gifted in an attempt to keep him safe.

“After Bea- after we...brought her back.” Nell had masqueraded the gift as a thanks for Adam’s help in bringing her sister back from the ether, but the truth had gone deeper than that. “I said it was for helping protect my family. But I just- the carachs had just given you those visions, and the somnivore thing wasn’t that far off.” It’d been nearly a year ago that she’d delivered the stone, nearly five months after their first meeting at the Ring, and by then she’d already gotten soft for him. “You were hurting and- I didn’t want you to hurt.” Taking the Adder Stone between her fingers, she swallowed hard as she held it before her face, already dreading the moment he’d disappear before her eyes. The motion sent her into a brief coughing fit, the heaves long and loud as her lungs desperately tried to dispel the poison in her system. At the end of it she finally raised the stone’s center to her eye, knowing this vision and her willingness to linger with even a false Adam had already shaved precious moments off the stopwatch that was ticking down the seconds until the poison got the best of her. “Let’s just- let’s get this over with.” It was silly, and she shouldn’t have said it knowing he was nothing more than an exhaustion or demon induced delusion. But she couldn’t help herself as the next words whispered from her lips, trying to find a moment of peace in a land that had never known it. “I miss you. I’ll miss you.”

Finally Nell looked through the stone’s center, still surprised at how solid it felt in her hands, wondering if that was another lie to be chalked up to feeling dead on her feet. Except Adam didn’t fade from view, didn’t disappear into nothingness as she locked her gaze onto his familiar and brown eyes. She gasped, still hardly believing it but reaching out nonetheless, letting the Adder Stone thump unceremoniously against his chest while its cord slackened and her hand found a gentle resting place alongside his cheek. Warmth. Perhaps a little too warm, as if he were running a fever. But there was the unmistakable feeling of life beneath her fingertips, and she didn’t hesitate a moment longer to close the space between them, slipping her other hand into his. Her knees grew even more unsteady, either from shock, barely having the energy to hold herself upright, or both— and for a moment she rested a little more weight against him than she probably should have considering his state. But it was impossible for her not to sink into the first safe place she’d found since the onychorror had snatched her. She’d finally found a place where she was safe in the hellhole. A place where she’d always been safe to crumble, to relieve her walls of their nearly ever-present duties. A place where she knew it was safe to fall because he’d never once stumbled when it came to catching her. “How- How did you- you’re real? Please- either this is a really good mindfuck or-” Or Tate had made good on his deal, and managed to get her hastily doctored sigil back to White Crest. Was it possible something had actually gone right? Had gone so right as to bring the man she loved to her side?

Adam let the knife fall from his hand onto the writhing ground and put his arms around Nell. There was a moment of tenseness, of resigned expectation. But she didn’t turn to mist, slip right through him, or boil up into some hungry thing. Tidal waves of relief and shock at something too impossibly good to be true collided in Adam’s chest. Nell was solid, real. Just a moment Adam couldn’t feel the heat of the burning sky or the poisons of alien worlds killing him cell by cell.

“I’m real,” Adam assured holding her tight with what strength was left in him. “I’m really here.” He entwined the fingers of their free hands. “I don’t want any other life except one with you in it,” the Hunter confessed, wasting precious water as the tears slid down his bloody and battered face.

“So uh...here I am.”

Nell could feel her own tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, an avalanche of relief washing over her near-ravaged spirit, almost still waiting for this moment to break in a way that left her spinning. But the moment never came, and Adam was breathtakingly solid within her arms. For a long breath she savored the peace he brought, like a salve over an open wound. She wanted to bury herself against him, to hide from the world around them and pretend like it didn’t exist, but the fear that he’d disappear if she so much as looked away from his gaze was too great, afraid to even blink lest the break in their eye contact be the blip of time needed for him to dissipate from under her hands.

She could feel her pulse gain a few extra beats while Adam made his declaration, heart in her throat while she ran his words on repeat through her mind. It was wrong. So wrong that such beautiful words should have to be uttered in a world as ugly as this one, spoken between the gasping breaths of a dying pair. Nell had always known that loving Adam wouldn’t be easy between his constant brushes with death, and the conditioning that often made him feel the need to put humanity’s welfare before anything else in his life. She’d done it nevertheless, having made peace with the fact that maybe he wouldn’t ever wholly be her’s, a part of him always belonging only to his mission. The pieces of him she’d been given had been more than enough. But that didn’t mean his admission didn’t tug at her heart, didn’t make it soar in a way that made a fluttering bloom in chest that had nothing to do with the poisonous air slowly killing her.

“Here you are,” Nell finally managed to repeat in wonder. Hadn’t he been the one trying to convince her to leave him behind should the demon apocalypse commence? He'd told her that she was a part of humanity’s hope for survival, that she should abandon him for the sake of the world. It was his own words that made her know the gravity of him choosing to come for her, to potentially sacrifice one of humanity’s hopes in the form of himself by searching for her in the endless worlds. And that was enough to keep her voice steady and sincere while she spoke. “I don’t want a life without you either.”

Part of Nell wanted to be upset with him, to scold him for being so foolish with his own life by following her into the portal, but she couldn’t manage to speak the words through the temporary moment of solace they’d found in the middle of hell— unwilling to break it. Unfortunately there was something else that needed to be said that would do just as good a job at shattering their moment of quiet. Something she couldn’t ignore. “There’s...something else I need to tell you.” Let her hold onto this shining feeling for just a few more seconds before she brought them back to reality.

Adam had grown up with the knowledge that his life wasn’t his own. It belonged to humanity’s destiny, a merciless idol that generations upon generations of his family had been sacrificed to appease. The abnegation of the self had been soothing in a way, it’d made him brave in a way. It doesn’t hurt to suffer and risk your life again and again if it isn’t truly yours to lose. He tried to never deceive the women in his life. Nobody deserved to be given only part of someone to love.

Mom and dad had loved each other intensely, and Adam had seen the aftermath after the needs of humanity had demanded yet another sacrifice. At the time he’d thought he’d learned a lesson from Esther Walker’s sorrow, and was determined to never hurt someone the way his father had.

But after three years of complete radio silence, Adam had spoken with mom and learned too late that he'd gotten it all wrong. As he’d grown, so had she, and neither mother or son were the same broken people that’d parted at Gehena 19.

Penelope was a person he shouldn’t have loved. She practiced demonology, the very art that’d fucked up the world in the first place. She’d participated in human trafficking and slavery. She’d performed ritual human sacrifice. She’d hunted down bounties without any concern for morality or a higher cause. She aided and abetted supernatural criminals simply because of her personal feelings. When these actions reaped consequences, Nell responded with personal wrath and revenge rather than seeking resolution, splintering tragedy into ever more fractals of repercussion.

Basically, by every standard he’d been raised to believe in, Penelope Vural was evil, and if she hadn’t been born human Adam would’ve been obligated to kill her.

But that’s not what happened. At first it’d just been that she was a useful ally. Next it'd just been typical horndog Adam, thinking with the head in his trousers rather than one on his shoulders again. Physical attraction and wary partnership had explained things for only so long however. She was brave, self-sacrificing, vivacious, and free to act according to passion and her free will in a way Adam had never dared to be. Eventually Adam was sharing things with her that he’d never dreamed of telling anyone else.

He wasn’t supposed to care about someone like Nell, to give her so much of what belonged to the mission. Adam could only love someone also sworn to fight the same war, no one else could understand the sacrifices necessary and what’d inevitably come sooner rather than later. Adam had been introduced to Huntresses his age with the unspoken understanding that eventually he’d find someone to fight alongside and raise children with to pass the sacred charge onto the next generation.

Adam had drank, partied, and screwed his way into forgetting for a while. Until suddenly, he ended up loving the wrong person, someone who wanted Adam for just himself, war be damned.

It wasn’t the right thing.

But what if he just….did y’know?

What he just loved Nell like she deserved without holding back, fight for his own humanity for a change?

Adam just wished he'd had the courage to take that plunge earlier.

Adam looked parted the embrace slightly so that he could meet her gaze “What is it Nell?”

Nell hadn’t planned to fall for Adam Walker, hadn’t even entirely noticed how close she’d let him get until she’d felt like she was on the edge of losing him, delivering the news that August Thompson had died a death far from peaceful— that Adam’s hand had been directly involved in the spellcaster’s demise. Of course she’d known he was one of the people she’d trusted most, one of the only people she’d ever let see her stripped to the core while he’d held her after Bea’s death. It was why she’d asked him to help in the first place. But she hadn’t realized just how much there was to lose until she was standing on the precipice. She’d been convinced that it would be the end, that she’d managed to ruin something before even really letting it begin, and that he wouldn't come back. It turned out she didn't need to worry about him coming back, because he’d never left in the first place. And he kept not leaving, something that had been rare in the life of a witch who had an overzealous temper and a reckless streak a mile wide.

So when he’d done things others might condemn or draw the line at— killed a werewolf in cold blood, admitted his own bloodlust beneath a full moon, gone on a murder spree fueled by the same moon, considered a demon pact, left her on read in the middle of feeling as if she were about to lose him...there’d been no choice of whether or not she’d grant him the same loyalty, to stay with him just as he’d stayed with her. She’d just wanted him to come home. And he always had. Even now, after fighting his way through literal hell, he’d come home.

Selfishly putting off her bad news for one moment longer, she let months of feeling the sun on her face when he smiled fill her soul, holding onto that feeling as she tried to find the words for what she wanted to say. What needed to be said if they didn’t make it out of this hellscape, and what she should have said much sooner despite being scared. She’d been worried about what he might say in reply, always thinking of that part of himself that she knew he felt he couldn’t give, not sure if she wanted to hear the ‘I’m sorry, but’ that she might get in response. But the man who’d dived into hell for her deserved to hear it, and she wasn’t scared anymore. “You know I love you, right?” He didn’t need to say it back, she’d finally realized that while he’d been walking towards her, knowing loving words could never speak as loudly as his actions had. “I just wanted you to know,” she assured him, letting him know she didn’t need to hear it in return. It wouldn’t change anything.

Now for the less charming of her news. “Not to...instantly bring the mood down but...the other thing I needed to tell you…” Nell glanced over her shoulder, as if the soul-snatching creature would be there even now as she divulged news of it. “There’s a...slaugh. I think it’s been following me.” Adam would know what it meant, that such creatures only went after those who were generally mere hours from dying, waiting to devour their souls. Nell had glimpsed it as she kept rubbing elbows with death in the hellscape, the being momentarily coming into focus while she’d barely escaped a demon encounter with her life still intact. The creatures were nearly as good at predicting death as banshees were.

Adam followed her gaze towards the burning horizon where plasma storms corrustated in lightning rainbows over living plains of crawling flesh. Slaugh were vultures of the spirit world. As a kid he’d been terrified of the invisible presences that set off his Hunter senses whenever there was a clash between militia forces around the Levant. It’d felt like a blizzard of dark wings, choking him with claustrophobia on empty arid plains covered in bodies shredded by shrapnel.

Mom had assured her son he wasn’t crazy. He could just feel the demons glutted humanity’s senseless wars against itself.

Adam‘s mind went back to Regan’s prophecy and felt an iron dread settle in his stomach, adding bittersweetness to the joy and relief coursing through his enervated body.

Adam let the future go and drew Nell close against him again, just letting this moment exist for as long as hell allowed. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to Earth ,” he murmured.

The tension in Nell’s shoulders melted as Adam pulled her back, savoring their togetherness for as long as she could, feeling true hope for the first time since...she wasn’t actually certain how long it had been, not even knowing how many days she’d been stuck in these hell-worlds. She drew a long breath while she was pressed against him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to assure herself that he was still here- still real even though it seemed impossible that he was. When they got back to Earth. It seemed like a far off hope, like shooting for the moon without any of that bullshit optimism of landing among the stars. “Then you can tell me the plan when we find a place that’s not suffocating us.” He wouldn’t have come without one, right? It was one thing to condemn himself to death, and she wouldn’t be entirely surprised given his generally self-sacrificing nature, whether that had been taught, was natural, or a combination of the two. But it was another entirely to forfeit the life of her as well by diving in without an extraction plan. He wouldn’t have risked the person he was saving.

The slaugh was worrisome enough as an omen of death, but there’d been more to consider when it’s eating of souls was brought into play. Nell still wasn’t all that sure whether she’d want to be raised from the dead in the first place should she perish in the next twenty-four hours, but if the slaugh ate her soul...she wouldn’t have a choice to begin with. You couldn’t raise a body without a soul.

Again Nell fell silent while she drank in as much as this as she could, the dread in her stomach a constant reminder of how far there still was to go. But with Adam- at least she stood a chance. With Adam they could at least sleep, taking varied watches. And then maybe some of her magic would come back and Adam could heal, and then...well then they’d at least have a fighting chance together, always stronger together. Nell used her fragile strength to bring herself to the tips of her toes, trying to press a gentle kiss to his black-veined cheek before feathering across his lips. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to Earth,” she echoed, recognizing it as another promise they could hold between them. They’d go back to Earth together in the same way they’d fought the dolorphage, the way they’d faced an unknown future beneath the full moon all those months ago, and the same way they’d taken on a demon cult and lived to tell the tale— always together.

#// DON'T LOOK AT ME IM EMOTIONAL #as alwAYS tapir just gives me a GIFT of a chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy #ch:adam #hell's true north #sibling death tw #mass poisoning tw #parental death tw

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

fools in love

request from nonnie!!! “pls could you write a story about fred being real sad bc he hasn’t seen the reader in a long time since she’s a year younger and still in school and he’s super busy with the store and he has these huge plans for them and he’s just having a rough day and then he finally gets to see her after a long time??? thank you!!”

pairing: fred x reader

word count: 1.6k

A/N: a little shorter, but i hope you like what i’ve done with the prompt :D i’m notorious for writing a lot and making stories very, very long but i wanted to try and write something that was only one or two scenes and end it with a big grand gesture so i hope this leaves you all smiling!!

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy | message me if you’d like to be added lovelies

“Promise, it’ll go by so quickly, darling! I’ll see you soon.”

Fred felt stupid enough with all of these new customers looking as though they were positively in love with him, as he willingly and very quickly turned each and every one of them down, earning him eye rolls, a bombardment of questions and swift glances at his left ring finger to see if they could get any answers out of him for why he’d been rejecting them, exactly. He didn’t need to be reminded that he’d made a promise he wasn’t able to keep. He didn’t feel much like talking. He didn’t feel much like doing anything at all. He felt positively dreadful.

Surely, it couldn’t have been months since he’d last seen you, could it? But alas, it could. Surviving on letters alone and not much else, you’d planned on visiting him one long weekend at the beginning of your final term at Hogwarts. But when Professor Snape had caught you in the Owlery late one evening after hours, sending yet another letter to Fred, he’d placed you in detention for not only one weekend, but four. A whole bloody month. Hogwarts without Fred was seemingly miserable.

Fred, feeling more on edge than before, had plans for that weekend you’d meant to visit. Not just any plans, like showing you his and George’s new artwork for the shop, their new apartment just above it, their inventions that they’d just designed and were getting ready to market and sell after placing on the last finishing touches. It was the first time he’d be seeing you in months—more like years, it felt like. He’d wanted it to be special.

George dropped a very large box of Extendable Ears on the shop desk, took one out, and held it up to the bare spot where his missing ear should be. He grinned at Fred and said, “What’ve you said, mate? I can’t ear you!” He found himself rather funny, rightfully so, and earned himself a laugh from Fred, who was grateful for the few mere seconds of thoughts not surrounding how much he bloody missed you.

George, before closing up the shop for the evening and heading upstairs to make them both dinner, clapped his brother on the back and told him, “Just a few more weeks, Freddie. Don’t look so glum.”

Fred didn’t sleep that night. Maybe an hour or two. Which didn’t help in the morning when the sunshine brought in more customers than he could’ve imagined; the desolate, colorless street of Diagon Alley was swarmed with people visiting from all over. He barely had any time to collect himself and discuss the day’s endeavors with George—each of them were pulled in separate directions with hungry customers itching to get their hands on any and all Weasley products, even those that hadn’t hit shelves yet. Fred grinned cheekily at his twin from across their very busy store. Suppose his day could be looking up.

A few hours into it, and he reckoned he shouldn’t have spoken so soon. Not only had he nearly fallen off of a ladder reaching for something on the highest shelf (his wand was upstairs in his bedroom; not a great place for it) and caught himself on the front desk at the very last minute, earning a sharp pain in his ankle, he’d also needed to stop a few individuals from sneaking out without paying for their items, only to then be followed around by a girl who wouldn’t leave him alone and a very angry bloke who did nothing but complain and yell about how his pygmy puff wasn’t changing colors throughout the day (it wasn’t supposed too).

When the shop was finally empty and he had a chance to sit and actually feel the pain radiating from his feet up through his legs, he pulled at his hair and yanked off his tie; he was absolutely bloody exhausted and was not at all looking forward to the fact that he and George still needed to restock the shelves before the weekend’s end. Luckily, though, he’d been able to slip away and grab his wand.. should make things a bit easier.

George emerged from the storage closet wearing a very cheeky grin, and it only seemed to deepen when Fred frowned. “What’re you so chipper about?” he asked, unbuttoning his vest and throwing it haphazardly over the countertop.

“Bad day, Freddie?”

“Bloody hell,” Fred replied, letting his head fall into his hands. He frowned again, about to explode, but rethought his choice of words, “Not bad, per se, just—long. But I reckon that comes with the business eh?”

George just smiled as he slowly took some Weather in a Bottle products, Decoy Detonators, Basic Blaze Boxes and began to gingerly place them on some shelves.

“Seriously, mate,” Fred began, peering quizzically at his twin who looked as though he was trying very hard to suppress a big secret, “what’s up with you? Something happen you need to tell me about?”

“No, nothing,” George replied, and a larger grin lifted his cheeks, “I just reckon your day could still turn around, is all.”

Fred scoffed. “Yeah, right. Always have loved that enthusiasm of yours, Georgie.” George shrugged his shoulders, his smile only deepening yet again, when he suggested to Fred to head back to the supply closet to grab more of the newer items to place on display at the front of the store to attract more hungry crowds. Begrudgingly he went, not very keen on the sharp pain in his feet now extending all the way into his back. Merlin, he just wanted to lay down.

He took his wand out of his pocket, ready to Accio the nonsense out of all of these items, when something nearly scared the living daylights right out of him. A yelp escaped his lips. He jumped on the spot, whirled around quickly, and discovered a small light in the corner had been flicked on.

“You know,” you began, and crossed your arms in delight, “you’re quite a sight for sore eyes after a long day.”

A very large grin plastered itself across his face; suddenly, all pain in his body seemed to subside at the sight of you. Butterflies were engulfing him. He was positively bewildered at the sight of you. He felt like a right fool for screaming in his own shop, but couldn’t help but grin like mad. Without even thinking properly, he ran across the crowded space to you, lifted you up off of the table you’d been sitting on and spun you around, encasing you in a bone crushing hug you were bound to feel the effects of later.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked breathlessly as disbelief flooded his body.

You slapped him playfully. “You’re not the only one who can pull off the greatest of surprises, Fred Weasley.” You draped your arms across his shoulders and inched a little closer. He felt his insides twist in the best of ways; were you really here? “Reckon I could give you a run for your money.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve actually escaped the wrath of Severus Snape?”

You rolled your eyes casually. “Thank Merlin for McGonagall. Told me not to worry. Has Snape doing other sorts of business, so I doubt he even noticed. Right load of bollocks that was, wasn’t it?” He laughed haughtily at your jokes and his hands tightened around your abdomen.

“Got to hand it to you—you’ve certainly shocked me, that’s for sure.”

“Color you impressed?” you winked.

Kissing you for the first time in Merlin only knows how long nearly set his soul on fire; the steady pounding of his heart seemed to increase the second your lips touched his, the touch he’d been dying to feel, imagining over and over again in all the time you’d been apart. When you tried to pull away to tease him again, he pulled you back, noting that he wasn’t quite yet finished with you, and you both stayed there, your hands in his bright red hair and his gripping your whole body tightly, for several long minutes, or maybe even days.

“You, my love,” he started, tugging gently on your hair, “have no bloody idea just how much I’ve missed you.”

“Nah, I definitely know,” you replied cheekily, flipping your hair, earning a smirk and a wink from him. Then you softened and said breathlessly, “I’ve missed you, too. School’s just dreadful without you.”

He felt a pang in his chest. It had always been difficult being a year apart, especially now with them owning the shop and you still attending Hogwarts. You’d seen one another nearly every single day for six years, even before you got together. It was strange having that all shift dramatically. “I’ll just have to make it up to you then.”

“Oh yeah? Like how?”

“Got a few surprises up my sleeve.”

“Oh really?” you asked, placing a hand to your hip and grinning like mad. “You didn’t even know I was coming! How could you already have something planned?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him and continued, “Think you’re going to out-surprise me? Think again, Weasley.”

You pressed your lips gently to his again; the feeling of your eyelashes softly brushing his cheeks sent him into a tizzy. He held you delicately in his hands, as if he were afraid you were going to break, or slip right through his fingers. He opened his eyes, just for a moment, to make sure that yours were still closed. When he saw that they were, he closed his again and gently, very gently ran his hand over the very tiny box he had hidden away in his pocket, holding what would seemingly replace the gold band you had on your left ring finger that’d been there since you were little. He felt the edges of the box against his fingers.. the box that had been there ever since he purchased it a few months ago. Another surge of raging fire raced through his bones; he was sure it was from both you running your hands absentmindedly down his chest, and also the thought of what the weekend would bring. Guess his plans hadn’t been ruined after all.

When you parted and you brought your hands to his cheeks, gently running your hands across his stubble, his smile just deepened at the happiness radiating off of you. He could hardly wait to out-surprise you. “We’ll just see about that, darling.”

reblogs & feedback are always appreciated! thanks darlings for always reading and requesting x

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins fanfic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #hp imagine #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #weasleys wizard wheezes #fred weasley one shot

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vitalityofficial · 4 years

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Vitality LORE ACT 1 - The Girl: Prologue

VITALITY LORE // A1 - The Girl

Summary: We are introduced to a young girl whose life is about to change forever. After suffering a devastating loss, a mysterious man will eventually come into her life and begin his dark path of vengeance. The girl is only the beginning.

Warnings: Death, Cursing, Mentions of Blood, Bullying, Depression, PTSD, Anxiety

Wordcount: 1,778

School had been out for an hour now and all her friends had gone home. Why hadn't her parents come yet? They never took this long! And why haven't they called? She took her phone out, dialing her father's number and it rang and rang before going to voicemail.

"Dad! I'm still waiting. Are you okay? I'll wait for fifteen more minutes and if you aren't here, I'll walk home! I'll take the special kimchi route, okay? I love you!"

The 'special kimchi route' is a series of alleyways littered with various family-owned shops - one of those shops owned by an older woman who had the best kimchi dishes around and one her family ate at often.

The girl frowns after the fifteen minutes are up and finally hops off the swing, grabbing her book bag and sighing. "Traffic must be bad today," she reasoned, leaving the gated school property and making the long trek home. She still found it odd that neither had contacted her, but her mother's cellphone was being repaired and her father was old and sometimes didn't pick up service well. They lived far up in the hills - the rather "poor" part of Seoul, tucked far away with the main city in the distance - and any nearby payphones were broken and left to rot.

As she walks and walks, she can't help but to hum a happy tune, feeling perky despite everything. Her birthday was in 5 days and her parents had promised to take her to Busan for a whole week! Her best friend had moved there last year and the two didn't get to keep in contact so it was the perfect way to celebrate a special day.

"You! Child!" A gruff voice spoke from a darkened corner and she yelps when a frail hand grabs her arm, spinning her around. "Grandma! You scared me!" She laughs, hugging the older unrelated woman. She was a well-known resident to all in the small neighborhood and the girl's family was very familiar with her.

“It’s so awful, child! Truly terrible!” The elderly woman murmurs, her eyes wide and pupils as big as saucers. The girl frowns and a look of concern comes over her face - word around was that Grandma was not well and often spouted eccentric things but the other residents often did their best to take care of her as there were no known relatives around. “Are you okay, Grandma? Shall I help you home? It’s getting chilly out.” The girl softly grabs her hand, guiding her in the direction of the woman's house.

“I am so sorry, my sweet girl. You are to endure so much pain and it is not fair for you were destined for so much good.” The old lady rambles as they walk but the girl brushes it off, use to it. When they reach the final hill - which happens to split off into a fork - the girls home on the right and a cliff just across the weather-beaten road and the woman’s on the left - they are overwhelmed by the flashing lights of multiple police cars and an ambulance.

“What’s going on?” The girl panics as she takes everything in, immediately dropping the old lady’s hand as she rushes towards the commotion. She had never seen so many people gathered around this area and to her horror - right in front of her house!

"Was there an accident? What happened?" She pleads with an officer, who immediately stops her from crossing the tape barrier. "It's not safe, young lady. Please stay back!" The female cop grasps the girls shoulders, pushing her back. It wasn't soon enough though as the girl peaks around her, seeing a trail of blood that went over the cliff edge - something truly abnormal and mortifying.

“That’s my home! Where's are my Mother and Father?” She was panicking now - something clearly wasn’t right. Her parents were never late picking her up from school or activities and to come home to this...mess...The girl knew now that something terrible had happened and there was no hiding it from her. “Mama? Papa?” She screams desperately, tears instantly flooding down her cheeks.

The officer gave her a solemn look before turning to her superior, the two whispering among themselves for a couple of minutes. When they returned, the woman put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the commotion, sitting on a bench with her - a bench the girl often sat on with her Father when they ate breakfast and waited for the school van to pick her up each morning.

The officer didn’t waste much time breaking the news. “My dear, I am afraid your Mom and Dad had an accident and are no longer with us in this world.” Though her voice was gentle, it was clear that breaking such awful news to a child wasn’t something she did often, or even wanted to do.

The girl sputtered, unable to form any words. She looked around for the Grandmother but the woman was nowhere in sight now. “Mama...Papa?” She cries out weakly - the thought of never seeing them or speaking to them ever again filling her with an overwhelming sense of despair, leaving her gasping for air.

Everything went black then.

7 Years Later - (2016)

“Yah! Chaewon! Are you even listening? Hey! Watch out!” A firm hand grabs the girl's arm and yanks her backward just as a delivery scooter races past, beeping madly. “Are you spacing out again? What is with you?” Areum looked at her friend worriedly, the rapper of the triangle kimbap she was holding in her opposite hand crinkling loudly.

“Huh? What did I miss?” Chaewon snaps out of her funk, a tentative smile on her face. Areum groans in response, rolling her eyes as she takes a bite of her snack. “I said,” she begins with her mouth full of food, “I was thinking of asking Kangdae out. Isn’t he handsome, yeah? He’s not like the other boys in our class.”

“He’s a bit dumb, isn’t he?” Chaewon mutters. Sure, he was cute and had muscles but he wasn’t exactly known to be bright and was at the bottom of their class in terms of grades unlike Areum, who was in the top five.

Areum groans and smacks her friend on the arm. “Don’t be so rude, Unnie! He’s not stupid, okay? He just doesn’t really like studying but he’s a good person! He wants to get into music and he’s really good at it too! You should listen to one of his tracks he’s produced!” She goes to pull out her phone, biting her lip as she scrolls through some files.

“Maybe another time, yeah?” Chaewon waves dismissively at the cellular device her friend holds out to her. “I have to get home.”

“Let me walk you!” Areum offers, linking her arm through Chaewons. She was understandably concerned about her friend - who had been experiencing sporadic blackouts for a couple months now - and wanted to make sure she got home safely. “I mean, you did just nearly get shit on by a scooter while having one of your...moments.”

Chaewon shook her head, “No! I’m fine! Plus you know how my parents are.” Areum pouts, grumbling. “They have to be the lamest parents on earth if they won’t let their daughter bring a friend home. We’ve been besties since forever and I’ve never even met them! Ugh...”

"Yeah. They’re...strict and really embarrassing, to be honest. You’re not missing out on much.” Chaewon huffs, checking her phone for the time. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” She forces a smile at her friend, pulling her school blazer around her tighter as suddenly a chilly breeze whipped through the air. The two said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

As Chaewon walked, she couldn’t help but feel guilty for being so distant lately. Areum had been a true friend to her ever since her move to Gwangmyeong. She was the first student to welcome her. The first to defend her against the snotty students who picked on Chaewon for being sullen, quiet and “weird”. Prior to the...incident, she had no real issues with bullies and was rather well-liked by her peers. She had since become the opposite version of former herself - the girl her parents adored was gone and she had no proper concept on how to defend herself or react to the other student's harsh words and actions.

So why was she so rude at times? Why did she lie to someone she considered her best friend? Chaewon had come to the conclusion that it was a defense mechanism of sorts. The only way she could deal with everything was by lying about her life outside of school. It made it easier to pretend - the façade she had created was an escape, albeit still very bleak, much like the truth.

The sounds of the city center grew more distant as she reached the iron gates of her “home”. Her slender hand gripped the cool iron and pushed it open slowly, the squealing of the metal sending a shiver down her spine. Laughter could be heard flittering from the playground behind the old stone building that housed 13 other kids just like her:

Orphans.

The Seojun house for orphans wasn’t too terrible - the food was edible on most days and the rats and roaches were few and far between as of late. The couple who ran it weren’t the kindest and had clearly become burnt out after running the institution for the past 20 years. If they hadn’t been getting a good sum of government money to run it, they most definitely would have abandoned the ominous place long ago. What made the place tolerable were some of the staff, like Mr. Kim.

“Welcome home, Miss Lee!” Mr. Kim - the designated maintenance and security man -- greets Chaewon with a cheery smile as she approached the front door. He even stops raking to open it for her, bowing and motioning with a hand for her to enter as if she were royalty.

“Ah! yes! Home sweet home! Thank you, Mr. Lee.” She manages to muster a smile, bowing as she walks through the familiar doors and sighing loudly. Her smile falters as she is out of the caretakers sight and the familiar sense of dread slowly overcomes her once again.

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thegoldenreport · 3 years

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MIND BENT

Pretending to be someone else is easy, especially when you’ve been doing it your whole life. Amber-Eye 098 is an top tier imitation artist from the Southern Moon district, who has almost twelve years of experience under her belt in deceiving the general public for fun.

She recently sat down with Golden Report executives to share one such experience - how she managed to infiltrate Jatty’s Candy Cave and impersonate the titular owner, while remaining undetected for three months.

If the name of “Jatty’s Candy Cave” doesn’t ring a bell for you or stir up a primordial urge to vomit, we highly recommend an appointment with your local re-education services to rectify the issue. But in the mean time, we’ll ask you a very simple question, what’s really in their candy?

Or to put it in a different way...

Are you meant to be seeing the buzzing, glitching, oozing shadow that stands in the corner of your room at all times?

…

AE098: Whenever I approach a new character, I choose to look first at their environment. Their people. You can tell a lot about how a person is supposed to act just by looking at their people.

Jatty’s Candy Cave, for example, is housed in a very elaborate sewer system underneath the inner city of West Logos. Jatty doesn’t voluntarily share this information, but somehow makes sure her customers spread it like the plague. She wants to be known far and wide, yet continues to stay hidden. Chosen isolation perhaps as a method of retaining control? A walking contradiction nonetheless.

Sending several camera flies into the underground system confirmed she didn’t work alone. A personal assistant named Rael followed her every beck and call. Visuals showed him to be a funny little man who changed his aesthetic and vocal inflection on the daily. Though tended to favor anything revolving around a space or astronaut theme. It was a good thing I wasn’t stealing his identity.

Jatty, on the other hand, donned an a-line purple skirt, skin tight black turtle neck, dark green combat boots (which just so happened to be the same shade as her nefarious chemical ingredient, zeroX), and a pair of velvet back gloves that extended her fingers into claws.

Unlike Rael, she wore this suit on the regular and showed no signs of switching it up. Which of course made things ridiculously convenient for my costumes associate. She does such a sublime job at matching garments down to the very fabric and shade. I had nothing but confidence in her work.

I remember spending long evenings in her sewing shop, top floor of the special ops building. Trying on the boots and pacing around the floor. Feeling out the walk of, shall we say...a potential murderer? An ill advised chemistry enthusiast? Mad science extraordinaire? I wouldn’t know for sure until I became her.

Everything is a performance. Everyone has a good side. Everyone loves to act for the camera that isn’t even there. You may be wondering why we even go through the trouble of full body espionage if we already send in a hundred camera flies to wire tap the place. To that I say again, everything is a performance. The name of the game is not just tearing down the curtain, but walking backstage. The one place a camera refuses to go.

Further audiovisual input revealed her voice to be low and musky, like she constantly had to be clearing her throat (of her own toxins, perhaps?). We had vocal modifier pills that could mimic this effect. And her walk was always brisk in comparison to the slower moving factory workers. She was a being in motion, a blur that could not stop for more than a few moments at a time. And it wasn’t just an urgency to it, but a nervousness, a real fear. I was excited to discover more.

In the days leading up to my deployment, special operatives performed what we like to call a body snatch. Methodically extracted in such a way that Jatty would not even think to deny leaving with us. We offered an opportunity, intentionally vague, but sweet enough to seal the deal. Or that’s how it started.

In reality, we slipped a sleeping agent into her water glass, while discussing terms in the late hours of the evening. I’m not entirely sure where they took her, but by that point, I was ready.

MEETINGS

This is the word I would use to describe my first month in character. I remember the night I slipped into her office chair, torn faux leather at a cherry red mahogany desk. I remember the stickiness of said office chair. I remember pouring through her journals, her agenda books, her middle school science books. She was a being on the move, constantly meeting with someone. But for what?

One such meeting that stook out to me was with a blue deer handler, and only in my second week of deployment. I had read about this particular blue deer. And the sweet nectarine like flavor of it’s blood. Our conversation was brief, speaking about his latest harvest for the factory. He had come across a surplus, could give more this month than before. I was immediately suspicious. Could this blood contain the hallucinogenic properties I had heard about?

Unfortunately, the answer was no. Can confirm. I tried it myself.

It was however the main component of almost all their candy’s flavor profile. But I couldn’t have cared less about the flavor.

CHEMICALS

My second month felt the most comfortable. No one had yet raised a suspicious eye towards me, save for a few factory workers who I quickly disposed of, as per my training. I had gotten used to the endless walking. Learning to digest informative material while on the go. Like all those mad scribbles in her middle school science textbook. Keeping all conversations either short or long depending on what the situation called for.

I had internalized every type of candy we made in the Cave. The pipes hissed. The air smelled like swamp water. The work room was a mental prison of blood, sweat, and flickering lights. It was here that I learned the ingredients. That I tasted the fruit for the first time. Although I was pretty good at pretending I had done it many times.

She must have built up a tolerance to the drugs they use if she does this on the regular.

The candy I tried was called Vox. A lime green sucker that slowly turns into goo as it melts in your mouth. The color is deceptive. One might expect it to taste like an apple or even a lime. It tasted like salted butter.

This particular candy among many others contained a key ingredient known as zeroX: an opaque, thick, dark green almost black liquid at room temperature. Meant to be highly addictive. Meant to simulate an adrenaline rush. Meant to make the whole body shiver. The eyes dilate. The palms sweat. You feel like an imposter in your own skin. You believe that the voices on the radio are talking directly to you. The paranoia crawls deep into your brain, filling the space behind your eyes.

But you don’t hallucinate.

Can confirm, as I locked myself in the chief office and rode out it’s side effects on the wave of a panic attack.

SECRETS

In the middle of month 3, we received a mysterious package from a tall man in a black trench coat. My assistant Rael brought it to me at my desk, during one of the few times I had felt comfortable sitting down. He seemed to know exactly what it was. And assumed I also knew.

It was a black box, no seams or openings, no buttons or lights or switches. The only thing of note was a silver etching of an eye marked out with an X. It was a symbol that made me shudder. I had seen it all over the textbook. I had seen it plastered on every police car and above every government building. It’s a symbol you should all know. That was the first secret.

Our own leaders were in on it. Turning a blind eye.

That was the beginning of the crack in my facade. That little pause. That miniscule choke before my answer. I noticed a glimmer of something in Rael’s eyes. Confusion. Doubt. Suspicion. Patrons not trained in this artform might miss a cue like that, but I knew I had to begin my extraction.

A week later, I exposed my taste to zeroC. One of two chemicals they used as zeroX was designated for hard candy and zeroC for soft. Only five percent of their production contained soft candy. They don’t talk about zeroC. They mix it under tables or in dark corners of the room where the light doesn’t touch them. Which leads to the second secret.

The black box was zeroC, ground up like powder to be mixed with the syrup.

I had been reading about this less popular ingredient written upside down between the lines of Jatty’s incredibly weathered textbook. Similar to the effects of LSD or DMT, but extremely more potent and infinitely more long lasting. Made with the same blood of that fantastical blue deer.

I was fearing the inevitable. My weekly tasting of the newest batch. I could not fake it. All the workers lined up to stare at me at I sat before their production table and consumed their poison. There are some things you simply cannot fake before that many eyes.

I felt the sweet juice explode in my mouth as the candy’s skin broke between my teeth. I swallowed with all the confidence of returning to my office to take a shot of my emergency counteractive medicine.

I immediately started to cry. A side effect I was not expecting. The emotion swallowed me as they all stared. Some perplexed. Some, dare I say, satisfied? I stumbled through the hallways. Rael chasing after me with a clipboard. I didn’t turn to look at him. Escaped to my office, shut the door, and locked it. Which brings me to the third and final secret.

I had been fooling no one. They knew.

Sitting behind the cherry stained mahogany desk was the real Jatty, holding the shattered remains of the syringe, which contained my antidote. Ice blue eyes magnified by the chemicals coursing through my body. Her glare pierced through my skull. I don’t know if she escaped, if I was set up, or if my extraction was on short notice. My supervisors have neglected to tell me.

But as I was there with knees buckled and tunnel vision, I saw the black shadow of a hand appear on her shoulder and she whispered.

Don’t forget this. You people have no control.

I blacked out after that. My supervisors came to collect me after some time. I felt their arms wrapped around me as they dragged me out, slipping in and out of consciousness. Unable to process the shocking and also very strange things I was hearing.

Something about not keeping the deal. Something about craving orange juice. Another thing about an early return. And another thing about wombats in space.

I was in recovery for three weeks afterwards while our physicians on hand constructed an antidote. The hallucinations have stopped, but the paranoia is still palpable. They offered me a mind wipe pill, asked me if I wanted to forget.

I told them it was impossible.

#the golden report #issue two #unreality #paranoia #drugs #original #storytelling #hallucination #delusion #let me ask you this #is this the kind of exposure you wanted?#jatty's candy cave

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bakagamieru · 4 years

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Hi, hope you are doing well and staying safe. I know you don't post so much anymore, but back in the day i remember seeing you talk about how Niall and Hailee showed a lot of signs of being a fauxmance. Since Heartbreak Weather came out I've seen lots of people saying it's about Hailee, but I was curious on what you thought, and also whether you still feel it was a fauxmance? Also what is your opinion on No Judgement being about a different relationship than the rest of HW? Thanks :) x

The minute “No Direction” came out, I was 100% sure it was a fauxmance. That song title can’t possibly be anything but designed to make people assume it’s about Niall. It’s way too on the nose and attention-grabbing to be anything but PR.

The PDA pap pictures at Target or whatever store that was also made me pretty sure. Celebs who have only been dating each other for a few months wouldn’t put themselves in the spotlight like that because that would put pressure on their relationship and compromise their privacy. Only celebs that aren’t actually dating each other throw themselves into the spotlight together, because that’s kind of the whole point of fauxmances. (I’m assuming everyone is aware that pap pics like that aren’t accidental)

Niall has had plenty of fauxmances before, but we weren’t even aware that he apparently had a relatively long term relationship (couldn’t have been one of the publicized “relationships” because none of them lasted that long) until he mentioned it in an interview about Flicker. Based on his history, if Niall is dating someone, I very much doubt the fandom is going to find out and Niall definitely isn’t going to advertise it.

Based on the lyrics of Seeing Blind and a couple other lyrics in other songs, I think Niall has dated another celeb at some point. But again, I don’t think the celebrity he dated is one he’s been linked to publicly. I haven’t actually listened to all the songs in Heartbreak Weather yet, but if there are any songs in there that people think point towards Hailee, I would bet the songs are ambiguous and people are just fitting Hailee into the lyrics because of the power of suggestion. It happens all the time.

Because I haven’t listened to all of Heartbreak Weather, I don’t know about No Judgement not fitting in. I kind of doubt it because I doubt that all the songs on Heartbreak Weather are purely autobiographical. Based on Niall’s comments about his songs in the past, he tends to write a lot of scenarios that may or may not be influenced by his own life experiences.

Also, when it comes to songs fitting into a narrative- songs are often snapshots of an emotion at a certain point of time. Even if the feeling of the song doesn’t seem like it matches the feeling of the other songs, it’s quite possible that it’s just a different emotion at a different point in time in the same relationship. What I’m trying to say is that you can still write a happy song about a relationship that ended badly, just like you can write a depressed song about a relationship that is ultimately successful and happy. Good emotions are going to exist in doomed relationships and negative emotions are going to exist in healthy relationships.

#one direction #Niall Horan #Nailee #Anonymous

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years

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libera nos a malo chapter 7: rien ne m’est plus, plus ne m’est rien

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 7/20

Trigger warning for discussion of miscarriage in this chapter

libera nos a malo masterpost+

unstoppable force/immovable object masterpost+

<< chapter 6

chapter 8 >>

In the beginning, Lucius had been defiant. His audience may have been small, limited as it was to two-knut Hit Wizards and self-important prison controllers. He’d seen the director once upon his admittance to Azkaban (a skeletal man who’d smelled of onions) but not since. Lucius had sneered at all these little men (mudblood upstarts, half-breed drones, and blood traitors, every last one) and given them to understand in no uncertain terms that he was a Malfoy.

They had been…unimpressed.

His righteous anger had gotten him two weeks on bread and water alone, delivered twice a day through a slot in the wall of his cell by a disembodied and grimy hand. Ten paces by ten paces and lit by one guttering light in the center of the ceiling, the cell was designed to break the strongest of spirits, even without the Dementors soul-devouring help. Lucius didn’t stand a chance. When the first two weeks were up, and he’d been brought a bowl of luke-warm gruel, and he’d been horrified at how good it had tasted.

The great Lucius Malfoy—salivating over gruel.

By the end of the first month, he’d learned to dance to the controllers’ piping. If he was well-behaved, he was allowed a bucket to relieve himself in, and the cell block’s Hit Wizard (a puss-faced buffoon who couldn’t have passed the test to do actual field work if his life depended on it) would vanish the mess twice a day when he brought the food. If he was disobedient or rude in any way, he was denied bucket, sanitation, and gruel. At first he’d been able perform the vanishing and cleaning spells himself, even without his wand. But as the millstone of time had pressed down on him, he’d lost both the ability—and then the will—to do so.

The question of how he’d managed to spectacularly snatch defeat from the jaws of victory tormented him during most of his waking moments. That is, when he wasn’t being tormented by the question of what had happened to his wife and son. For all he knew, they were dead. Perhaps even now they lay in the Malfoy tomb, decaying slowly into dust and slime. Or perhaps they’d been hastily buried in a pauper’s grave, that the name of Malfoy might be blotted out forever.

No, Lucius Malfoy did not require a Dementor guard to drive himself to despair—he dug that trench all on his own.

One day the skeletal director came in to see him (he knew because the man still smelled of onions and it turned his stomach).

“Malfoy, Lucius,” the director said. They were always addressed in this fashion, and Lucius had learned to snap to attention when his name was barked, or he’d be on the receiving end of some sort of lightening charm that was surely the Crucio’s sadistic elder brother.

“Sir.” Stand up. Avoid pain. Keep your gruel.

“Your wife is here to see you.” How strange to hear such momentous news announced with the indifference of a weather report.

“My…wife?”

“Yes. Your wife.” The director’s lips were thin and cruel, and the smile they twisted into made Lucius shiver. “And so appropriate too, it being Valentine’s Day. You may have ten minutes with her once she’s been searched.”

“Searched?” His mind was struggling to process the new stimuli. It had been toiling too long in the well worn paths of misery.

“Yes, searched. We can’t have her trying to slip you a wand, now can we? But chin up, ten minutes might even be long enough for a shag. Not that she’d want to do so on that nasty lump of a bed. Have you been using it for a chamber pot?”

“No sir.”

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you in spite of the smell.”

The thought of Narcissa seeing him as he was now—for he was every bit as vile as the director’s mocking smile implied—was unendurable.

“Sir, please tell her to go home,” he said, his eyes on the floor.

“What did you say?”

“I…don’t want her to see me this way.”

The director was silent for so long that Lucius was sure the man was torturing him on purpose; dragging out the moment before he forced the broken atheling to accept the humiliation of receiving his wife. But when the prisoner dared to glance up at his captor, he saw an understanding in the director’s eyes that made the fiend seem almost human.

“Good man,” the director said; and he left the cell before Lucius had the chance to change his mind.

Afterwards Lucius beat his fists against the wall until they bled freely. When he was too exhausted to continue thus, he fell onto the bed and buried his face in the putrid sheets to weep. When his fury at last was completely spent, he stared up at the ceiling, willing himself to die. But it seemed to him the more he tried to stop his heart, the harder the mutinous organ would beat.

What on earth it would take to convince the stupid thing that nothing had any meaning anymore?

*****

The birds were singing merrily as they leapt from branch to branch. Although the trees were barren yet, the sun was shining with enough vigor to remind the world that spring would soon be coming to uproot winter and return life to the earth. Snowdrops peeked their shy faces through the puddles of melting snow, and here and there an early crocus exploded through the slush, proudly decked in royal purple. People were out and about everywhere with their hats clutched in their hands and their faces turned up to the sky, wishfully believing that it was warmer than the mercury claimed.

All in all, it was a terrible day for a funeral.

Isahak Lal dug his hands deep into the pocket of his robes as he stared at the ground on their way home from the cemetery. It seemed to him that everyone in the world was wandering through Diagon Alley today, and he stubbornly ignored the friendly greetings that the fine day drew from the lips of the unknowing shoppers. He also ignored the condolences that the shopkeepers stepped out of their doors to offer, even when Ammama tried to make him say thank you. Ammama started to scold him, but Appachan gave her a warning look, and maneuvered the boy to walk between them, that he might be spared from the stares of curious eyes.

Dosas was cold and silent today, and there were no sweet smells of onions and spices to greet them as they trudged up to their flat over the restaurant. Isahak dug his hands deeper into his pockets when Father Peter offered him a candle for the purification blessings. He’d already done his duty that day by covering his father’s face with the cloth before burial, and he refused to do anything else. Father Peter didn’t press him.

He did take the jeera when it was offered to him (he knew that Ammama could only be pushed so far) and the seed was as hard and bitter as his heart. He rolled it around on his tongue until the taste was gone, listening to Father Peter stumble over the words to the prayers. Father Skariah was not here to say them the right way, but then, everything was wrong today.

When the prayers were over, they passed a cup of fresh coconut water between them. It was musky and Isahak did not want to drink it—but it was a day for doing things he did not want to do. Appachan sat stiffly in his chair by the fire, his brown eyes as cold and empty as the restaurant downstairs. Isahak wondered if Appachan’s eyes would ever shine again.

At Ammama’s insistence, Father Peter took the other chair and Isahak had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. That was Achan’s chair, and even if he was never going to sit in it again, what right did this priest have to take it? Ammama tried to pull him down on the sofa with her, but he jerked his arm away and sat far away from her on the very edge. He did not want to be touched or cuddled now.

“Florian will be bringing us a little supper soon, Father,” said Ammama, her voice high and false. “You must stay and have some supper with us.”

“I will, thank you,” Father Peter replied.

Isahak glared at the priest, hating him and his owlish face. Who was he that he should be here on such a day?

“Yes, we’ll have a nice dinner,” Ammama said, brushing her gray hair out of her face. “Florian is a decent cook. He took care of us after Meera died, and he’ll take good care of us now.”

“Florian Fortescue is a fine man,” Father Peter agreed.

“Anita and Dexter must be happy to have a vacation today,” Ammama continued. “No tables to wait or floors to sweep.”

“Nobody is happy today, Ammama,” Isahak muttered.

“What?” Ammama’s lip trembled dangerously, until she gave a laugh as false as her cheerful tone. “Hush, child. You will feel better once you have eaten. And then Appachan will read to you from the little book that you and Achan were reading, and everything will be as good as it can be.”

Isahak could stand it no longer. He sprang from the couch, snatched the little book from the pile on the coffee table, and threw it across the room.

“I am not going to eat, and I am not going to read, and nothing will ever be good again!” he shouted.

“Isahak!” Ammama scolded, but he fled from the room.

“Let him be, Sara,” said Appachan.

Isahak ran to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He knew that Ammama would leave him alone now, and he threw himself on the bed, punching the pillow and crying angry tears. He did not understand why Achan had died, and he was not sure that anyone else understood it either. It was something that the grown-ups talked about in whispers whenever he went out of the room. Amma had been ill for all of her life, and now he could not remember much more than her smile, and the way she’d smelled of cardamom and cinnamon. But Achan had been strong. It made no sense that he should be fine one day and dead the next.

Eventually he grew tired of punching the pillow, and he got up to close the curtains and block out the afternoon sun. It was the sort of day that Achan would have taken him to Mr Fortescue’s to watch the ice cream being made. It was the sort of day that Achan would have said was made for discovering all the wonders of the world.

But Achan was gone now, and without him, Isahak could not see any use for the world at all.

*****

“Severus, I wasn’t expecting you,” Miranda said cheerfully as she opened the cabin door to the winter night.

“My apologies for the disappointment,” he replied, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible. It wouldn’t do to startle her yet.

“You’re not disappointing me at all. I’m happy to have an excuse to stop working on the tebo tunic. You wouldn’t believe how much of a pain it is to stitch together.”

She kept up a steady stream of chatter about something called “spring training” as she returned her project to a dress form in the corner by the potions closet. He doubted he would understand what she was yammering on about, even if he’d had the capacity to listen. A woman’s voice keened from the turntable, pleading with someone called Jolene, and he switched it off with an angry flick of one long finger. There was a roaring in his ears that made any extra noise unbearable, and he swatted away the music like a fly.

As she swept her needles and thread from coffee table to sewing box, she glanced up at him curiously.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Define alright,” he replied.

She tilted her head to one side. “Is this going to be a tea conversation, or a whiskey conversation?”

“Why not both?”

“That’s fine,” she agreed slowly. “We can do both.”

She skirted past him to the stove to start the tea, moving as though he were an animal she was trying not to startle. He was unsurprised. Her instincts were superior to those of most of the idiots he had the misfortune of knowing, and despite his efforts at controlling himself, even he could hear the raw edge to his voice. He paced over to the dress form while she gathered the things for whiskey and tea, glaring at the tebo hide draped over it. As soon as Healer A’isha gave Miranda leave, the foolish witch would be out among the werewolves, blithely risking her neck without a care in the world. He ran a hand over the rough hide, and his finger caught on a pin. First blood to Miranda.

“Are you going to join me?” she asked when the drinks were on the table.

They sat down together, and he stared wordlessly at the perfectly brewed mixture of tea and clotted cream in his cup. Earlier in their relationship, she would have peppered him with questions, but now she waited patiently for him to talk. He despised her for making him comfortable, and he despised himself for both desiring and refusing her efforts.

“I’ve had a meeting with Albus,” he said at last. His voice sounded oddly disembodied, even to his own ears.

“A bad one?” she asked sympathetically.

“To put it mildly.”

“May I ask what happened?”

The chaotic fury whirling in his chest twisted its ugly head towards a single target, and he lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Miranda, what are your thoughts on the subject of trust?”

Her left shoulder tensed, and he knew her guard was up.

“Trust?” she repeated, pulling her cigarette case out of her pocket and fidgeting with it until he plucked it out of her hand. Her eyebrows went up in question, and he smoothly retrieved a pair of cigarettes and lit them with two sharp snaps of his fingers.

“Trust,” he prompted.

“In what context?” Parry.

“An academic one.” Thrust.

“Academically, trust is earned initially by reputation and ultimately by experience.”

“Brava. And, would you say that it is possible to regain trust once it has been lost? Academically speaking, of course.”

One of her stocking-clad feet was tapping on the floor beneath the table, and he poured out a measure of whiskey for them both, leaving the tea to go cold and spoiled. She took a deep drink of the amber liquor, her eyes never leaving his for an instant.

“I think so,” she replied at last.

“Interesting.”

“You disagree?”

“I must admit I have yet to decide. But I find it interesting that you hold such a belief, when you so clearly do not trust me.”

“I’m sorry? I’ve told you many times that I trust you.” Her brow furrowed as she studied him, and then her eyes widened with understanding. “But Albus doesn’t.”

“No. Amusing, is it not? He blathers on to anyone who will listen about my trustworthiness. That I am a changed man and not to be judged by my…youthful indiscretions. No one believes him, not even the Dark Lord. I should have known that this was because he did not believe it himself.”

“What did he do?”

Severus paused to drink deeply from his glass, savoring the way the alcohol burned down to his bilious stomach.

“He’s been closeted with Potter since term began, preparing the boy for some plan that he will not disclose to me. I, one of his greatest assets.I, who have risked my life on his orders time and time again. Instead he confides in a child with no Occlumency skills, and whose powers are mediocre at best.”

“That must be infuriating.”

“In fact it is. Particularly since among my many duties is the task of keeping the boy alive.” His voice began to shake and he fought to control it. “A task that Albus undermines at every turn.”

“I don’t blame you for being upset. I’d be angry too.”

She refilled their glasses, and her left shoulder relaxed. Excellent.

“Yes,” he said ironically, “it is always disappointing when one’s life becomes a lie. A shock no matter how many times it happens.”

“What do you mean?”

How marvelous. Her concern for him disarmed her completely—she was defenseless now.

“You must understand,” he said conspiratorially, “that what I am going to tell you must be kept under the strictest confidence. I would even go so far as to Obliviate you myself if I thought for an instant I could not trust you to keep quiet.”

“I understand.”

Her mind was so open now that, were it not for the wall guarding her, he might have dipped into it without any incantation at all. He could feel her sympathy vibrating out to him. Pity he had no use for it now.

“When the Dark Lord attempted to murder the Potter boy, the child was protected because Lily…” Severus’s voice broke, and it was a moment before he could continue. “Because his mother gave her life to save him. The spell rebounded off the living child to the caster, and it shouldhave killed him. But by some foul trick, the Dark Lord’s soul split—and a piece of it found a new home inside Potter.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

“I think it had very little to do with him.”

“But that’s why the Dark Lord was able to come back.”

“Precisely.”

“And that would mean…in order for him to be killed…”

“That the boy must die as well.”

Part of him softened at the sight of her horror, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and accept the comfort she would surely give to him, if only he were able to ask for it. But his rage was unstoppable now—a viper poised and ready to strike.

“Severus, I’m so sorry. He shouldn’t have kept that from you.”

She put her hand over his, and this tender touch wounded him more than the Cruciatus ever had. He closed his hand around hers, and sprung the trap he’d laid.

“Are you?” he asked. “I had rather thought your sympathies would lie with Albus.”

“Why would you think that? You know I hate the way that Albus plays with people.”

“How perfectly hypocritical of you. My compliments.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he refused to let go.

“You’re obviously driving at something specific,” she said angrily. “Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“You do lack an appreciation for subtly. Let me make my meaning plain, then. I do not believe for an instant that you trust me. If you did, youwould have told me about your son Isaac, instead of allowing me to learn of his existence from Catalina Dragnea.”

She wrenched her hand out of his grasp and sprang up from the table.

“Get out,” she ordered.

“No, I don’t believe I shall. When were you planning to tell me about him?” A dark thrill of power joined the fury in his chest. He had her now.

“I wasn’t going to tell you about him ever.”

“As I suspected. You do see how laughable this makes your protestations of trust?”

“I said get out.”

He rose and stalked around the table towards her, a cruel smile playing on his lips. She’d apparently lost the capability of strategizing—retreating until her back was against the door—and he placed a palm on either side of her head, trapping her completely.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded softly.

“It’s not just you,” she said harshly. “I don’t talk about him with anybody. I only told Catalina because she brought up the subject, and even then I only told her enough to get her to shut up about it.”

“You don’t talk about your own son with anybody? What kind of a mother are you?”

A flash of white light exploded between them, throwing him across the room. He stumbled into a bookshelf, sending glassware to the floor where it shattered. Miranda’s magic whipped around her, sparking through her unbound hair as she stormed towards him. She grabbed the front of his frock coat, and pulled him down until they were nose to nose.

“My son is dead you sick fuck,” she spat.

Dear Merlin, what had he done?

“Why did you lie to Dragnea about him?” he demanded, scrambling for purchase as the ground crumbled beneath his feet.

“All I told her was his name, and when he was born.” She made a rasping sound, but no tears came to soften the blow. “And I’d beg your pardon for not wanting to talk—to anyone—about the part where my boy died without ever getting to live at all. Except you haven’t got a heart to give it with.”

“Miranda, I…”

“Shut up! And get out.”

She let go of his coat with a violence that tore free one of the buttons. It clattered to the floor where it lay amid the shards of glass, a testament to an evening’s work well done. For the second time in his life, Severus stood facing the woman he loved, knowing she was wounded, and that he’d been the one to do the wounding. Now, as then, he’d have sold his soul to have unsaid his venomous words. Unfortunately now, as then, the devil was not in a bargaining mood.

He did as he was bid, leaving her without another word, and he wandered for a time along the chalk cliffs by her cabin. The ocean crashed endlessly on the shore, mindless, dark, and vast. At some point during the small hours of the night he returned to his rooms, where the silence was so loud as to ring in his ears. A book of verse lay open on his desk, mocking him with remnants of the morning’s good intentions. He’d been debating copying out a poem for Miranda and tucking it into one of her books for her to discover and perhaps to be pleased by. Then Albus had begged his company on a walk, and by the end of the night, any meaning in his life had burned to ash before his eyes.

Je suis desja d’amour tanné, Ma tres doulce Valentinée,

He closed the book and put it away on the highest shelf, out of sight.

*****

The chapter title (nothing has meaning anymore) is the motto adopted by Valentine of Milan upon the death of her husband, Louis d’Orléans.

Ammama: Grandmother Appachan: Grandfather Achan: Father Amma: Mother jeera: cumin seed

Isahak Lal is the son of Meera and Yakov Lal. You can read their story in all i was doing was breathing.

The spring training Miranda is talking about is, of course, referring to baseball.

The poem on Severus’s desk is A Farewell to Love by Charles, duc D’Orléans, the son of Louis and Valentine. Here is the full poem in English:

I am already sick of love, My very gentle Valentine Since for me you were born too late, And I for you was born too soon. God forgives him who has estranged Me from you for the whole year.

I am already sick of love, My very gentle Valentine. Well might I have suspected That such a destiny, Thus would have happened this day, How much that Love would have commanded.

I am already sick of love, My very gentle Valentine.

*****

libera nos a malo masterpost+

unstoppable force/immovable object masterpost+

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#snape x oc #ocappreciation #pro snape #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfic #severus snape fanfiction #second wizarding war #romance #angst #humor #inmyownlittlecorner5

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danwhobrowses · 5 years

Text

A Personal Rant before Sword and Shield comes out

I’ve sat idly by for months, tried to weather a few negative responses but given that it’s now 6 days from release and I’m hearing that devs are getting literal death threats I’m going to put my foot down

If you’re already shitting on a game that hasn’t been released yet, you are all juvenile bitches, and I’m about to tell you why.

Before we begin, I’m not saying that you’re not allowed to dislike a game, that happens, but usually it happens after you play a game, not before.

You are viewing this game through a keyhole and judging the room and what you’re seeing is not worthy of this much hate. Let’s start with the big one Dexit: Not as Big as You Think Having No National Dex is of course not ideal, but it doesn’t ruin the game. Let’s Go has no National Dex, all it had was Alola forms and nobody whinged about it. Ruby and Sapphire didn’t have a National Dex until FRLG, and nobody whinged about it. Sun and Moon and Ultra Sun and Moon do not have a National Dex And Nobody Whinged About It Do you know why? Because it’s not actually a big deal. People who complain about it are bandwagoning because ‘Dexit’ is a meme, its name literally parodies an event in current Britain that many people don’t actually want to happen. Now currently, the anger of Dexit is that Bulbasaur and Squirtle are not in it, which frankly is hilarious because the last wave of bitching was ‘Kanto mons are getting all the new stuff’. You wanna know how many main series versions Bulbasaur and Squirtle have not been in? Seven, only way to get them is trade and event. The other complaint is that there’s ‘only 400′ Pokémon. Remember those days where people were fine with 150? 400 is huge, in fact it’s 3 less than USUM and it’s not accounting for the Gigantamax forms Don’t let headlines fool you either, Sun and Moon had 302 Pokémon, it’s far from the ‘lowest dex number since 2003′. Do your own research with these things. Kalos’ regional dex was 151, BW2 was 300, BW 153, Sinnoh 210, RSE has 386 and GSC had 252 Don’t get me wrong, it smarts that some Pokémon isn’t there, but it’s not a dealbreaker, like let’s be honest here. For a good year and a half all your pokémon are gonna do is sit in an unused cartridge or a PC box, you’re literally whining about the fact that you can’t move your perfect IV Pokémon from one box to another. You could simply just let them stay in Let’s Go or USUM, you don’t have to use Bank or Home on continued subscription for that, so your complaints are only set on the foundation that you feel like you have to continually pay to not transfer your Pokémon, Finally, people act like these Pokémon are deleted forever, they’re not, this is for spacing to make sure this game doesn’t break down from the sheer mass of models and textures it has to maintain in a massive open world space, the local and online camping and battles. Just use the Pokémon that are there! There’s new Pokémon don’t you wanna try those? You can also look at FRLG or Emerald and consider that maybe more Pokémon will get patched in once the game proves to be stable. I don’t think you’ve noticed, but the Nintendo Switch isn’t as powerful as the other consoles out there, sometimes it runs like shit. Believe me on that one, Switch is still in a very buggy development phase. Let’s Go was kept small to test it’s capability and Sword and Shield can’t just fly in and give you all 1000 Pokémon just so one of the ones you want can be in there

You have to be much less obtuse with this, I mean this was a long time coming. You’re gonna have to live with the fact that not every Pokémon ever can be supported on one game alone. Disk, Download, Cartridge and Patch Sizes have limits in Compliance, you can’t just throw everything at it. Waah, the New Pokémon Don’t Look Good They do, you’re being petty. It happens every version, the people dislike the starter evolutions or just one in particular. Remember all the Oshawott hate? This all comes and goes because people have simply gone on the first instinct that ‘new and different is scary and should be shunned’ You’re that Simpsons meme when young Homer accuses Grandpa of not being ‘with it’ I won’t spoil to those who haven’t seen it, but I like the new starters, and some of the new Pokémon will need some growing but not every Pokémon looks good at first glance. If Mr Mime, Hypno or Gastly came out nowadays they’d be crapped on so much for lacking creativity or for looking weird. Look at Drampa as well, thing looks like Falkar from The Neverending Story, when I first saw it I thought it look weird but now I like it. You should offer these things time And actually fall back on past experience, you’re reacting like this isn’t the same thing that happens every version; the dex gets leaked, people whine about the evolutions, people get over it and accept that they overreacted. hIgH QuAlItY aNiMaTiOnS I’ve seen that video, 2 clips and you judge a whole game how classy of you? If you don’t see improvement you’re blind. You can’t shit on a game for keeping the battle animations, you can’t expect every Pokémon to move their own unique way to the exact position of the body part the opponent needs to get hit by, that’s just unrealistic. You’re also failing to equate to the new moves and all the new movesets. You have to ensure that each Pokémon is capable of calling this animation as well. The second clip in that video was Hop and Hau having the same rigging, and once again, that’s not abnormal. Rigging is not easy either, do it wrong and it sticks and deforms texture. There’s nothing wrong with Hop having one animation that matches Hau’s, you’ll probably find that many models actually have similar rigging as previous games. Because it’s not that big of a deal and it saves money, as an example look at Disney they copied hand-drawn motion and stuck a different character on them, Robin Hood’s Little John dances just like (animated, for those too young to know otherwise) Jungle Book’s Baloo The thing you’re also ignoring from that clip is the graphical improvement of Hop compared to Hau, Hau looks like a balloon with a smiley face but Hop’s face has depth and his mouth actually moves like a normal person, his clothes have far more contrast and complexity, but no just zero in on one fighting animation and one rigging that’ll surely be worth abusing a game that’s not even out... B-But Charizard I’ve already explained this before but Charizard is Leon’s main, it’s obviously going to have a Gigantamax, ergo it’s also going to be in the Dex. Does Charizard get a lot? Yes, but the reason is because Charizard is popular. One of the rarest cards is a Charizard Hologram Card, Charizard is one of the first version mascots, it is one of the most recognized Pokémon Ash has in the anime Reality of the matter is that like Pikachu, Charizard is a recognized Pokémon for all ages, it appeals to a demographic that’s not playing In Layman’s Terms: that part is not for you A reality you really need to face. Pokémon is a game for all ages, so elements of the game are not always going to be tailored to your age range. The gimmick of Dynamax and Gigantamax is for merch sales and young children because it’s got an audience there, you can’t expect the Biggest Entertainment Brand in the World to simply shut out a large fraction of its demographic just to appeal 100% to you And again, it’s not a big deal, so there’s a Charizard there, just save a Stone Edge and be done with it, if you hate Charizard so much this’ll be catharsis, but in actuality you’re complaining because it’s something to complain about Kanto are getting Everything That went down like a lead balloon didn’t it? Reminder that the first Gigantamax forms were Galar Pokémon, so you can’t really say that anymore. There are Galar forms from non-Gen I Pokémon too I assure you, but the reason Kanto gets a lot of them is because Kanto is the oldest. Let’s not pretend that other gens don’t get love either Or should I remind you of Mega Ampharos, Scizor, Heracross, Houndoom, Tyranitar, Blaziken, Gardevoir, Gallade, Mawile, Aggron, Medicham, Manectric, Banette, Absol, Garchomp, Lucario, Abomasnow, Steelix, Sceptile, Marshtomp, Sableye, Sharpedo, Camerupt, Altaria, Glalie, Salamence, Metagross, Latias, Latios, Rayquaza, Lopunny, Audino and Diancie? It’s true that the Johto starters could use something, but I don’t think they’re being purposefully ignored, perhaps the right design hasn’t come along. Rather it be done right than poorly wouldn’t you agree? The Devs Should’ve Done <Insert Thing Here> People who say this kinda stuff have no idea how a game is made. I have a First Class Bachelor’s degree in Computer Gaming and Animation Technology and I can tell you that none of the stuff you want them to do is easy. Even getting grass right is a complete hassle. You want small insights you should watch Corridor Crew react to Good and Bad VFX, they tell you about the mechanics of CGI a few times on those vids. This is what annoys me with the prior swipe at the Battle animations and rigging, even with 2 years this is a heavily massive workload and Game Freak have only recently expanded the team that work on Pokémon which makes communication much more widespread and difficult to manage, likewise they are working on other games too they are not just Pokémon, currently their next IP is why Toby Fox was able to do a bit of music for Pokémon, because he’s collaborating with them on another game. The work doesn’t stop, most of these people are overworked and still doing overtime, they bring out a good product and all it gets is ‘but it should have this’, and unless it’s a huge part of the game that’s needed to function then that’s really disrespectful Before you start critiquing on what the people making this game ‘should’ve done’ perhaps you should try to make a game yourself, because it is not easy even for pros, I call back to Toby Fox because creating Undertale took 32 Months to create, that’s 2 years and 8 months for those slow with math, it also took 3 years before it could be ported to Switch because the Engine couldn’t support the platform, Pokémon has less time to do that, greater graphical and animation quality to achieve and more characters to battle, attacks to animate and more songs to compose. Conclusion: You’re All Just Bitter I’ve already seen it happen recently but this group of people senselessly bashing something because of ridiculous demands, expectations or arguments based on a lack of understanding all combine into something I’m simply calling the ‘Bitterness Fandom’. It’s people hating for the sake of hating and trying to bring something down just because it’s been a popular force for so long, and it’s not just Pokémon that’s getting it It’s already been happening to Star Wars. The Last Jedi and Solo were great films but the Bitterness sank its fangs in and act like neither are as good as the original trilogy (like killing Snoke without knowing anything about him and Phasma before she could do anything is any different to killing Sidious and Boba Fett in Jedi or Maul in Phantom Menace and Grievous in Revenge of the Sith), a lack of awareness to reality and the desire to complain for the sake of complaining continues to infect Star Wars. We even have a thing called ‘Star Wars Fatigue’ Star Wars can’t release a film every year because of ‘Fatigue’ but Marvel can release 5 MCU films a year and nobody bats an eye. Those frustrations aside, I refuse to let the Bitterness sink in without me calling them out, because you are not Pokémon Fans. If you were you’d know that having no National Dex isn’t new, you’d know that the graphics have improved and leaks of the game happen every time, you’d know why Charizard is popular and that some features are not intended to be targeted at you Shock and Horror to the heavens above but games can’t do everything And if you’re that naive to think so then you’re clearly not doing your homework So let’s throw out an absolutely WILD suggestion shall we? Let’s decide our opinion on a game After playing it? Because shitting on something you don’t even have hands-on experience with it is a fragile pedestal to put yourself on. If we all think it’s bad then, so be it, but I sincerely doubt that is the case When my copy of Pokémon Sword gets delivered to my house I am going to enjoy it because I will not let petty and incorrect statements sway my feelings and I swear to Arceus if you think the Bitterness will bring down Pokémon that easily then you did not see the queue to the London Poké Center that had been amassing since midnight and was forced to stop taking more people when the doors opened What should matter is how you enjoy the game, play it before you judge it And honestly, don’t send death threats, why we need to tell you that is beyond me, the ones who made these games are people who have worked their asses off day in and day out to provide something you aren’t even going to play because one Pokémon isn’t in it, the irony is not lost on me when I say this but deep into the very bottom of my heart: Grow Up. If you don’t like the game, don’t play it, don’t bother people about it, we don’t need your shit here Enjoy the Game People

#pokemon #pokémon #pokemon sword and shield #Pokémon Sword and Shield #pokemon swsh #rant

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