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lizzaneia-elizalde · 8 months

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Yandere! Stereotypical! Emo x Stereotypical! Popular bitch! Reader

Okay, so this is a songfic... NSFW at it's most, a lime at it's least.

Not the songfic that has lyrics on them, but fics that are heavily inspired by songs. And this time, it's Emo Boy by Ayesha Erotica.

I'm not that knowledgable with Emos to be fair... I'm only doing it in a way where the fic reads like a stereotypical late 90's and early 20's teen flick! I think. I hope.

Also, the bitch here means someone who sleeps around quite a lot, and not the mean type. Just wanna put that out there.

So, I do apologize if I offended someone ಥ‿ಥ

Like any song fic, I recommend listening to Emo Boy while reading.

Yandere! Emo name: Ashton

TW: stereotypical Emo, stereotypical popular bitch

Ashton always had a fascination with the Emo lifestyle. He loved the music associated with it, especially the people indulging in the lifestyle. He loved how emotional and in tune they are with their emotions and is not afraid to show who they are.

When the got the opportunity to study senior high school in a small yet lively town, he knew he had to grab it.

And when he finally got out of the grasps of his conservative family, he felt free.

No more people calling him demon worshipper, finally (although, now that he thinks about it, aren't the goths the one being called demon worshippers?)

So with black skinny jeans, long, dark black hair that covered his eyes, rings, piercings, chains, sneakers, and a graphic tee shirt, he knew he was ready.

But what he didn't expect was being ostracized by being Emo.

But then, don't people like him always get bullied?

With a grumble while sitting on his chair, all alone, he gripped his pen while in the middle of writing a poem.

"Nobody understands me." Ashton muttered, his dark eyes a stormy grey.

This school he's in is filled with stereotypes, he just realized. Mean Jocks and Cheerleaders, two faced popular bitches, pushover nerds, slobbery otakus, social outcasts... He wonders if his life is a real life teen flick.

So rather than dive into the complicated social hierarchy, he just sits in his seat, reading and listening to MCR and P!ATD just like a true stereotype.

His life filled with such deep melancholy as he trudged in this hormone filled prison that he calls a school.

Hmm. He should write that in his journal.

But then he woke up in his bedroom, his hair having a cowlick he can't put down.

Okay... That's weird.

Then, when he tried to tease and straighten his hair, it won't budge, forcing him to let it stay wavy/curly and covet his eyes just like that.

Then, his favorite graphic tee was eaten by rats...

And his sneakers were accidentally bleached...

Then, as if the day was mocking him, it was really sunny and hot, smiling and cooking him in his dark ensemble.

"What the fuck..."

He suddenly felt a foreboding dread inside of him.

When he got in the school and sat down at his seat at the back, he heard whispers of a new person transferring to this school.

The talk of the town, y/n, was now being speculated which clique they will belong in.

And when they rolled in a pink rover, the school crowd knew they're going to be in the popular rich kids.

Immediately, you integrated into the clique like it was a natural thing to do.

With your quite the revealing clothes, your bimbo/himbo like personality, and your knack for bedding people if you wanted, you got into the social hierarchy just like that. Labeled as the slut, you paraded around the school with that title with your newfound friends.

Trendy, social, quite the airhead, yet charming in your own right, and such a seductive figure too. Nobody can resist your charms.

Not even Ashton.

He tried to fight back the attraction he had with you, and your fashionable pink fit, and fluttery eyelashes.

But he can't.

The hierarchy said no, and his brain also says no.

Yet his heart sings yes.

And he always follows his feelings and his heart.

It was small efforts at first. Poems, love letters filled with such romantic words.

All slipped in your locker, in a cute pink envelop and a sweet sampaguita smell on it.

You knew who it was from, and you loved it.

"Are you really interested in that Emo boy in the HUMSS department?" One of your friends asked, sipping on a disguised flask of alcohol.

You and your friends are in the rooftop, hanging out and skipping classes. Gossip flies out of your mouths and recent "relationships."

"Yeah I am. He's cute and funny... And him being soooo in touch with his emotions is soooo hot." You said, a typical valley accent on your tone.

You twirled your hair and bit your lip, a hot feeling in your body.

You really don't know why you're so attracted to him.

"I just really want to see and feel how good in bed he is." You nonchalantly added, fanning yourself a bit.

Your other friends grimaced a bit.

"... Really? But he's so..."

"Dark."

"Weird."

"And so complicated with his words."

"He's also always alone and listens to those sad emo bands."

You huffed and cocked your hips to the side.

"Hey! He's emotional and deep!" You rolled your eyes. "Besides, I just want to fuck him. I mean, I haven't been with an emo boy."

You thought back to how Ashton walks away from you in those tightest skinny jeans, his ass round and his legs toned.

You wondered really as to why you're so... Desperate to fuck him. Because most of the time, other people are the ones who want to fuck you.

Frustration welled up inside you as you groaned.

"Yeah I truly wonder why myself." You grumbled.

You grabbed the letter from your back pocket, reading Ashton's poem for you.

I burn for you. Your lips so tantalizing, So pillowy and so sacred. It's something I, so lowly am I, Cannot dream of locking with mine. I do not need to know if you're the devil, Tantalizing as you are, Or the deity you claim to be in my dreams, Bringing retribution to my dark and dreary life. Your body so tempting, I want to embrace and bury myself within you. I want to claim and mark you as my own, My bleeding heart corrupting your alluring self. But I know I can't. So I only look at you with starry eyes, As you shine the most beautiful in a pedestal that I molded in your visage.

You understood the poem a bit, and it irritated you.

"What do you mean you'll not pursue me?!" You yelled, gripping the letter. "I can't believe he'll confess like this and not... Go for me?!"

Your friends chuckled and read the poem and was surprised to see how whimsical this confession of lusty attraction is.

"Wow... Okay, I give you my blessing to bed him." One of your friends said and you rolled your eyes and snatching the poem away from him.

"I know. And I'm trying." You spat out. "I need a stress reliever. Let's go shopping."

What you didn't know is that Ashton is listening to your confession, and is fighting the urge to take you then and there.

He smirked and tried to calm his fast beating heart as he slowly unbuckled his pants, lust filling him as he continued to replay your confession of wanting to fuck him.

Maybe next poem will be an invitation to his house.

The sound of bed creaking filled the dark room, along with the pants and moans of two people indulging in the desire of flesh.

"Hmm fuck... Ashton..."

"Y/n you're so tight..."

You moaned as Ashton continued to thrust inside of you, his throat audibly clearing as sweat trickled down his throat.

Your eyes trailed down his body, loving the feeling of being under this man.

The hot and damp air encased the two of you, giving a secure and secret paradise, away from the prying eyes.

"Harder Ashton!" Your raspy voice demanded, gripping his arm as he pushed your thighs to the sides of your torso, bending your back as he went deeper, faster, and harder.

"God you make me feral..." Ashton groaned out, feeling your walls squeeze around him stubbornly, not wanting to let go as he pushed you into a mating press in an animalistic need to bury himself deep within you.

The bed creaked violently, accompanying the orchestra of your moans and groans as you both desperately reached your high, and when he spilled inside of you, you knew that you wanted more.

So you kissed him on the lips deeply, interlocking your tongue with his as you both worked into getting into it again.

Yet, as Ashton smirked and gripped your thigh once more, ready to go, a stray perfume bottle rolled under the bed from the movement, a label on the bottle printed "love potion" on it.

A sweet smell of sampaguita permeating as a drop fell on the floor, glowing.

So if you don't get it, Ashton sprays the love potion on the poems he gives you, making you irrationally desperate for him as he is for you xx.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

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bright-side20 · 3 months

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The Truth-Teller/Hofas Spoilers

It seems like people are hung up on Enalius possessing the TT in order to serve the Illyrian plot for Azriel, but in fact, that's selective reading. Let's see what is written in the books.

My sword blazed with light. That dagger shone with darkness. Both of them are crafted of the same black metal. Iridium, right?" She jerked her chin to Azriel, to the dagger at his side. "Ore from a fallen meteorite?" Azriel's silence was confirmation enough.

=Both blades are made from the same material of a fallen meteorite.

My father had never shown himself to be giving-long had he kept Gwydion and never once offered it to my mother. The dagger that had belonged to his dear friend, slain during the war, hung at his side, unused. But not for long.

Theia extended her hands toward the water, the offered blades. And on phantom wings, sword and dagger soared for her. Sum- moned to her hands. Starlight flared from Theia as she snatched the sword and knife out of the air, the blades glowing with their own starlight.

My mother returned that day with only Pelias and my father's blades. As she had helped Make them, they answered to the call in her blood. To her very power.

Conclusion: The Starsword and the Truth-Teller were both created in the same manner, crafted by Fionn and Theia. Fionn likely gifted the Truth-Teller to his best friend Enalius during the great war when Illyrians fought against the daglan to prevent them from reaching the Cauldron atop Ramiel. After Enalius's death, Fionn simply took his blade back.

_Azriel's secret lineage:

My mother eventually trusted only Helena and myself to seek the truth. She knew we could be of great use to her, because we bore the shadows as well as starlight.

=The blades simply represent both powers of the Dusk Court people: light and shadows.

We spent a month hidden in the enemy's stronghold, no more than shadows ourselves.

Doesn't that remind you of this :

ACOMAF:

“Like the daemati,” Rhys said to me, “shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can’t.”

=Daemati (mind reading) and Shadowsinger abilities are simply the powers of the Dusk Court/Avallen people, which is why they are rare, especially in Prythian.

_Foreshadowing from HOFAS :

Azriel, without Rhysand to translate, watched in silence. Bryce could have sworn shadows wreathed him, like Ruhn's, yet... wilder. The way Cormac's had been.

The male now held the Starsword at the ready, Truth-Teller gripped in his other hand.He must have had some sort of Starborn blood in him, then-a distant ancestor, maybe. Or maybe his possession of the knife somehow allowed him to also bear the Starsword.

That's a very obvious foreshadowing. It would explain why Azriel is so different from other Illyrians, why he can winnow, why Illyrians couldn't understand the origin of his Shadowsinger gift, and why it was merely assumed that he learned the language of shadows during his imprisonment.

_Az confirming that his shadows are magical:

His brows rose.... The shadows are made of magic, just very condensed.

_Where did Azriel find the Truth-Teller:

No one knows what became of Theia and General Pelias," I told countless generations. "They betrayed King Fionn, and Gwydion was for- ever lost, his dagger with it." I lied with every breath.

Silene made people believe that the dagger was also lost.

I made sure he knew that the buried weapon he'd need against the Asteri was down here.

While she told her son that the dagger is buried in the prison, therefore, Azriel found the Truth-Teller in the prison.

ACOMAF:

Azriel :"I'll go. The Prison sentries know me-what I am." 👀

So, tell me, what is more interesting: learning about Azriel's obvious Illyrian side, given that his father is an Illyrian, or discovering his secret lineage? Keep in mind that we know nothing about his mother. How did he manage to find the Truth-Teller? Why was he extremely possessive of it, yet decided to give it to Elain? This includes the famous scene that antis spent years trying to downplay, the scene in the coloring book, and on the ACOWAR cover.

_Can Azriel get access to the Truth-Teller's magic :

Can your dagger kill the unkillable, too?" "It's called Truth-Teller," he said in that soft voice, like shadows given sound. "And no, it cannot."Bryce arched a brow. "So does it tell the truth?" A hint of a smile, more chilling than the frigid air around them. "It gets people to do so."

This shows that he probably doesn't know the full potential of the dagger and that he used it for torturing people.

Vesperus took another step, steadier now, and smiled past Bryce. At Azriel, at Truth-Teller. "You don't know how to use it,do you?" Azriel pointed the dagger toward the advancing Asteri. "Pretty sure this end's the one that'll go through your gut." Vesperus chuckled, her dark hair swaying with each inching step closer. "Typical of your kind. You want to play with our weap- ons, but have no concept of their true abilities."

I think that Azriel is like Ruhn; he can wield the Starsword and the Truth-Teller. However, he cannot get access to their full power.

_Bryce using the Starsword and the Truth-Teller to kill Vesperus :

Bryce threw her power into the Starsword, light ripping through the black blade, willing it to tear this fucking monster apart- She willed it into Truth-Teller, and shadows flowed.

Elain :

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

=The shadows were the Truth-Teller's magic; it had answered to Elain's will and magic, killing the King of Hybern. Y'all Keep in mind that Elain is the first female to wield and use the Truth-Teller since Silene.

I want to add

_If there is someone who would be a descendant of Enalius, it's Cassian, and it's already foreshadowed:

ACOWAR :

Nesta listened to the low-level Illyrian soldiers whispering about how Cassian had thrown that spear, how he’d cut down soldiers like stalks of wheat, how he’d fought like Enalius—their most ancient warrior-god and the first of the Illyrians. It had been a while, it seemed, since they had seen Cassian in open battle. Since they’d realized that he’d been young in the War, and now … the looks they gave Cassian as he passed … they were the same as those the High Lords had given Rhys upon seeing his power. Like them, and yet Other.

ACOSF:

At twenty-one, he’d still been drinking and brawling and fucking, unconcerned with anything and anybody except his ambition to be the most skilled of Illyrian warriors since Enalius himself.

Enalius being the Illyrians leader and Fionn's bestie / Cassian is the Illyrians general and Rhys's bestie. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#hofas spoilers #azriel shadowsinger #pro elain #pro elriel #elain archeron #acotar thoughts #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #elriel supremacy

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h-doodles · 4 months

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@blood-red-ocean thank you for inspiring me so suddenly with your chat, now i'm choosing to be a :3 and show it to everyone <3

oh if the ROs remember their good ends with MC but she's with Miranda and the loops have stopped and MC DOESN'T remember you know it's gonna be an absolute angst pining mess.

• Bela's heart has been taken away and the spell reinforced but she cannot, she WILL NOT forget the MC she had loved. But this one? Oh, it hurts to see her so willingly blind, to see her tormentor living what was supposed to be HER happy ending. But MC is happy, so there is nothing she can do but to let her go and work on the restraints holding herself prisoner instead.

• Cass' is taken aback. It took her MC to learn what love truly is and she is READY to start winning her back, until she sees the empty expression in her face which bore no familiarity. And the fact that she isn't into theater the same way you were before? OOP.

• Daniela is broken. You became her rock and she was yours and you were away and happy and everything was wonderful for so many years and then???? you KNOW her emotions are gonna be fucked up. You guys actually got the most time together. And now it's NOT going to happen because you're happily by her side.

• Alcina takes a double take when she remembers what you shared, and the way she resolutely broke her bonds against Miranda FOR you. WITH you. But this? You willingly being in the cult, being Miranda's prized feather, being Eva's other mother? Well, there is nothing left to do... but to do her work.

• Angie is at first, understandably upset, but honestly I feel like she's the one who bounces out quick, bc what can SHE do against Miranda? And she has her coping strategies (however DANGEROUS) and I see her going back to that kind of crutch. But at the same time, she remembers the softness between you and promises herself to be better about it... at the very least. It's what you promised each other, after all.

• Donna's RABID. You know her possessiveness for what she deems hers is absolute, and that she's one bad day away from losing her tightly held sanity. It CHAFES to see MC with Miranda, to see that in the end, she has been left behind... AGAIN. She takes solace in Angie and definitely goes back to being a hermit, but at the same time... well. WELL.

• Miranda's... well. Miranda. This isn't an ideal situation, but she has MC secured. You are hers and she is yours, but sometimes she can't help but give you a reminder... and as well as a reminder to everyone else who covets her precious little feather.

#ANYWAYS HEHE LETS GO MEOWSIES I CANNOT WAIT TO HEAR THE REACS <3 #resident lover #resident lover mc #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #angie beneviento #donna beneviento #mother miranda #personal.txt #clown.txt

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storiesoflilies · 3 months

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Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: I actually quite enjoyed writing this chapter, so much to the point that I’m prioritizing this over my uni work. Oopsie!! Oh well, enjoy everyone! You may need some tissues :) Ko-Fi.

Next part — interlude (i)

-•-

Chapter 3

Time was no longer relevant to Y/N anymore.

Why bother counting down the days? She’d been stuck in this cell – this dreary, hopeless, and unbelievably hot cell – for what seemed like an eternity. Though it couldn’t have been that long, for Nanami’s blood still coated her skin like a bridal veil, providing a false sense of security as if he still watched over her even in death. Y/N knew his protection would run dry when she walked down the end of the aisle that was her life’s story – where there could be no happy ending waiting for her. Still, she coveted his blood, the lingering remnants of her golden guardian, as if memories of him were the last pages of holy text ablaze in this condemned world.

In the depths of Hell, Y/N wasted away like a rotting corpse not quite dead yet.

She knew she was in Hell because there could be nowhere else so oppressive: searing heat that dared her to cause even a slight offense, just so it had an excuse to burn her deeply and settle into the very marrow of her bones like a parasite. Still, she fought against it, curled like a pathetic fetus in a pitch-black womb, locked in a silent battle of sheer will. The same Curse who stole her golden guardian had somehow stopped the fatal wound on her stomach from ending her life, yet it had neglected to heal her other injuries – as if it wanted her to die a slow death.

“You don’t know, do you?” it had whispered in the deep dark depths, fascination falling from it like a waterfall. Y/N hadn’t answered, but still, the Curse continued on like a child that just wanted to be heard by someone, anyone. “Just how special you are.”

It called itself Mahito, decidedly masculine and manipulative, and he spoke with a whimsical tone unbefitting of the atrocities and sins he had surely committed; his words coated in sickly sweet sugar in attempt to lull her into a false sense of security. Nonetheless, he had saved her for reasons Y/N could never begin to guess; the scar on her midriff was testament to that fact. The wound had been sealed well enough; the scar was still fleshy and smooth to the touch, but she dared not look at it – it was all she had left of him and Gojo. Her body forever stained by her first, and perhaps only, encounter with him. She thought of him often, a focal point of imaginary light in the darkness, and dreamt of him whenever she slept; walking together among the cosmos of another universe, withstanding the test of time and fire. It was her only remaining comfort because Y/N couldn’t tell if her green eyed Curse was dead. She didn’t know how the soulmate bond worked really, or if it was strong enough to feel his essence if he wasn’t nearby, but she still clung to a fools hope that he wasn’t dead; that he had somehow grappled lightning and storms with his bare hands and won.

If he was alive, he would come for her; that much Y/N knew was true. She had felt his desperation when she and Nanami fought against Mahito, as if Gojo were an obstacle he couldn’t overcome quickly enough to get to her in time. And so, she could only lie there and wait for someone who may never arrive – a prisoner awaiting her sentence that bled black blood and slaughtered Angels.

The rough stone floor scraped her cheek as Y/N shifted into a tighter ball, her wing bones twisted unnaturally underneath her. Her feathers had suddenly fallen some time ago, like dead leaves from a shriveled bush, and she knew in her heart that they would never grow back again. The bones hung like useless appendages, unable to move no matter how much she willed them to, and started to reek of rotten flesh. It was only a matter of time before infection and fever set in, and Y/N wished she had the strength to reach over and pull them from their sockets, but her aching body had no such strength anymore; if she dared to move too much, she would surely die. She couldn’t die, not yet; she was still holding on to him, and to Nanami’s ghost telling her that she could persevere.

She heard a familiar clink and creaking of metal; the silver Curse had come to visit again.

Mahito sat in front of her; she could feel his breath wafting onto her face, a sliver of his teeth visible through the darkness, and mismatched grey and blue eyes glowing brightly. These visits from him were routine, like they were old childhood friends come to play a tea party with each other every day.

“Well, don’t you look positively wretched?” He remarked, as if he was praising her instead of insulting her. Y/N maintained her vow of silence; she would not speak a single word to her guardians bane.

Mahito didn’t seem offended by her silence at all, as he chirped away about bodies and souls and nonsense. Y/N nearly groaned at the absurdity of it all – here she was at deaths door, listening to a child preaching philosophy it mistook for age-old wisdom.

“…but they don’t know I have you here, and they might never. Is it so selfish of me wanting to keep you with me, just for a little while?”

She focused her gaze on him, and he gasped with delight, “Oh, so you are still in there! I was beginning to doubt you were listening to me at all.”

Her eyes flashed, begging him to continue, to explain what he meant.

“I suppose I haven’t really told you anything since I brought you here. You see… I wasn’t supposed to be there that day. I’m just a newborn to all of them; they don’t respect me at all because I still need to grow my strength. But they don’t see just how special I already am.”

Mahito started to rock back and forth; Y/N could hear him.

“And so I went up to Earth to help me grow stronger, to speed up the process of my evolution. I know I couldn’t possibly defeat your most special Angel, the one with the white hair… Satoru Gojo. By the way, you know he really actually loved you? His soul told me so; I could see it, but he just didn’t know how to love a soul like yours. I just thought you should know that.”

… what? Surely not.

“Anyways… I had really hoped that he wasn’t alone so that I could maybe grow from the fight. And oh my, your Nanami was a strong one. It was a glorious fight, he helped me so much more than you can imagine. But finding you? That was almost too perfect. I’ve never found out what effects my cursed energy has on a soul that has found its mate, but I’m so very interested in seeing what happens.”

Mahito sighed, a long deep sigh, like someone who was already tired of living. “I really hope they don’t find you. I don’t think anyone knows it was me who stole you away, and I want to keep you here with me. You’ll surely help me grow even more.”

Stole?

Y/N’s energy rapidly drew back like the sea from the shore in preparation for a tsunami; such was the state of her, random bouts of wakefulness with the constant threat of falling back into an unconsciousness state. She felt herself slipping back into the abyss, Mahito’s words miles away from her now, breaking away like dried mud.

-•-

The fever manifested soon after, but it was the ensuing delirium that was going to be the end of her. Her once pristine wings were burdened by disease, sickly pus droplets clinging to them; infecting and instigating a malevolent transformation within her mind.

Prancing around gardens, you silly wicked thing.

Y/N’s cell was no longer black, but a bright red hue, akin to the color she saw when she closed her eyelids and looked directly at the sun. She saw the faces of everyone she had ever known and lost, and each time she glanced over her shoulder, Nanami lingered behind her; silent and stoic, never saying a word as he stared at her with a single eye – looking just as he did the day he died. Overwhelmed with emotion, Y/N couldn’t restrain her tears from falling. If this was to be her ascension into Paradise, she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to go traverse this path of misery and delusions.

Don’t you know that’s how you get scratched into pieces?

She saw Gojo suspended high above them, a distant expression clouding his blue eyes. Y/N didn’t think he was upset; instead, he seemed as if he was finally understanding the very meaning of their existence in the world. It was as if he was being cradled in the invisible hands of God, completely ecstatic in his trance. His face was covered in blood, hair and armor unkept and dirtied, and a fatal wound to the neck oozed fresh blood. It was a stark contrast to the well put together and suave Satoru she had known before. It unnerved Y/N as she decided she didn’t like this transformation, and looked away.

But then maybe you deserve to be cut by all these thorns?

The visions shifted to Y/N in her bedroom, reclined on her bed, bathed in that familiar red hue streaming in through the windows. Everything was as she remembered leaving it; ripe figs on her nightstand, perfect bluebell flowers from Gojo in a crystal vase filled with clear water beside it. Oh how she would give anything to be there now, instead of whatever illusion she was stuck in now; a tantalizing, teasing vision of comfort and familiarity. Y/N doubted she would ever get it back again, and tried her hardest to savor it.

Wicked things deserve to be punished you know?

Nanami laid beside her, his hand covering the empty eye socket, and Y/N looked at him, willing him to say anything, just anything. Was the presence of his soul a symbol of something vital within her mind, silently communicating to her through the fever? Perhaps it was his ghost haunting her, unable to move on, expressing his anger at how he gave his life so violently for hers; maybe he was the real fever.

And you’re the worst of them all, the very worst I’ve ever seen…

Nanami turned to look at her, and her heart jumped. He looked pained, as if his words yearned to escape, but were bound by a vow of silence. She reached out to him, gently brushing a stray lock of golden hair from his forehead, and breathed in his calming scent. No, he would never punish her like this or subject her to delusions and pain; he was too kind and good, the very best of the Angels.

A flicker of sanity.

The red hue pulled back ever so slightly, and Y/N knew she was still in her cell. But there was someone coming; she heard distant footsteps approaching – perhaps Mahito? Would he put her out of her misery? No, the footsteps were too soft, familiar. She’d heard them before, knew to whom they belonged to without having to see anything at all.

You cut me in two, and now you think you’re free?

She was enveloped in red once again, Nanami’s presence returned, but he gripped her hand with a sense of urgency and fear. Y/N couldn’t bear to see him in such a state, and she promptly squeezed his hand back in a silent pledge of unified strength. Amidst the crimson haze and orchestrated delusions, it all became clear to her now – the visions he’d been showing her. He’d been patiently waiting for her all this time so they could move on together; the stunning saga of their lives now entwined for a final chapter.

“We can both go now…” she mumbled, neither here nor there.

You will never be free, not from me.

And suddenly, they both materialized in the meadows of the training grounds of Heaven, sullied by a red sky, hands tightly clasped together. Geto stood before them, a vision of benevolence and mercy, his katanas gleaming in the light of Heaven’s morning. Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and weep with joy as her inner turmoil melted away – her brother’s presence providing a welcome solace she didn’t know she needed so desperately. She would be at peace, as Geto would lead them both to Paradise, to bask in God’s light, and heal them from all they had endured.

“Oh, dear sister, where are you now?” he asked, featherlight fingers tenderly stroking her jaw, long black hair flowing like a dark river over his shoulders.

Y/N was confused by his words. Where? Why she was everywhere all at once, and Nanami was here too. Couldn’t he see her golden guardian?

“Hmm… this won’t do at all. Come with me; you’ll be alright now, that’s it,” Geto declared in that same soft tone she knew so well. The overwhelming surged relief through her, both astounding and crippling, as if the weight of the world had been lifted in that moment.

Her axis shifted as Geto carried her battered body in his arms, traversing through the meadow; through the deep dark prison.

It’s after dark, you know? But this garden still grows.

Through the cool green grass, amidst dim corridors and oppressive shadows, Y/N watched her world go by her from the familiar embrace of Geto’s arms. His dark robes swished purposefully with each step, as Nanami walked alongside him – a steadfast presence as always. She absorbed every moment, feeling the inevitable conclusion of her life approaching, and reveled in the crescendo of it all. She hadn’t sinned; God was pleased with her, and being granted a slice of Heaven was the greatest honor of her life.

Soothing warm water enveloped her, yet Y/N shivered, as she found herself in the bathing pool in Gojo’s tower; her body bare and naked as God intended. She felt divine, holy, the epitome of blessings. Geto’s hands washed her gently, almost hesitating, as if he feared her skin would melt from her bones. Y/N felt like it was, and by God, all she wanted to do was merge seamlessly with the water. Nanami stood silently behind Geto, regal and proud, observing her being cleaned.

“We’re going soon, you’ll see…” Y/N said to Nanami, trying to reassure him as her eyes rolled back into her head.

Geto rubbed her thighs, scrubbing away the world’s impurities from her, and said softly, “No, you’re not.”

“But, aren’t you here to guide us both?”

“No sister, I’m here to make you better.”

Y/N grew silent, awareness creeping back into her bones like an old friend. Nanami’s form became translucent, a haunting ghost barely visible. They were not in the bathing pool; instead, she was in a large bronze bathtub Geto washing her, and Nanami’s ghost still lingering. Her guardian looked down at her with regret as realization dawned on his fair features, yet Y/N still didn’t understand a thing.

“Geto… I’m supposed to be going with Nanami. Look, he’s waiting for me; he’s standing behind you.”

Geto stopped his ministrations, his head tilting curiously to the side as if he was earnestly trying to sense what she could see. His warm brown eyes swept over her body, pity casting a somber shadow over him, and rested on her wings, a disapproving tut escaping his lips.

“Forgive me sister, but you need to let them go. They’re killing you now.”

Nanami looked away sharply, as if he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore, and Y/N frowned.

And then, Geto reached over and gripped both her wings at the base of their sockets in her shoulder blades. Before she could utter another word, he pulled sharply, a sickening slicking and popping noise resonating as her wings brutally detached from her body. Y/N gasped in shock and pain, convulsing violently in the bath, murky water sloshing over the sides. Geto hushed her gently, holding her arms as firmly as he could in an attempt to calm her.

The hours are passing, don’t you feel lonely?

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” Geto whispered, his tender touch returning to the task of washing her.

Y/N whimpered, her gaze shifting between him and Nanami, finally comprehending the meaning behind her delusions as his blood was washed from her skin. The veil was lifting, but it wasn’t to be the end for her, and they both knew it. Geto smiled kindly at her, warmth radiating from his eyes.

“It’s ok,” she said to Nanami. “You’re right, I can take it from here… I know I can do this now.”

Geto hummed, or perhaps it was Nanami, and cupped his hands together, pouring water over her head. “And what is it you can do?”

Y/N didn’t answer, her head rolling backwards weakly. Geto quickly held the back of her head, preventing it from dipping back into the water. Nanami took steps backwards from them, hesitating, looking up at the sky with a profound sense of longing. Her golden guardian wasn’t meant for her anymore; he was destined to soar through the skies and stars high up above. Nanami Kento was born from light, and to light he would return – not condemned to remain in this blazing prison of sinners.

“You’re not meant to be here. Go on,” Y/N urged, trying to be encouraging, as gentle as Geto’s hands on her bare chest; the last traces of Nanami’s blood washed away from her.

Of course you’re lonely, you always have been. You think I didn’t know?

Her guardian turned to face her one more time, a smile curving his lips – the same one just before his body turned into a rainfall of blood. This time, she smiled back at him, an understanding exchanged in the face of their final farewell.

“Be at peace,” Geto murmured, but whether he was addressing Nanami or her, Y/N didn’t know.

And then, Nanami stretched his arms over his head in pure bliss, his body engulfed in an ethereal light, ascending towards the red hued sky, disappearing in a blaze of hope and gold. It was cathartic and pure; she couldn’t help but start to weep with joy. Geto stroked her hair, whispering gently in an attempt to soothe her, as he started to lift her from the water; wrapping her in soft satin robes, and carrying her once more.

Y/N slipped back into the darkness.

-•-

She awoke to the feel of fresh linen sheets covering her body, and contentedly moved her legs, however a dull pain in her back immediately stopped her movements. Y/N winced, her memory gradually returning as she became more awake. Her wings were gone; she knew it to be true, yet she still felt their phantom presence. She tentatively reached behind her, almost hopefully, as if they might miraculously still be there – but all she felt were rough bumps of stitches woven into her skin. The overwhelming heat she felt when she first descended into Hell was now gone, and Y/N found that she was pleasantly warm. The room she was in was dimly lit by torches of blue flames, with lavish dark purple curtains drawn partly closed, revealing a dark and lifeless sky. The furniture, crafted from bronze and dark wood, was rich and deep, meticulously arranged in beautiful display.

The door behind her creaked open, and she turned around.

Geto.

Her heart leaped with adoration as he graced her with that familiar smile she cherished so much. Her brother was here, in the deep, dark depths, and it felt as if nothing had changed between them, and he stood before her just as he once had.

“How are you feeling, dear sister?” he asked, sitting down in front of her against the edge of the bed, hands clasped together politely.

Y/N whispered, “Like I’ve been dragged through Hell.”

Geto laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile along with him. He seemed guiniely happy, joyous even; what had even changed to begin with?

“You have been, that much is true,” he agreed, shaking his head and chuckling lowly.

“Thank you… for helping me.”

“Of course, although I do apologize for your scars, because those I cannot fix.”

He rose from the bed, pulling aside the curtains, and silently gazed out the window, “You’ve been asleep for seven days and nights, you know? Did you dream at all?”

Y/N attempted to recall anything at all, but there was nothing – only darkness and that red color behind her eyelids. “No… no I didn’t. Suguru, tell me what happened.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted, and in that moment, as she gazed at Geto’s side profile, the stark transformation in her brother became glaringly apparent. There was a harsh, foreign look in his brown eyes, as cruel and unforgiving as steel, and his jaw clenched with ominous resolve.

“I’m sure you know that Curse who took you, Mahito,” he began, tearing his eyes away from the window to fixate on her with that angry look. “That stupid fucking thing has no idea what he’s been playing at.”

Y/N was taken aback as the curse word fell from Geto’s lips as naturally as breathing, but she said nothing as he continued, “Of course, it wasn’t until he started babbling about how he had seen Gojo with two other Angels the day of the attack; one of them a fair haired one and the other a female. It was obviously Nanami when he described the way he fought, and then I knew that it must have been you there too. I deduced he must have been the one to take you, hiding you almost perfectly if he hadn’t decided to talk too much.”

Geto sighed heavily, a regretful look passing over him.

“You weren’t supposed to be there, it wasn’t apart of the plan. I knew that we might have crossed paths once again as enemies on the battlefield, but I honestly hoped that we never would see each other again…”

He looked at her once more with suspicion in his eyes. “But that does beg the question, Y/N,what exactly were you doing there?”

“Nanami said he had said he had noticed traces of a strange Curse, and he wanted me to go with him and track it. Gojo found out and came along with us.”

“And why exactly? Satoru wouldn’t waste his time on something so menial, it’s beneath him.”

“He… he proposed to me the day after you fell. I’ve never descended to Earth without him since.”

Geto looked at her sharply, quizzically. Y/N looked down, almost in shame, as if she were to be punished for telling him the truth.

“Were you married then?”

“No, the wedding was still being planned.”

“Good, so then you aren’t a widow. That makes this a bit easier.”

A widow?

Satoru Gojo is dead?

Geto stared at her, as if trying to decipher exactly what was going through her head; like he was trying to see if she was going to break down and shatter with grief and sorrow. Of course, Y/N was shocked – the greatest seraph that ever was and would be was dead. Someone she had known her whole life, gone and faded to ash. In that moment, she saw all the lives Geto had taken; the Sky Sentries and Gojo’s followers. Here was a cold blooded Curse that stood before her, calculating and aware.

“You’re not struggling as much as I thought you would,” Geto remarked, his head tilted curiously at her. “You mustn’t have loved him.”

“I-, I did,” Y/N started, sitting up as she struggled to find the right words to say. “But not in the way I wanted to love my future husband.”

“Of course not, and he must have known that. What a selfish prick, he knew you couldn’t say no to him. He must have proposed in front of the masses, oh what a great declaration of his love and strength to protect you. Some job he did.”

Geto was seething, snapping like a dog protecting a bone, crazed and cold-hearted at the memory of his once closest friend. It was silent for a long time before he came and sat at the edge of the bed, grasping her hand in his.

“He picked you because of me, and for that, I am even more sorry,” he said, head bowed low, anger gone in a flash as his long hair brushed against her hand.

“I did care about him, Suguru. I think, given time, I would have eventually learned to love him. He… he was changing, after you left. With me, Gojo was different, but maybe he was like that with you anyways, so I’m not sure.”

“Well then, I am sorry you lost him too as well as Nanami. It must have been the blackest of days for you.”

They were silent again, and Y/N breathed heavily as the weight of their conversation and the ache in her back bore down on her like a whip.

“May I?” Geto politely inquired, his fingers at the top button of her nightdress. Y/N nodded, and he deftly unbuttoned the dress, parting it to look at her wounds.

He produced an amber tub from his robes, opening it quickly and smeared a thick, herb-scented ointment over her stitches. She shivered at its coolness.

“Does it hurt?” Geto asked worriedly, his hands lifting from her skin.

“No, I’m okay,” she whispered, eyes closing, allowing her brother to soothe her aches and pains.

But there were still truths Y/N had to uncover shrouded in the shadows. She was owed knowledge, and Geto had to give her the courtesy of an honest answer. She hoped it would be honest, at least; he was a Curse now, and honesty was no longer in his nature.

“Why did you choose to fall?”

A dark look passed over Geto’s face, a haunted memory of oppressive demons surfacing, and she almost regretted asking in the first place.

“Because I want things in the world to change.”

Just like Gojo said not so long ago, only he had wanted to change himself and not the ways of the world.

“You see, there reached a certain point for me, and it was when Haibara died. I thought, what is the point of continuing to fight a war that has already been fought for a thousand years? More of us continue to die, and it will never ever end if it continues as it does now. I asked myself, what can I do myself to change things?”

He rubbed the last of the ointment into her back, and buttoned her dress up again.

“The way things stand, there are two outcomes – either the Angels win or Curses. But if Angels won, vanquishing Sukuna and all the Curses that dwell now, it wouldn’t really matter. The Heavenly Principles are still in place, and free will is still a blessing upon us all, therefore sin is inevitable. More curses would be born again, Angels will still fall, cast out from a home that they have fought for and defended. And why should it be so? Because Heaven deems them sinners, regardless of their good deeds?”

He sighed heavily, continuing, “And if Curses win and Heaven is burnt to ash, there would be never be another Angel born into the world again. Sure, there may be war and discontent within the Hells, that is a given, but it would never be as eternal or as wasteful as the war we fight now.”

“And so you’ve decided to decimate Heaven and every soul that resides there.”

“Yes.”

It was the way he said that, so simply, like it was as natural as a rain falling to the ground. Suguru Geto had a plan, he had the spark to his fire, and all he had to do was get to the place he needed to reach. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat; as she put together the pieces of everything he had told her. How Geto must have suffered in silence, his closest friend and sister never noticing a thing as he questioned everything he believed in. And still, he had chosen to embrace the fire and condemn them both to his ideals.

“If we had met earlier, I would have tried to convince you to turn too, to fight alongside me and reshape the world according to our vision. I attempted to persuade Gojo the last time we spoke together, but he refused to listen, as he chooses to ignore that his strength could achieve all our goals if he so wished.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say, almost reluctant to acknowledge his confession. How could she be certain he wouldn’t have tried to kill her? However, there was something else more pressing on her mind than Geto’s ambitions.

“Suguru… why did you say Mahito took me away?”

Geto froze momentarily, and fear flashed across his face as swiftly as a lightning strike. Y/N’s heart raced even faster, the fear bubbling up within her; the scar on her stomach suddenly burning wildly.

“Like I said,” Geto began uneasily, clearing his throat. “Mahito has no idea what he’s been playing at. He can see souls within the body like a living, breathing thing inside us all. He knew the consequences if he was found out, and yet he did it anyway.”

“Suguru, what did he do? What does it have to do with me or you?”

“I hope you do not think less of me when I tell you this… I’m the King of the Third Layer of Hell, and Mahito is one of my strongest, albeit one of the youngest, denizens to reside in my court. He has stolen and knowingly hidden you, despite the bounty for your location within the Hells, and by doing so, he has put my Layer at risk for war.”

Her mind reeled at this information; at the power her brother now held in the palm of his hands.

A bounty on me?

“Who’s after me Suguru?”

“I think you know, sweet sister.”

Her green eyed Curse, the champion of storms; he had lived after all.

“His name is Toji Fushiguro, and he is the King of the Second Layer of Hell.”

Geto looked painfully guilty, his head turned from her shamefully.

“He has been looking for you ever since he killed Satoru, and… I have already dispatched a messenger to say that you are resting and healing in my home.”

He’s coming for me.

“Yes,” Geto replied, and Y/N realized she had said it aloud.

“Am I doomed?”

“I don’t know.”

Another stop in time, as she considered another revelation; something that may have already meant she was condemned to her soul burning in Hell. It would explain why the searing heat she fought so hard against didn’t bother her anymore, why her blood ran warm and true, and why she could no longer smell the sulphur in the air anymore.

“If it’s not what you want, then I can help you to escape him.”

“How?”

“I can help you ascend back to Earth, but only there. After that, you would be on your own to find your way back to your people, but I cannot stop him from finding you before you get there. I will also assume that you have chosen never to side with me, and if I came across you again, then we may very well kill the other.”

None of that might matter if she was already condemned; there would be no way back to Heaven.

“Suguru, please get me a knife.”

He frowned, “Y/N, don’t cause yourself more harm. I won’t let you die on my watch, and neither will he.”

“Suguru please, I need to see something.”

Geto relented, handing her a clean dagger hidden beneath his obsidian robes. She took it from him, and pricked her thumb with the blade and squeezed hard. A trickle of red blood escaped from the pierced flesh, and Y/N breathed a sigh of relief as the nausea dissipated from her stomach.

Until red turned black as ink; flowing down her hands like a river of sin and despair.

-•-

101 notes · View notes

undermounts · 8 months

Text

and other forgotten things

Summary: One year into his imprisonment, Aerin receives his first visitor.

Or alternatively, my version of the ch. 2 prison scene because I wanted more angst and anger <3

Read it here on AO3

Aerin is no stranger to envy.

He has spent his life wanting. Knowledge, affection, attention, power. Things he coveted but could never have from a family that did not want him, a kingdom that would not have him. Such was his lot in life, from the very beginning. He is Aerin Valleros, second son of the Gentle King, brother to the Crown Prince.

Or at least he was.

Now, Aerin is… well, he no longer knows what he is. A nobody, perhaps. Or worse than that, he is forgotten. He is a dark stain on a long and questionable legacy, the corrupt end to a line of corrupt rulers. He is an afterthought, a bad memory, an unwanted trinket that had long since lost its novelty, just another object to be tossed away with all of the other lost and broken things.

Aerin Valleros, brother to no one, heir to nothing.

And still, he wants.

The thirst for knowledge—a most noble pursuit, his tutors had always said—has never waned. But affection, attention, power!—his ambition, his hunger, has been dampened. He has lived without each before, and he shall live without each again. He will do so gladly if it means he can have the one thing he now desires above all else: freedom.

A small window, set in cold, grey stone—his only connection to the outside world. The mingled chatter of people crossing the streets far below drifts up through the bars, too distant to be distinguishable. People, his people, living.

In the hallway outside his cell, Aerin hears the scuffle of boots against ancient stone, the clink of armor, the whisper of fabric; his guards moving in another rotation. So soon? Aerin cannot help but wonder, questioning his own perception of time. How reliant he has become on the routines of his keepers, the punctual rotation of their shifts serving as his only means of marking the passage of time since he was left–discarded–in this cell a year ago.

Softly, distantly, he mourns, A year…

His name day–twenty one years now, he has lasted–came and went, alone in his cell. His father never even sent word, no acknowledgment that his second son–his only son, now–still existed.

A metallic, shimmery noise, a dozen keys rattling together and then–click!

Aerin blinks as the door to his cell swings open. Too early for mealtime, his mind races, a tasteless bowl of sludge.

All thoughts trickle out of his head as a figure enters his cell, clad in black leather armor, the scent of ash heavy in the air. For a moment, Aerin recalls volcanic fields and the constant presence of fear and agony all around him, but then his impossible reality reforms around him and he stares, slack-jawed .

“Iliana.”

Aerin does not mean to say her name, had vowed to never speak of her, never think of her again. But she is here, miraculously, cursedly, before him, in his blasted cell, a sight he never thought he would see beyond his dreams, his nightmares.

But it is in his nature to be wary, and life in court has taught him that deception is a means for survival. He stands, establishing equal ground, and lets his mask fall over him like a shroud.

“I wondered if you’d ever come and visit me,” he says evenly, each word pleasant but caustic. “It certainly took you long enough.”

How often, in the early days of his imprisonment, had he thought of this moment? At first, he dreamed that she would come to him, beg for forgiveness–how she had wronged him!– to proclaim her dedication to right this wrong, to free him, to undo the damage she had done. Then, as the days dragged on into months, and despair, desperation, and regret–the hurt!–set in, his visions of her shifted. She was vengeance: her blades, her bow, her fists–the arbiters of a swift and terrible justice, acting on behalf of herself, her brother, her friends, and Morella. Some nights, he even begged–let it be quick.

It is hatred, it must be, he thinks, that threatens the stability of his bones now. And fear of her, the woman who had been his undoing. Everything that has come for him after is well-deserved; this he cannot deny, no matter how much it stings. His betrayal and hers, they are wounds he will never heal from.

And yet, Aerin is not prepared for the way Iliana winces. She had deceived him so thoroughly in the Dreadlord’s throne room, he sometimes forgets that she was not trained as he was to hide her emotions. They flit across her face now, pain and grief. Then, anger.

“Apologies, prince,” she snaps, her black leather gloves groaning in protest as she clenches her hands into tight fists. “I’ve been a little busy this past year.”

Aerin scoffs. “I’m sure you were. Celebrations and banquets in your honor must be exhausting.” He rolls his eyes, flinging the words at her like knives. “That’s the price you must pay for leading the life of a hero, I suppose. A heavy burden, you poor thing.”

“That’s not what I–” Iliana cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. She tilts her head and, oh, Aerin does not like that one bit, the way she studies him, as if she is looking right through him. Then, shockingly, pity clouds her face. “No one told you.”

Unease, slick and oily rolls through him. If the words come out a little harsher than he intended—well. Word from the outside world has not breached these walls in months. He is tired of being kept in the dark. “Told me what?”

Iliana takes a deep breath and turns away, her attention straying to the small window of his cell as she folds her arms across her chest. The silence drags on long enough and Aerin feels tempted to shatter it, to demand that whatever information she withholds be released. But then her eyes slide to him and she breathes heavily again, fingers curling against her arms. It occurs to Aerin that her posture looks less guarded and meek almost, like she is embracing herself, comforting herself.

And, damn him, his voice goes soft and careful. “Tell me what? What happened?”

To you. What happened to you?

Iliana drops her arms to her side, then lifts one hand to her hip, searching. But whatever she is looking for, she does not find it, and her hand hangs limply in the air. “I was gone. In the Shadow Realm.”

Fear, shock, intrigue–it is a heady blend that races through him. Aerin takes a shuffling step forward, then halts. He does not know what he intends to do. Go to her? Comfort her? She certainly does not want that, not from him, and he does not know if he can bear it either.

“Why?” he demands instead, drawing a line down the center of his cell, a boundary he will not cross while she remains. “How?”

“Valax,” she answers, and the name clangs around Aerin’s skull with no small amount of dread. He knows it and knows to be wary of it. “She captured me. Experimented on me.”

“To what end?” he breathes out, blinking rapidly as spots cloud the edge of his vision. The Empire of Ash, playing their hand already. “Why you?”

Iliana’s gaze sharpens. “You know her.”

“Know of her,” Aerin corrects, shaking his head. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Iliana says shortly and turns away again. She drifts to the window, keeping her back to him as she says, “Before you ask again—I do not know why. I don’t remember much.”

Her falsehood rings clear in the air, Aerin can see it in her rigid posture, defensive and bracing. How? How had she ever deceived him, this orphaned elf from Riverbend, when she cannot even look him in the eye to lie?

He knows the answer: because he wanted to believe her.

Remember that night together in the forest glade? Our kiss? That was real, Aerin. And it’s still real.

He banishes the thought, grinds it under his boot, but something in him still aches, still yearns. She looks so unsettled that he decides to let her lie hold, something he will circle back to later.

“Are you…” It is difficult, still, to force the words out. To ask this, it feels too much like an admission, an exposure of weakness. He swallows. “Are you well?”

Iliana whirls, and her eyes, glittering ores of emerald, cut through him. Whittling him down to the bone. “What do you care?”

Indignation flares up in him and he glares. “Do you think me incapable of compassion?”

She laughs, a cold and jagged thing, and slashes her hand through the air. She paces back to the entrance of his cell, her steps harsh. “Incapable? Perhaps. But I know better by now than to believe anything you do or say after you lied to us all.”

“Do not forget that you lied to me as well,” Aerin snaps, distantly aware of the guards shifting just beyond his cell. They are listening, he realizes. To report back to the king? To intervene and rescue Iliana if they deem him too dangerous, too volatile? They are listening, and political training be damned, he does not care. “That you would still have me. That we—it was real. You lied.”

He expects Iliana to shout at him, wants her to—her anger, he can bear—but she only sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth, her face at once stricken and furious. When she speaks, it is to the ground, the dusty slab of stone that spans the space between them. “It wasn’t a lie, Aerin.”

He barks out a laugh, full of anger and bitterness, because that is all he has, all he is, all that he can give. Anger, bitterness.

And regret. So much regret, he could drown in it.

“You don’t believe me, I don’t believe you,” he says coolly, forcing his voice to even out, despite how wildly his heart races. “Let us leave it at that.”

Iliana opens her mouth, then clamps it shut, looking for all the world like she might protest. But in the end, she only shakes her head, resigned, and leans back against the metal door of his cell. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoes and they lapse into an uneasy silence. It is the closest thing, perhaps, they will ever have to an accord.

Aerin takes their momentary cease-fire to truly study Iliana as she stands before him, glaring at her feet and refusing to meet his gaze. He still cannot believe that she is here, after all this time. Her black leather armor, he notes with grim consideration, is standard issue for Ashen warriors. Her blue skin is pale, but otherwise unmarred, save for the scars she already bore. No signs of physical abuse, or just the work of a really good healer.

An entire year in captivity. Gods… Despite it all, he is grateful that she does not remember much. There is no way to tell how she might have changed, how her spirit might have dimmed. No matter what he feels about her—hate, anger, sorrow—Aerin finds that he does not wish to see her harmed.

“When did you return?” he asks, breaking the silence between them with an easy question, a tentative olive branch.

Iliana eyes him warily. “This morning.”

“This morning?” Aerin starts at that, forgetting himself. For a stupid, pathetic moment, something flutters eagerly against his ribcage, although he squashes the feeling down. “I must be one of your first appointments, then,” he remarks dryly, tilting his head. “What brings you here?”

Iliana’s gaze hardens and her expression shifts into something like grim triumph. Aerin does not know where he misstepped but he gets the impression that they have entered a game and she already has the winning move.

“Tell me everything you know about the Ash Empire,” she demands, hands framing her hips. “And don’t pretend you don’t know anything. You already admitted to knowing about Valax.”

“Why should I?” Aerin waves a hand through the air, dismissive. “What would you offer me in return? You are clever enough, I’m sure you could find answers on your own.”

“Or I could get answers from you and stop wasting time,” Iliana bites out, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezes her eyes closed in frustration. Then, she drops her hand and fixes him with a look that speaks only to her exhaustion—with him, with the Shadow Realm, with everything. “You owe me. You owe me this much.”

He… supposes he does.

Aerin sighs heavily. Sharing knowledge is a task Aerin has always taken a shine to. Few things are more important than learning more, and helping others to learn. This attitude, he thinks, may be the best thing his tutors ever taught him. But the Ash Empire… The dark kingdom is a topic he does not relish remembering.

Still, Aerin shares what he knows, some of it, at least. Foundational knowledge. The Ashen Empress is the true ruler of the Realm and the Shadow Court had been but a fledgling resistance to her reign, one whose hopes of success had been bashed repeatedly by failed attempts to take over the Realm of Light. He speaks briefly of his own role in the Dreadlord’s bid for power against the Empire, doing his best to tamper down any rancid feelings he still nurses about the entire ordeal.

Anything more, he must keep for himself. Future bargaining chips. Perhaps, if he can remain useful, well… Maybe not all is lost for him.

“With the Dreadlord dead, I imagine the Ash Empire is already hunting down any remaining members of the Shadow Court,” Aerin hedges as he wanders over to the window, drumming his fingers against the ledge.

He feels Iliana at his back, her attention heavy on him. “Sounds like the Empire will be coming for you next.”

She is right, he knows. It is a reality he has long since come to terms with, but still, the reminder sends a bolt of fear into his spine. His fingers go still against the stone.

“If the Ash Empire makes it to the Light Realm, they’ll probably take special care in how they eliminate you.”

What do you care? he wants to snap, spitting Iliana’s words back at her. Instead, he only shrugs, keeping his gaze trained on the city outside the window. Something like yearning tugs in his chest.

“So,” Iliana continues, her irritation with his disinterest bleeding into her voice. “It would be in your best interests to tell me everything.”

Aerin arches his brow, glancing over his shoulder. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Knowing you for more than five seconds.”

A dry laugh slips out of him and he turns around, leaning against the wall with his hands laced before him. “Planning to protect me, are you?”

“I’m planning to protect everyone,” Iliana corrects, rolling her eyes. “If I am to stand a chance protecting the Light Realm against the Empire, then I need to know everything.”

She is so… She is everything he read about, everything he dreamed of being as a child. A hero.

He pities her. For her naïveté, for believing that she can fix every problem that comes her way. Almost as much as he envies it. She has never known true failure, not yet. When she does—and it is inevitable—then, she will understand. What she has now, her determination, her purpose—it cannot last.

Aerin looks away, running his hand through his hair. One more bit of information, he supposes, he can grant her. In his best interest, as she said.

“There’s only one other thing, and to be honest, I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself,” he admits slowly, gauging her reaction. “The Empress has a terrible creature under her power. I caught a glimpse of it in the distance when I was bringing Nia to the Dreadlord.”

At the very mention of Nia’s name, Iliana’s expression looks almost murderous, like she might strike him down just for mentioning the priestess, but miraculously, she refrains. “What was it?”

Despite himself, Aerin shudders, recalling the undead creature, crafted of the seven hells itself. “Massive. Skeletal. A beast from nightmares.”

“How vague,” Iliana remarks, but Aerin knows the information has taken hold. She looks unsettled, certainly. Maybe even afraid.

His answering smile is wry and almost apologetic. “I know. But it is unlike anything I have ever seen before.”

Iliana nods, seemingly satisfied with this information. “Thank you for telling me what you know.”

The look in her eyes makes it abundantly clear that they both know it is not everything, although for now it is enough. Maybe—Aerin curses himself for even entertaining the thought—she will come back for more. The idea lights something within him, although he does not want to think about what it means, what it says about his feelings toward her, everchanging and impossible to curb. It isn’t freedom, but it is something. How nice it would be, to have just a piece of the outside world come to him.

Desperation claws its way into Aerin’s chest and he hates himself for the way he caves, for how small his voice sounds as he throws out a lifeline, begging her to take it. “I don’t suppose… you might visit me again?”

Iliana’s expression is guarded, her response measured. “Maybe. I doubt I will even have a moment to breathe since the world needs saving. Again.”

That is… something.

Aerin tilts his head. Always playing the hero. “And must it always be you who saves it?”

He is not prepared for the way her shoulders slacken and she glances away. Gone are any traces of the bravery and determination she had brandished at him moments ago. What faces him now is only solemn acceptance, weary resignation to service. “Apparently.”

Aerin wants to tell her to stop, that it isn’t her problem to fix. But he would be a hypocrite. After all, didn’t he behave the same once, long ago? Believing that the realm’s problems were his to fix, if only he had the power.

And look where that thinking got him. Trapped in an old cell.

“Look, I can’t make any promises,” Iliana begins, her eyes flicking around the room as if she can’t quite look at him, but cannot settle her attention anywhere else. “Things between us are… I don’t know what they are. But I’ll try to visit again. I may need more information. So.” Her tone hardens, all business once more. “If you conveniently remember anything else?” She gestures to the guards outside. “Send word. Maybe I’ll come.”

Aerin suppresses a smile, amused. “Sure. I hope you do.”

Iliana shoots him a look he can’t quite decipher, then turns away. As if expecting her, the guards unlock the door, revealing the torchlit corridor beyond. Aerin takes a steadying breath and is about to retreat to his cot when Iliana pauses in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at him. Aerin watches her hesitate, mouth opening and closing, and then—

“Do you regret what you have done?” she asks softly. “Wish that you hadn’t…”

Wish that you hadn’t betrayed me? Betrayed all of us?

Betrayed your brother?

Aerin’s breath is hard in his chest, something solid he cannot get out. Yes, he wants to scream. Yes to all of it.

“Would you even believe me?” Aerin asks earnestly, but he knows it is a fruitless endeavor. “Whatever my answer.”

Iliana is quiet for a moment, thoughtful. But then she answers, “No. I suppose not.”

Aerin nods, closing his eyes as she slips out of the cell and the metal door slams shut behind her. He knew better than to hope for anything else. They did not trust each other. He did not think they ever would again.

The lock slides into place with a finality that quakes through his bones, sealing him back into this forgotten place, made for forgotten things.

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #prince aerin #my writing #blades of light and shadow #bolas #choices #bolas 2 #choices blades #blades 2 #i am very excited to see what happens next in blades2 #i just needed to be as messy and complicated as possible <3

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short-honey-badger · 2 months

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Another Bird Too Many

Summary! The Cross Guild spring Doflamingo from Impel Down. Crocodile is content to have his bird back at his side and not with the Navy. Mihawk? Not so much.

Pairings! Doflamingo x Crocodile, Mihawk x Crocodile

Warnings! Kissing and some smutty stuff!

Masterlist

Despite the many arguments and shouting matches between the leaders of the Cross Guild, Crocodile had eventually gotten his way, and a plan to spring Doflamingo from Impel Down was devised. The gator had a rather complicated history with the string devil fruit user and would rather have the bird by his side than rotting away in the Navy prison. He had assured Hawkeye and threatened Buggy more times than he could count before. The two had reluctantly agreed to assist him in springing Doflamingo from Impel Down.

Mihawk had made the most fuss, threatening to step down and leave if Crocodile couldn’t contain the other bird, but the one handed man had promised his friend that he knew what he was doing, and could handle anything that Doflamingo threw his way.

At this moment, however, Crocodile regretted ever saving the obsessive, idiotic man. He sat at his desk, trying and failing to read the supply imports that needed to be logged and cataloged. Doflamingo draped over his chair, sinful lips pressed against the smaller man's neck and hands massaging Crocodile's tense shoulders.

“I knew you wouldn't let me stay there, Wani,” Doflamingo purred, tone dark and he smooths his hands down his darlings arms, one hand curling around his wrist right above that golden hook and the other plucking the pen out of that ringed hand.

Crocodile can't help the blush that spreads across his scared nose. Damn this bastard and the way he makes him break so quickly. The use of the old nickname doesn't help anything.

“I only broke you out of there because I know how useful you are,” the guild leader snarls but does nothing to deter the other man's actions.

“Now you are in debt to me, and I plan on using you until I tire of you.”

Doflamingo laughs at him, lips tickling his throat. Crocodile shifts his shoulders, unconsciously allowing the blonde more room. The bird takes like he always has, teeth and tongue finding his lover's pierced ear and nipping the lobe, pressing himself further along the other man's back when it causes his gator to hiss and groan like his namesake.

“Oh I hope you do, baby. I'd be disappointed if you didn't,” Doflamingo whispers, and then he leans fully around and slots his mouth against those cute lips that are just begging to be kissed. Doflamingo impatiently prods forward, tongue sliding past thin lips to curl with Crocodile's own. With the dark haired logia properly distracted, the flamingo lets go of his darling’s wrist, hand landing on the gator’s waist and sliding up to rip open his pants, long fingers sliding past the expensive material to stroke along Crocodile's boxer coveted cock.

His hips buck up, seeking that delightful pressure that Doflamingo provides. He hisses when the bird pumps his cock, flesh hand gripping at his lover's bicep. It feels delightful to have Doffy’s hand back on him, his attention and his possessive stare trained on him. Crocodile was nothing if not selfish.

This is the sight that Mihawk walks into when he reaches Crocodile's tent. He freezes in his spot, the heavy fabric falling behind him and leaving the three back in the dim lights of the strung up lanterns. He trails his eyes up past where Doflamingo has pushed his business partner's boxers down and now boldly strokes the hard length. Further up, he goes, taking in the red hickies that ring around Crocodile's throat like a necklace. Another flick of his ringed eyes, and Hawkeye feels his throat stick when he meets Doflamingo's burning gaze behind those ridiculous sunglasses.

Mihawk watches the two kiss, and feels his cheeks explode in a blush when Crocodile breaks the embrace and glances up, his purple gaze landing on Dracule and smirking at the younger man. Even from here, he can see the want that builds up in that golden gaze.

“Like something you see, Mihawk?” Doflamingo purrs shamelessly, though his voice is full of possessive intent, dark and dangerous. Crocodile grunts when his pace speeds up, jerking his cock just the way he likes it. The flamingo smirks meanly when the other bird cuts his eyes at him, narrowing in annoyance.

“Should have been quicker, Hawkeye. You've lost your chance now that I'm here.”

Mihawk sneers at the pink ex-warlord but says nothing. His pursuit of Crocodile hadn't really been a secret, but it chaffs at him to know that with Doflamingo here, it would be far harder to get the dark-haired beauty in his bed.

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that, Doflamingo. I've not tried yet,” Dracule snips and looks back at Crocodile, who looks a bit taken aback by his declaration. He smirks and winks at the taller man before he spins on his heel and marches out of the tent.

Doflamingo cackles, smooshing his cheek against his gator’s, his pace never faltering, and teases, “I didn't know you were so sought after, Wani.”

Crocodile huffs and turns his head, dragging his pink idiot in for a harsh kiss that's more teeth than lips. He would worry about Mihawk later.

“Shut the hell up and make me cum, Doffy.”

#one piece #fanfic #one piece smut #dracule mihawk #crocodile x doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #sir crocodile smut #sir crocodile #crocodile #mihawk x crocodile #jelly mihawk #cross guild #the cross guild #dofuwani #crocohawk

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thebibliosphere · 2 months

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A Library with a deadly enchantment. A fae lord who wants in. A human woman willing to risk it all for a taste of power. In a land ruled by ruthless Fae, twenty-one-year-old Lore Alemeyu's village is trapped in a forested prison. Lore knows that any escape attempt is futile–her scars are a testament to her past failures. But when her village is threatened, Lore makes a desperate deal with a fae lord. She convinces him that she will risk her life for wealth, but really she’s after the one thing the Fae covet above all: magic of her own. As Lore navigates the hostile world outside, she’s forced to rely on two fae males to survive. When undeniable chemistry ignites, she’s not just in danger of losing her life, but her heart to the very creatures she can never trust.

Happy book birthday to Lore of the Wilds by Analeigh Sbrana!

Ana's not on Tumblr, so I'm doing the celebration for her 💖🥳

If you like:

-🍄 cottage core -✨ fairy core -📚 light/dark academia vibes -🌈 a diverse cast of all Black LGBTQIA+ characters -💘 romance -🧝🏾‍♀️ the idea of being kidnapped by a fairy prince to tidy up his cursed/enchanted library and coming into your own magical powers as a result, then Lore of the Wilds might just be for you!

Full disclosure: I worked on this book as a proofreader before it got picked up by Harper Collins, and I loved every minute of it. I kept forgetting I was supposed to be working and reading ahead. I scheduled a week to finish reading it and did it in 3 days, and the only reason it took so long was that I had to actually pause and work on it 😅

Lore of the Wilds is available now in ebook, audio, paperback, and hardback from most book retailers. Check out the Harper Collins links to find a retailer close to you!

Please consider checking out Lore. It's a stunning world with an amazing cast, and Ana deserves every bit of success after she fought so hard to get her all Black fairytale past the hurdles of mainstream publishing.

#booklr #writerblr #book launch #lore of the wilds #analeigh sbrana #black fairy fantasy #romantasy #adventure fantasy romance #dark academia #cottage core #fairy core #signal boost

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thewritingmagician2022 · 1 month

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It’s been established even in canon that Lucifer is very possessive of MC, wants to own them essentially. I mean, his character song Arcadia is basically about how he wants to have ownership of MC, even using the word ‘prisoner’ for it. How do you think he’d react to an MC that flat out tells him “You don’t own me.” Basically making it clear that they refuse to belong to him, despite his advances and attempts to make it so. An MC that demands to be free, no matter the consequences. With a determination for it that matches his own. I just think it would be an interesting development, and it would be intriguing to know what his reaction to that would be.

Btw your writing is absolutely fantastic and thank you for sharing it!!

This is a great question/food for thought. Lucifer is definitely the most yandere brother to me and he toes the line between love and abuse very finely sometimes, much more so than the others. It’s because he definitely views MC as an object, something to be won and coveted and shown off, another way to prove he’s better than everyone else because MC chose him (even if he may not have really given them a choice to begin with).

With that in mind, Lucifer would struggle very hard with an MC who doesn’t yield easily to him. Lucifer is used to people giving him exactly what he wants when he wants, people far more powerful than this little human, so at first he’s in complete disbelief. He might let it slide at first, even though hearing “you don’t own me” from the human he so clearly does own ruffles his feathers more than a little. He would say that he’s angry because you’re being insolent and insulting him. In Lucifer’s mind, you are his and anyone in the three realms should consider themselves damn lucky to have this kind of attention from him. He’s the one who took you into his home, into his family. He watches out for you, feeds you, clothes you, has his brothers at your beck and call, makes sure you’re getting the most out of this interdimensional student assignment. You would be nothing in the Devildom without him and this is the thanks he gets? But it goes a lot deeper than that. Lucifer has grown to really care for you over time; he would go so far as to (privately) admit that he’s in love with you. He dotes on you, tries to make you happy with gifts and experiences, and is kinder to you than he is to just about anyone else. You are the only person in all 3 realms that can so easily draw out those old angelic qualities of his and make him think of another person as a person rather than just as an extension of himself. So to hear you say he doesn’t own you and that you want to be free from him is even more heartbreaking than it is infuriating (though sometimes it’s a very close call).

I think, at first, Lucifer will try the bribery strategy. He knows that you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar and he’s firmly of the mind that he can convince you to walk willingly into his arms and offer yourself to him. When that doesn’t work, he’ll switch to his angry demon persona and he’s full of threats and insults and, much like an abusive partner, will do everything in his power to put you in a position of helplessness only to save you at the last minute to prove how much you need him. But you’re stronger and smarter than that so Lucifer is forced to abandon that tactic when he realizes it’s only solidifying your decision and pushing you further away. If we’re being hopeful, I think your dedication to your beliefs and your inability to be bullied/conned/manipulated into subservience is what actually makes Lucifer finally see you as an equal and he’s able to properly love you at that point, which leads to him adjusting his thought processes and behavior to the point where you may be willing to stay with him because you know it’s no longer about obsession and possession but instead about respect and devotion.

I'm so sorry about how late this is - I ran into some serious health issues and dropped this blog/fandom for a really long time.

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me asks #obey me lucifer

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saintsenara · 21 days

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More ships! Severus Snape/Charity Burbage, Severus Snape/Petunia Dursley, Narcissa Black/Lily Evans, Narcissa Black/Remus Lupin

thank you very much for the ask, anon! lots of delicious ships here to get into...

charity burbage/severus snape

i'm going to start this one by pointing out something which features a lot in discussions of snape's relationship with dear old chazza b, and which i have elected to find annoying even though it's spectacularly minor:

in the book [or - certainly - in the original edition, which is what i have] of deathly hallows, charity does not say that she and snape are friends while pleading for her life. this is an invention of the films, which are rather more heavy-handed at hinting that snape isn't really a loyal death eater with blood-supremacist views than the text is.

but, nonetheless, she does still beg him to spare her... and so she must retain some belief in snape's capacity for goodness even though she must be aware, as a hogwarts teacher, that he murdered dumbledore only days beforehand...

which is to say that i love the idea of a bit of snarity [snurbage? burbape?] in a story which didn't deviate from the canon timeline. it is just exquisitely nasty to imagine the two coming together during the goblet of fire to half-blood prince period, initially just for something casual - since snape knows he can't commit to anything given his role as a spy - which then turned into something deeper he was occasionally driven to allow himself to imagine might be able to become a real relationship after the war...

...and then him having to look a woman he's fallen in love with in the eyes and arrange his features into a malevolent smirk while this is happening:

Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy’s wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds. “Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, “Severus! Help me!” “Ah, yes,” said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

and then to have to pretend to be completely unruffled as voldemort kills her in front of him.

delicious.

petunia dursley/severus snape

this is one i really, really back.

i’m fond of petunia, who i think is one of the most interesting characters in the series because of how full of contradictions she is.

and who i think is also a victim in fandom spaces of how the adult cast was aged up for the films [in canon, she’s only in her early twenties when lily dies, and the implication is that vernon is a good deal older than her]. her inadequacies, such as her inability to truly care for either child in the household, seem much more nuanced in a woman of twenty-three, who has a toddler and whose entire family is dead, than they do if she’s pictured as a middle-aged woman with considerable life experience.

and like snape, petunia teeters on a knife edge between various chasms: she's a working-class girl from the midlands made good in middle-class surrey, he's a working-class half-blood boy who spends most of his life in pureblood circles; she ends up with her whole life wrapped up in a square little house when she’s barely out of her teens, he ends up with his whole life wrapped up in spying at the same age; she hates the wizarding world and yet covets it, he hates the muggle world and yet cannot escape it; she loves lily and she hates her and she loathes her for dying, he… well, you know the rest.

all of these similarities - especially when combined with the long history of resentment between snape and petunia [she thinks he stole lily from her! he thinks she was the first person to try and keep lily from him!] - makes snetunia just so compelling.

and if you're convinced and desperate to really get into the mess, you're in luck - because you can read the magnificent regretfully, yours by @maria-de-salinas, which takes snape and petunia's bitterness and awkwardness and grief and guilt and remorse and turns it into something really quite beautiful...

narcissa black/lily evans

ok, so i'm afraid to say that narlily is one of those marauders-era ships which i don't fully get the increasingly popularity of - and so, if you do ship it i would be thrilled to get your recs and manifestos as to why.

my objection doesn't actually have anything to do with narcissa being a blood-supremacist [although i don't think i'd vibe with a story which didn't address this at all - and i'm not compelled by a common version of fanon!narcissa which has her as not sincerely holding these beliefs: she is just as much of a bigot as lucius] - i think something quite interesting could be done with narlily [as in all death-eater-with-a-non-pureblood ships] as a vehicle for an examination of the hypocrisy of blood-supremacy; and with narlily as a femslash ship specifically as a vehicle for an examination of how sex with a non-pureblood which has no chance of resulting in pregnancy would be more acceptable in a culture which is so obsessed with heritage and lineage than sex which could.

why i don't really think it would slap for me, though, is that narcissa always comes across in canon as someone who is conformist and a bit staid - largely, as i've written about elsewhere, because she feels a desire to perform according to the gendered conventions expected of a woman of her class background as a way of deflecting the shame brought upon her family's standing in polite society by bellatrix and andromeda's behaviour. lily - on the other hand - is famously a bit bolshy - cheeky and adventurous and argumentative and stubborn.

and so i simply do not imagine their personalities either working well together in any meaningful way or clashing spicily [they'd clearly both regard the other as not worth their time popping off at].

please change my mind!

narcissa black/remus lupin

this, on the other hand... yes. hook it into my veins.

they both live behind masks - hers of gendered social convention, his of self-loathing - which have, at their core, the idea that a proper witch and wizard must be "civilised". and while they both seem to prefer to embrace these masks, there is the potential lurking beneath them for both of them to break free and be wild and raw in the realities of themselves.

plus... imagine if you've also got the post-1981 context of lupin trying desperately to understand how sirius could have become the death eater who would betray james to voldemort and narcissa and lucius trying to establish the fiction that he was under the imperius curse during the first war with the ministry, well before they feel comfortable becoming as complacent in their conviction that voldemort's not about to return as they are at the start of the canon narrative.

lovely misery.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #unhinged and deranged ships #including...#snetunia #petunia dursley #severus snape #narlily #narcissa malfoy #lily evans

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rhinocio · 1 year

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ROTTMNT Fanfic Recommendations

Light

You Coveted This Prison by CaveDwellers (April / Donatello - Comedy / Character Study - WIP) THE April O'Neil character study. One part excruciating (for reader and supporting cast) slow burn romance, one part introspection on being true to oneself. Rated M but only for one chapter, which can be skipped. Riddled with laugh-out-loud comedy shenanigans and heartachingly tender intimacy. Hot takes all over the place because the author wrote this with very little fandom involvement, and intentionaly chose to be contrarian in as many ways as possible. April takes down her arch-rival! Raph locks her in a freezer! Casey Junior's keeping secrets! Donatello's wall of horrible fake sciencey souveniers keeps growing and it may or may not be a sign of affection -- he's going to crunch the numbers on that. An absolute blast of a fic, cannot recommend enough.

★

Tried To Grow Up Good by Sroloc_Elbisivni (No romantic focus - Character Study - Complete)

THE Casey Jones post-movie character study. Love is stored in the found family. Casey is an accidental felon. He and Cassandra are siblings now. Anatawa hitorijaNAI let's get the entire two timeline fam in here for a reunion so I can sob myself silly. Perfection. This author's constantly pumping out new fics, and often updating multiple at a time; I've read through and greatly enjoyed Tomato Maze (there is so much serotonin in the knowledge that these idiot turtle boys will do anything for watermelon), Sorrow Is An Autumn Heart (Leo/Usagi but make it a slowburn thriller-drama set in historical Japan), and The Passionate Pools of Salamandria (a post-movie Raph/Mona bodice-ripper with an amnesiac protagonist and a B-plot where the rest of the family fight space to find their missing brother). Honestly this author has the WILDEST takes and everything they write is fascinating.

★

Give Me Something That’ll Haunt Me When You’re Not Around by Taizi (Leonardo / Yuichi - Drama / Romance - Complete)

If you've decided you're finally gonna take a dive into the leosagi crossover ship and see what all the fuss is about, do it with this fic. The author has a strong grasp on how to make a character study about characters first and relationships second, and in doing so has crafted one of THE most tender romance stories I've ever read. Starts as a character study on Yuichi Usagi and the yokai perspective on the Kraang invasion, branches into an exploration of PTSD and what it means to recover, and ends with a friends-to-lovers quickburn that says, "because of you I'm learning to love myself." Leo gets a therapy dinosaur. Yuichi gets out of his head. The character nuance and showing-not-telling is godtier. Healing starts with telling the alien invaders to go fuck themselves. Do not pass this fic up, I promise you it's worth the read. It legitimately made me cry.

★

The Old College Try by Theashemarie (No romantic focus - Action / Drama - WIP)

Donatello cloaks himself human to go to college, and drags his twin brother along. This fic masquerades as a fun, comedy-heavy action adventure story, but under the surface is a really fascinating introspection on what it means to hide your true self in order to fit in. The queer subtext is off the charts! Leo babysits Baxter Stockboy. Mikey gets eaten by a bird. One of the grad certificates is definitely going to be made out to to the wrong Hamato entirely. This fic features an autistic writer writing an autistic character, and their personal experience shines through in the excellent way Donnie's awkwardness and affection are balanced. This author knows nuance; I also highly recommend The Hibernator (apocalyptic timeline and Raph's dead........ wink) and Very Thoughtful (a Donnie-centric low empathy study).

★

Aftermath by Bronte (No romantic focus - Drama - Complete)

The boys deal with the aftermath of the movie events in whatever ways they can. Donnie gets into pina coladas. Leo harasses his brother. Look at these disaster twins bonding! There's a flippancy to all the angst that keeps these lighthearted and love-focused without skipping the rough details. I'm literally never going to recover from the belly bongos scene and will probably end up making art about it. Fantastic read, made me viscerally emotional.

★

At The Bottom Of A Duck-Shaped Crater by CaveDwellers (April / Donatello - Drama / Comedy - Complete) One part worldbuilding for the apocalyptic timeline and one part heartfelt comedy from the perspective of Miyamoto Usagi. Leonardo adopts a babysitter. Casey Junior saves the war effort from collapsing under a dick-measuring competition. April may or may not be about to kill a man. CaveDwellers is among my favourite writers for several reasons, but this fic really highlights her strength in blending several different kinds of relationships in one story and building a plot that delivers achey-breaky sentiments without having to structure everything around romance. (We're also developing projects together; keep an eye out for the "next in series" button at the bottom of the AO3 page for soft apocalyptic stories of a similar nature!)

★

Superfight by Swordfright (No romantic focus - Drama / Comedy - Complete)

An easy-reading one shot! Leo comes to terms with being a teenager, Donnie calls his disability out for what it is, and everybody plays Superfight the card game. The author writes in a very Douglas Adams-y style, resulting in a wheezing-on-the-floor-funny reading experience. If you're burnt out on fandom angst and need a pick-me-up, this is 900% the fic for you. It got me cry-laughing with just the quick refresher glance I gave it to put this recommendation together.

★

Now That's What I Call A Vacation! by WayWardWatson (No romantic focus (?) - Adventure / Crossover - WIP)

This fic's a multi-feature! It's one part infodump about Japan's culture and tourist hotspots, one part study on what it means to cloak your identity to fit into the world, and one part surprise crossover with Usagi Yojimbo. I am OBSESSED with this author's takes on Splinter as a character; several chapters are dedicated to exploring his fixation on being "human again" and trying to juggle the life he once had as a star with the life he now has as a parent of mutants. Primarily this is a feel good adventure story about the Hamato brothers getting in touch with their heritage, but it comes in swinging with several different action/adventure plot points and drama beats to keep a reader invested. Legitimately have no idea where the author's taking things, which makes me all the more excited for the ride!

★

One Step Forward, Fall Forever Back by GriffinStone (No romantic focus - Action / Mystery - Complete)

This fic is one of those slight universe alteration stories that takes a one-off thought and runs with it: what if Casey Junior died on his way through the time rift, spawned into the past as a ghost, and Leo was the only person who could see him? Promise the execution is way less daunting than it sounds -- events move along at a breezy pace and characters never spend very long lamenting the whole dead boy situation. The final battle alone is so chocked full of found family ride-or-die energy between the two protagonists that it's worth the rest of the adventure playing out pretty similarly to the movie. Definitely a treat for those of you who are big on Leo-Casey interactions.

★

A Mixed Bag by MusingWordsmith (No romantic focus - Action / Comedy - WIP)

What if I told you there was a fic where the turtles of every major tv show TMNT iteration shonen anime-style battled their way through challenges in mixed teams of four in order to defeat a team of evil overlords who may or may not know what they're doing re: evillness? Trust me when I say this story is fun -- it blends comedy and drama flawlessly, and the author totally committed to the bit in keeping each version of the turtles loyal to the genre of their individual canons. The 1987 turtles are breaking the fourth wall. The Rise kids are absolute supersoliders. 2003 Michelangelo somehow ended up as the babysitter of his particular faction and is kind of having a crisis about it. I am so beyond impressed at how well this author distinguishes each character and keeps who's who from getting too confusing, which is a common issue in TMNT crossovers. Reading this fic feels like watching literally any version of the show as a kid on a Saturday morning. It is a blast.

Medium

Young Root, Old Rock by SiryyGrey (No romantic focus - Action / Thriller - WIP)

Shortly after the Kraang invasion a mysterious file of an unreadable format shows up on Donnie's computer, and he's driven by an intense curiosity to decipher exactly what it is and means. This author goes HARD on creating tense, muscle-tensing atmosphere, which is balanced out by extremely tender character interaction. Casey knows something he's not letting on. Donnie makes himself a robo-brain. Leo blows up his brother. You ever wanted an adventure with the blorbos that was also an ARG? Cryptic messages are sprinkled throughout the chapters for readers to decipher. Mind the tags but absolutely do not pass this fic up!

★

No Rest For The Weary by Nekotsuki (No romantic focus - Action / Adventure - WIP)

Ever thought "hey what if the movie just kept going and we found out what happened to those other kraang"? Hello and let me introduce you to THE post-movie out of frying pan and into the fire fic. I have it on good authority that this author was a big name in the 2003 TMNT fic scene, and I suspect for good reason -- this story perfectly blends heart-pounding action with A+ belly laughs and solid found family energy. Donnie hacks cute animal emails and narcs on the enemy. April fights zombies back to back with Barold Draxum of downstairs neighbour fame. Raph gets tranquilizer-darted by his brother for being too emotional. 100/10 wild ride, cannot recommend highly enough.

★

I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good by Dandy (No romantic focus - Adventure / Thriller - WIP)

Several TMNT AU competitions have made this fic a household name, and for good reason -- the author's come onto the scene with a bold, fun plot premise: after a battle gone wrong, Leo finds himself alive but unable to be perceived via sight, sound, or touch. Naturally, his family assumes he's dead. While it starts on the angstier side, this story's got a lot of heart and shoves tenderness into every possible crevice; the longer it goes on, the more tears are swapped out for laughter, and anguished dialogue-heavy interaction trades place with high-octane action. Worth sticking with!

★

Creation, Haunted And Holy by Greenglowsgold (No romantic focus - Drama / Thriller - Complete)

I lied about the romance it's Donnie x Technodrome with a twist. This fic reads like fascinating poetry, and does right by its source material by taking one of the fandom's favourite angst catalysts and turning it into a demonstration of the strength of love. Looking for something wildly different? GGG's got you. Would also highly recommend their outside-POV slice of life fic Midtown Mutants!

Dark

The Lemonade Leak by TurtleSoupSwimmer (No romantic focus - Horror / Thriller - WIP)

How do you explain to your family that your twin brother's possessed when you have no evidence, aren't sure if said brother is still alive somewhere inside the zombie, and revealing you know something's wrong could get everybody killed? There is no describing how completely feral I've gone for this fic - the author's technique of starting chapters with small, raw, seemingly unrelated scenes that segue into the current plot and enhance the tone or underlying message of the story is just incredible. They've given the turtles a fascinating mutation feature that adds layers of intrigue to the plot. The character interaction is heckin' tender, we got a nice scoop of self-worth issues from Leo to deal with, and the scary scenes are grip-your-phone-and-stop-blinking scary. The author promises a happy ending but that doesn't make Lemonade Leak any less of an incredibly tense ride. This is a fic I jump on the second I get the AO3 email notification.

★

The Smoking Gun: A ROTTMNT Tactical AU by AlienMadame22 (Donatello / April - Action / Adventure - Complete)

Agent Bishop of the EPF stole four turtle mutants away from their father as children and raised them as militia; dad's gotten back in contact and intends to break them free. This author absolutely took off running with the tactical AU prompt that various visual artists started up, grabbed a handful of canon concepts to mess around with, and mcguyvered together a wild ride of a story that continues to catch me off guard. Strap in for a fic riddled with emotional complexity and character nuance, and come prepared to cry. Fear not the ship tag, as the fic is primarily non-romance-focused and the ship elements are handled in an interesting, convoluted way that works to further the plot and add comedic value. Smoking Gun is a refreshing new concept in a very busy fandom tag and I have been eating it up like candy.

★

The Dawning of the Hour (Series) by Faiakishi (No romantic focus - Horror / Drama - WIP)

Donnie is captured and brainwashed by a pre-Vegeta-arc'd Baron Draxum, who subsequently starts parenting the kid out of guilt while using his talents to fuel the canonical Mutate All Humans takeover plot. It's been often called the Donatello version of Like Father Like Son, but that does its storytelling a disservice - this series goes much deeper in the psychological and physical horror direction, has an underlying political intrigue plot, and spends a generous amount of time with the secondary cast (plus a few excellent OCs) in order to really ramp up the intensity of the premise's whole situation. The first story is very whump-heavy, but does a lot of setup for fic two: The Drax-Daddening, which gives Donnie a friend in Cassandra Jones and finds more space for affection and comedy. The author's ramped up the sources of conflict several times over in the first few chapters of the series' second fic, making rescue by the Hamato feel ever more impossible. Despite being a very complex and interesting read (grey-morality my beloved) I cannot stress enough how VERY not for kids this fic is, so proceed with extreme caution!

#fanfiction recommendations #ROTTMNT #TMNT #ROTTMNT fanfic recs #the post was getting absurdly long so hang in there for a part two #save ROTTMNT #unpause ROTTMNT #holy shit the formatting nightmare this was tUNGLR WHY

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singingcicadas · 6 months

Text

Why are Autobots just as bad as the Decepticons?

Why? Some people seem to be under this impression that the Autobots have some kind of original sin that makes their cause morally inferior to that of the Decepticon 'revolutionists', for Reasons:

1. Autobots are bad because they were part of the old oppressive government.

Okay but it was literally Optimus who came up with the name, when he stormed the Senate demanding for autonomy? Sentinel took it for his own use. Optimus was a fugitive under Sentinel. He was doing vigilante work against the government.

2. But Optimus was a cop and served Zeta. Cops are bad and Zeta was bad so Optimus was just as bad.

Well Optimus only worked with Zeta because Zeta hid his true colours at first and seemed a decent progressive guy. He and Megatron killed Zeta when that turned out not to be the case, thus ending the oppression of the old government.

What did he do as a cop that’s so unforgivable, besides the occupation itself? He wasn’t making political arrests for the government (he treated Megatron with respect and lauded his polemics, he sided with rebel bomb planter Hot Rod) or persecuting people based on their class or function. He threw the cops who did that in jail (sorry Whirl), he got help for the people on the streets instead of arresting them as per government protocol (Drift). The only arrests he was shown to make were either thugs harassing defenceless citizens (the guys beating up Drift), illegal drug and arms dealers (Swindle), murderers, and terrorists. Notice how they’re all Decepticons. Because that’s what the Decepticons were to Cybertron’s society.

— Like it's important to note that there's never been a sweet point in Decepticon history where they were true upright freedom fighters, dedicated to nothing but emancipation of the people. That idealized version only ever existed in Megatron's writings. The Decepticons didn't start out well-meaning and turned bad somewhere along the way, they've always been a ragtag gathering of degenerates from the dregs of society looking for a venue to excerise violence and embrace their pursuit for chaos and power. They were warmongers. Terrorists. Thugs. Weapons traffickers. Opportunists. Sadists. Bloodsport enjoyers/profiteers. It’s those people who were the targets of Megatron's recruitment speeches when he promised them that he'd turn the planet into their gladiatorial arena. It’s those traits that were coveted, sought, valued by the Decepticon ranks. Revolution of the oppressed lmao, aside from Megatron himself, there's not one honest-to-god true proletariat or bottom class in the Decepticons' upper echelons. Soundwave, Ratbat’s lackey. Starscream, criminal tax swindler. Shockwave, mad scientist (with a specialization in body experimentation) and former sketchy Senator. Honest work got you as nowhere in the Decepticons as in the Cybertron social ladder.

This is an example of political persecution. By a team of sanctioned torture police created for this explicit purpose. For literally every bad thing the government did, the Decepticons have done something to one-up them. Think functionalism is bad? How about let's conscript everyone into a combatant and if you don't want to fight you can die. Painfully. Social stratification? How about a military hierarchy for the entire society based purely on might makes right. Empurata and shadowplay? Forced frame alteration and body experimentation. Lobotomy. Grooming. Vamparc ribbon that sucks the life out of an entire city's worth of people? Burn up the planet and massacre half its population. Unlawful treatment of prisoners? Pick from the menu of anti-personal bombs, live incineration chambers, multi-year torture marathons, or a DJD custom treatment. Persecution/neglect of the unfortuate mechs who ended up on the streets? Just throw them straight into the smelting pool to make into something useful instead. Expansion and colonism? Imperalism and genocide ftw. The Decepticons were worse than the old government in practically every concievable way.

3. But Optimus was violent as a cop.

Yes he was violent towards the Decepticons, a Decepticon specifically, Swindle, an unrepentant repeat offender, because they were using innocents to bomb cities and conquering citystates and Megatron must be stopped before the situation got any worse but Swindle just won’t spit any info. Like obviously his actions were wrong but they weren’t completely unfounded considering the circumstances, certainly not comparable to an equal level with the Decepticons who regularly torture prisoners for the entertainment. The most he's guilty of is paying evil unto evil and meeting violence with violence.

4. Autobots were perpetrators of the injustices of the society because they didn’t actively fight against it.

That’s not true, Optimus fought against it by using his position to help people as much as he possibly could; a lot of his work went against government orders. Rachet fought against it by running his clinic at Dead End. Impactor fought against it when he stood up for Rung. The outlier vigilante team fought against it, they risked their lives to help the Decepticons with Optimus when they stole the fake matrix bomb. Hot Rod fought for Nyon. They all fought by allowing themselves to grow beyond the societally imposed prejudices, by focusing past the rightful anger at being born into such a cruel world, by trying to become the best people they could under the circumstances and extending kindness to others no matter how difficult their own struggles. It's the entire society that's dysfunctional and has been dysfunctional since the beginning of history, individuals should not be held responsible when they're just trying to make the best out of the life they'd been given and not maliciously harming anyone along the way.

5. But that doesn’t count as actually fighting if they didn't get engaged in outright war.

Uhhh I’m sure that’s the justification Decepticons used when they were doing join or die massacres but okay I guess.

And then there’s the grand finale：

6. “Autobots are bad because wars are bad and they fought a war.”

The Autobots didn't want to fight. It was the Decepticons who declared war on them. They were literally forced into it. It was either that or accept Megatron’s peace through tyranny. And there is a massive difference between deaths/violence/destruction/resource appropriation that’s justified by military necessity and the excessive use of force like killing and torture for the funsies only the latter would be considered a war crime omgggg people please stop spamming the word war crime

Anyways this line of reasoning need to go and duel it out with the previous one because they are contradictory.

The Autobots are by no means perfect but to make them comparable to the Decepticons is just. I dont even know. It's like putting a piece of white paper with a black dot on it beside a piece of black paper and saying they're the same colour. No. The black paper didn't even start out white. Of course not everything is going to be that clear cut in war but acknowledging the presence of those grey areas doesn't mean you can equate the values of right and wrong.

And also associating the Decepticon movement with freedom fighters is buying into their propaganda. Megatron never gave a shit about anyone's freedom other than his own.

'Peace through tyranny' is a pretty self-explanatory phrase come on

#transformers #idw transformers #maccadam #optimus prime #Megatron #The black dot is Prowl-shaped

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