#just be given say over MY OWN GODDAMN WELLBEING | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foilfreak · 3 years

Text

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 4

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

Upon returning to the surface again, Mother Miranda seems confused, but mostly relieved, that Salvatore did not show interest in lingering in the village any longer than necessary. Though Salvatore did end up needing to stay for one last brief conversation, in which he and Mother Miranda discussed various parts of Nadine’s file, as well as finalized the date and approximate time in which Salvatore could expect the villagers to arrive at the reservoir gate with his gift in tow.

2 days from now, was the final agreement, as it would ensure that Salvatore would be the first of the Lords to receive his gift, making up for the fact that he was the last of them to pick. It also permitted him the luxury of some spare time to prepare a new permanent living environment of some kind for his gift. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

Regardless, Once their conversation finally concluded, Salvatore bid his beloved Mother a quick, but appropriately appreciative thank you and goodbye, before closing the large wooden door to the meeting room and trudging back out into the cold, harsh winter snow. Despite a lack of improvement in the weather since Salvatore’s initial journey into the village, the mutant man maintained a solid pace through the snowy paths, seemingly uninhibited by the forceful winds attempting to throw him from his course.

With little time remaining, Salvatore wanted to return to his reservoir as quickly as possible to begin making preparations; though, what exactly it was he was supposed to do in order to prepare for a tiny, beautiful, and apparently violent cadou-mutant woman to begin living in his reservoir with him, once again, Salvatore still had no idea.

Grimacing in frustration, the hooded man wracked his brain for something to do, some way for him to make a good “first” impression with his new gift when she finally arrives. Something that would catch her fancy and hopefully convince her that, despite his terrifying appearance, he wouldn’t harm her and merely wanted to be friends.

Well… technically speaking Salvatore wanted a great deal more than just friendship from the young woman, however given how low his chances are of ever achieving the former, the mutant man decided that he’d happily squash his vile and disgusting desires down deep within himself if it meant he’d gain at least something similar to a friendship with Nadine.

He’d been doing the same with Mother for all these years, so it wasn’t like it was going to be difficult… hopefully.

Upon returning to his reservoir finally, Salvatore retreated from the harsh weather, deciding that he’d likely have a much easier time cleaning if he waited the snowstorm out and got started in the morning, instead. Once the skies had cleared and the sun had just begun to peak over the mountaintop horizon however, Salvatore immediately set to work cleaning up the areas surrounding the reservoir.

It wasn’t until after several hours of diligent gathering and disposing of the numerous unsightly piles of rotting wood and garbage lying around, that the unusually bright and hopeful atmosphere surrounding the reservoir was rudely disrupted by a surprise visitor Salvatore would have never seen coming in a million years.

“HEY, FISHFACE, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? I gotta talk to you about something, so hurry up and crawl out of your sewer system so we can get this over with, already” Karl’s rough and booming voice echoed out from somewhere within the reservoir.

Salvatore flinches in fearful surprise at the demanding voice, wondering what on earth could possibly have brought Karl, the notorious recluse of the family who never left his factory unless bribed or threatened, all the way out here to the reservoir. And to speak to HIM, on top of all that too.

Despite not feeling like subjecting himself to Karl’s recent tendency toward physical abuse disguised as “brotherly affection”, Salvatore sighs and swims his way toward his younger brother’s voice anyways, knowing that ignoring Karl would only prompt the younger man to actually enter the reservoir in search of him, which was the absolute last thing Salvatore needed right now.

“Mornin’, brother! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered the door. You were taking so long I was beginning to wonder if you’d finally decided to run away and live out the rest of your life as an actual fish, like I suggested to you at the last “family” meeting” Karl says bluntly, clad his characteristic attire of green sunglasses, a brown hat atop his head, a long tan trench coat covering his day clothes, various items strung around his neck, and large titanium hammer.

“H-hello, Karl... W-why is it th-that you’re h-here for?” Salvatore asks slowly, peering at the younger, but taller man from behind the only partially opened gate.

“Hey, hey, come on now, Sal, what’s with the cold welcome? Am I not allowed to visit my favorite older brother without a specific rhyme or reason. I think you’ll be surprised to know that I was actually already in the area, and wanted to stop by and see if you were in the mood for a chat. You know, like old times?” Karl says defensively, placing both his hands up as Salvatore narrows his eyes at the younger man.

Salvatore was a lot of things, but stupid most certainly wasn’t one of them, regardless of what other people thought. While it might be true that, when Karl was first introduced to the family as a child following his successful cadou mutation, they had something of a positive older-younger brother relationship that lasted a good many years into Karl’s adulthood, that relationship has been growing progressively shakier and unstable over the past few years, at least it has during the times Karl has acted like Salvatore wasn’t the only one to reach out and attempt to connect with the emotionally volatile, but secretly terrified young boy, when he first arrived.

Deep down, Salvatore still had something of a soft spot for Karl, a soft spot that he occasionally allowed himself to indulge in whenever Karl wasn’t acting like a royal asshole, but those moments of peace and solidarity between oldest and youngest brother had been few and far in between recently. Not to mention that Salvatore would be lying if he said he wasn’t growing increasingly more suspicious and distrustful of Karl and whatever secrets the younger man was hiding in that factory of his. He hadn’t the slightest idea what he could be up to, but something told Salvatore that Karl had more reason to be here than just pure coincidence.

“P-perhaps… what i-is it that you w-want to t-talk about?” Salvatore replies curtly, not wanting to just go along with whatever Karl wanted, but for some reason still willing to give the younger man a chance to prove himself.

Taking a brief moment to look over both his shoulders, Karl places the heavy end of his hammer on the ground and leans inward toward Salvatore, lowering his voice as he whispers, “You see your gift from Mother yet?”

This question took Salvatore by surprise, not expecting the gifts Mother Miranda had given them to be the reason why Karl was here.

“I… I h-have… why?” The disfigured man asks curiously, pushing the gate open a little further so that Karl, despite Salvatore’s earlier reservations toward the younger man, could squeeze his way inside.

Upon entering through the gate, Karl immediately takes 2 cigars out of his back pocket and lights the first one. “Curiosity mostly… but also cuz I think there’s more to this whole “gift” thing than Miranda wants us to believe,” the bespeckled man says, blowing a lungful of smoke out his nose as he offers Salvatore the second cigar. “You still smoke, old man?”

“I-I… I r-really shouldn’t” Salvatore says, turning his back toward Karl’s outstretched hand, even as the wonderfully woody scent fills his nose and his mouth begins to water.

“Oooooh, but something tells me you want to” Karl teases, sauntering over to the older man so that he could wave the fresh cigar in Salvatore’s face, chuckling in amusement when the fish mutant’s gaze locked onto and followed the unlit stick like a dog would a slab of meat.

“B-but it… M-Mother has s-said… m-many times… th-that she d-doesn’t like… doesn’t like when we s-smoke… because… uh, b-because...” Salvatore trails off, trying to remain strong for Mother Miranda, even as his self-control slowly continues to crack.

“Come on, lighten up a little bit, old man. It’s just one cigar. You smoked a pack of these things a day, like they were the only things keeping you going, both throughout my whole adolescence and, if what Duke says is to be trusted which we both know it is, well after I left for my factory, too. When the hell did you start being such a stick in the mud? No wonder I stopped hanging out with you, you’re like a fuckin’ parrot that repeats everything than goddamn woman says, it’s like I can’t escape her no matter where I fuckin’ go” Karl groans in a slightly childish tone of voice as he trudges forward to sit on one of the docks overlooking the calm water below.

Salvatore slowly moves to join him as he says, “S-she’s right th-though… it r-really isn’t good… f-for you… I smoked e-everyday for m-many years... an-and now I’m p-paying for my i-ignorance… Mother o-only nags at you… b-because she c-cares… and s-she’s always r-right… in the e-end...”

“Oh, fuck what Miranda says, I’m tired of that woman. Always telling us what to do and then thinking that pushing a couple of failed experiments onto us as “gifts” will make up for the fact that she’s disappearing off the face of the planet without a single trace and not telling us when she’ll be back. As far as I’m concerned, when Miranda’s not here, she’s not the boss of me. And the same goes for you, too” Karl says, roughly punching Salvatore in the shoulder.

“I-I don’t… I don’t think th-that’s how this w-works, Karl” Salvatore counters. “Even w-with Mother l-leaving us… f-for a t-time... we still h-have to make s-sure that th-things c-continue on… continue on as p-planned… or e-else we’ll really b-be in trouble… w-when she g-gets back.”

“Maybe,” Karl says thoughtfully, before taking another drag of his cigar. “I don’t know… I just have a sinking feeling that there’s something weird going on behind the scenes and these “gifts”, that she’s giving us, are nothing more than distractions to keep us entertained while she goes and does… whatever the fuck it is she plans on doing while she’s gone.”

Salvatore pauses for a moment, briefly remembering back to when Mother first told him that she’d be leaving the village to go “visit someone”, who she believed could be very important to their mission of reviving Mother’s long lost baby, Eva. Although he hadn’t thought very much of it at the time, the mutant man also remembers Mother saying something about how well Nadine would do at “keeping him occupied” until she finally returned, and maybe even after that, too. But why would Mother Miranda want or need him to be “occupied” when she got back? Wouldn’t she want to share her findings with him so they could work toward creating a vessel to revive Eva in? Wouldn’t she want to see and speak to him again after being away for so long?

Or maybe… could… could Karl actually be onto something here? Salvatore felt terrible doubting Mother Miranda, but he’d be lying if he said that Karl didn’t have a point about Mother’s behavior seeming odd, now that he was in the proper headspace to go back and analyze the memory properly, at least.

“B-but… if Mother h-has gone o-out of her w-way… to make sure that w-we won’t be l-lonely... w-while she’s away… isn’t th-that a… a good th-thing… doesn’t that m-mean she c-cares a-bout us... enough to… e-enough to do something l-like this?” Salvatore asks nervously, watching the younger man intently as he contemplates his response.

“I guess so, at least when you word it like that, it does. But something tells me there’s more to this than she’s led us to believe. She’s got something planned, and she’s definitely after something, and once she gets her hands on it, who the hell knows what’ll happen… whatever it is though, I doubt it’ll be very good, for any of us.”

“D-don’t say th-things l-like that… I-I’m sure M-Mother has a-a reason… a reason w-why she’s leaving… an-and if she d-doesn’t tell us w-what it is… b-before she leaves… th-then Im sure… I’m sure sh-she’ll tell u-us when she g-gets back… she’ll l-let us in o-on her p-plan… wh-when she’s ready… an-and then… once e-everything is… said a-and done… we c-can revive… r-revive Eva… and b-be a real f-family… a-at long l-last… isn’t th-that what w-we a-all want, after a-all… a f-family?” Salvatore asks, hoping this was doing something to ease the younger man’s clearly agitated mind.

What on earth it was that was causing so much turmoil as it flew around inside Karl’s head, Salvatore had no idea. But something about the bespectacled man’s unusually contemplative and concerned mood, coupled with the fact that he’d only punched Salvatore once since his arrival, was beginning to leave an acidic taste in the deformed man’s mouth.

Karl really and truly thought something was wrong, and the younger man’s continued insistence upon this fact was beginning to make Salvatore very very anxious.

Perhaps it was the unusually good and excited mood that Salvatore was in due to the near arrival of his gift, or maybe it was that soft spot for Karl I mentioned earlier, but regardless of the reason, Salvatore felt the odd need to help alleviate the younger man’s bad mood, just like he used to do for him back when Karl was still barely taller than his shoulder.

Mother Miranda certainly wouldn’t be pleased if she found out that Salvatore had broken his mandatory sobriety despite her explicit orders to avoid smoking so his experiment results wouldn't be hindered. That being said however, Miranda always seemed to want her 4 children to get along and be close, like real siblings, so Salvatore supposed that he could allow himself a break from his smoking break so long as, if Miranda did manage to find out somehow, he could get himself out of trouble by spinning it as a rare moment of sibling bonding between the oldest and youngest siblings, rather than the reality of the situation.

“I… I’ll t-take that cigar… if you’re n-not gonna smoke it… th-that is” Salvatore says, a small chuckle escaping him when Karl cheers in delight, practically throwing both the lighter and the cigar into the deformed man’s hands.

Salvatore’s first breath of the cigar is nothing short of heavenly once he finally lights it and takes a drag, and its moments like these when the mutant man finds himself secretly grateful that Karl hasn’t listened to a goddamn word Mother Miranda has said in nearly 4 decades.

A long period of silence passes as both brothers merely sit beside one another and secretly enjoy each other’s company.

“Miranda let me pick my gift first, so I didn’t get to see where the others went. Who did you end up with?” Karl asks, finally breaking the silence.

“T-the… the sh-short one,” Salvatore replies, “with b-blue skin, black h-hair, a-and, uh… oh, an-and white d-dots… all o-over her… l-like freckles… fins t-too”

“Oh ya, I remember that one. Gorgeous little thing, she was” Karl says, nodding his head in appreciation as a devilish smile spreads across his unshaven lips. “With quite the… voluptuous figure too, if I remember correctly.”

“I… well… I-I don’t know i-if… I d-didn’t... shut up...” Salvatore mumbles under his breath, taking a long drag from his cigar as Karl throws his head back laughing like a hyena at his older brother’s sudden bashfulness.

“Ah, come on, Sal, don’t be such a downer all the fuckin’ time, I’m just teasing. I know you still think about shit like that, too, even if you’ve managed to convince Alcina and everybody else that you’re just an innocent little follower who hasn’t had an independent, or dirty thought of his own since the cadou took hold. You used to be a fuckin’ doctor for crying out loud, and you’re still annoyingly the person Miranda goes to first whenever she has a new experiment in mind, cuz you’re smart AND she can trust you. You might look like you fell off the truck that was taking you and your fishy friends to market, but I’ve known you too long for that bullshit act of yours to work on me.”

“Act?” Salvatore asks, genuinely confused by what Karl means.

“You know, that stupid fuckin’ “moronic freak” act you do whenever Miranda’s around. The one where you act like you don’t know what the fuck is going on or what something is so that she’ll take pity on how stupid and childish you’re acting and give you more attention. It’s pathetic to watch and I’m gettin’ sick of seeing you do it all the time. Knock it off, you’re better than that.”

“I’ll… um… b-be sure not to… to m-make it s-seem as… uh… I’ll k-keep that in m-mind” Salvatore finally says, casting his gaze down to his pants for a moment, unsure how to feel about how… friendly and kind Karl was being all of a sudden. Salvatore knew Karl secretly cared about him, the brat does far too many conveniently nice things for him throughout the year for him not to, but hearing the younger man voice his surprisingly high opinion of him was definitely shocking, though still quite touching, all the while.

“W-which gift… d-did you end u-up… getting, Karl? I d-didn’t get t-the chance to… to s-see the others… M-Mother only showed me Nadi-er… my g-gift” Salvatore asks, deciding, at the last second, against using his gift’s real name lest Karl be given even more artillery to tease and riddle him with.

“Eh, just some tall dark haired broad. I think Miranda said something about her being Indian, or something along those lines.”

“O-oh… d-did Mother say a-anything about… whether she’s actually f-from here… o-or did she immigrate… f-from India?” Salvatore asks, tilting his head curiously as this new information about Karl’s gift piques his interest.

Karl stares at Salvatore with a look of confusion for a moment, his mouth opening and closing silently like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words for it. Until, “Aren’t Indians from America?”

The sound of Salvatore’s right palm making firm and painful contact with the back of Karl’s head echoes across the reservoir almost as loudly as the following cry of pain from the man himself.

“OW! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?” Karl roars angrily, pushing himself to his feet while he rubs at the back of his head, hat lopsided and barely hanging on to his head and green glasses no longer perched upon his nose, likely sinking to the murky lake floor just below the docks they were sitting on.

“I d-didn’t spend… th-the better part o-of 15 years… p-pounding an education... i-into y-your th-thick head... for you t-to say… f-for you to b-be spouting dumb shit… l-like that” Salvatore growls in annoyance, eying the taller man with a look that even he wouldn’t dare argue against, at least not with Sal he wouldn’t.

It’s moments like these when Salvatore is very happy that Karl, for as strong and fearless as he is now as a fully grown adult, is still just a little bit afraid of him after all these years. Not because of anything bad or horrifically traumatic of course, especially considering how often Salvatore had gone out of his way to ensure Karl had the least traumatic upbringing he could possibly provide the young boy, given both their situations. As much as he hated to admit it, even Karl would agree that Salvatore had done a pretty decent job of not fucking him up anymore than he already was, which the younger man would secretly always be thankful for. However, even a person as naively patient and serving toward others as Salvatore had his breaking point, and all it took was one especially bad day, resulting in the one and only time Salvatore has ever left a mark upon the younger man’s skin, for Karl to realize that Salvatore was the last person in this godforsaken village he wanted to purposefully make an enemy out of.

Thankfully, their relationship never suffered negatively from that one-off event, but it did force the two to come to a mostly unspoken agreement that has remained present and active, if slightly ignored at certain times, from that point forward. Agreement or not however, Salvatore could never bring himself to harm Karl like that again, even if he wanted to, which was probably the main reason why Karl was still the most comfortable around him, even after all these years. It was a secret they shared between them, and them alone, and it would be one that he would cherish for the rest of his life, as Karl would secretly cherish the kindness and brotherly love Salvatore had treated him with for all these years. They were brothers, regardless of whether they got along or not, and nothing in the would world would be able to change that.

That being said however, Karl was about to be in for a very rude awakening if he thought he could just do and say whatever the hell he wanted around Salvatore without there being any consequences.

“‘A-aren’t Indians f-from A-America?’ G-good grief... I o-oughta throttle y-you for th-that one” Salvatore grumbles through another drag of his cigar, shaking his head in utter disbelief and disappointment. Karl was so intelligent, and yet he could be so stupid sometimes that it physically hurt Salvatore to think about.

“But there ARE Indians in America, aren’t there? I know I’m not wrong here” Karl defends aggressively, his anger quickly giving way to embarrassment when Salvatore raises his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and annoyance.

“Th-they’re called N-Native Americans... f-first of all... they w-were only c-called I-Indians... b-because the g-guy... the moron who f-first sailed t-to the A-Americas... w-was actually... looking for I-India... the r-real India... b-but back th-then... you h-had to go all th-the way... a-around Africa... to g-get there... but he th-thought h-he could do... d-do it a d-different w-way... he thought h-he could f-find India... by s-sailing straight f-from S-Spain... and g-going around the whole w-world... until h-he came b-back around... an-and hit Asia” Salvatore explained slowly, hoping to maintain his delusion that Karl had, in fact, paid attention to at least some of the lessons he gave the boy throughout their time together, even if it wasn’t actually true.

“But he didn’t. He hit the Americas and started calling the locals Indians cuz the guy, what’s-his-face... Columbine... Columbus... whatever, was dumb enough to think he was in India and not a totally different landmass” Karl finishes, looking like he at least remembered hearing about his information before, which was good enough for Salvatore.

Despite the grimace still etched onto his face, Karl groans in annoyed defeat and slinks back down to sit next to Salvatore, still cradling the back of his head.

“Anyways, as i was saying before I was so rudely interrupted with a goddamn history lesson-”

“You w-want another s-smack?” Salvatore threatens, mildly amused when Karl pauses his dramatic retelling, before sliding just a few inches to the right, away from Salvatore’s preferred disciplining hand.

Coughing slightly, Karl continues. “Anyways… going back to my “finding the silver lining” idea, or whatever the fuck its called. This whole “gift” thing might actually work out kinda nice for me in the long run, especially since the one I got looked like she was strong and could handle herself in a rough and tumble environment. If she proves herself, I’m planning on turning her into my assistant” Karl explains casually. “As much as I hate working with other people, normally, I’ve got some projects that would really benefit from a second pair of hands, so I’m attempting to make a “silver lining” moment out of this bullshit “gift” thing Miranda’s tryin to do and just hope and pray that things work out in my favor. Though, to be fair, if things with this girl don’t go well, I could always use her body for a cool idea I’ve had cooked up for a while now. What about you? What are you planning on doing with your new little toy once it finally arrives?”

Salvatore merely shrugs his shoulders. “It w-would be nice… i-if we c-could be f-friends… somehow… but…”

“Ya… you’re not exactly working with the latest and greatest set up, huh? Even a mutant girl might need a little bit to get adjusted to a face like that” Karl says.

“That’s c-certainly one way o-of p-putting it” Salvatore replies dejectedly.

Karl flinches slightly, which surprises Salvatore, since the younger man has a habit of caring very little for how his words affect those around him. Why on earth was he being so considerate, all of a sudden?

“Look, uh… what I meant to say was that… ok, so maybe you’re not like, the best looking guy ever, but like…” Karl stammers and stutters, trying desperately to figure out what he wants to say but seemingly coming up short every time.

Salvatore narrows his eyes again, suspicion returning. “You’re h-hiding something f-from me… w-what are you a-after, Karl?” Salvatore asks seriously, fixing the younger man with a stern look that he knows Karl recognizes.

“Hey, don’t you give me that fuckin’ look. I am too fuckin’ old for you to be looking at me like that, what am I, 12?” Karl asks.

“You c-certainly act l-like it… most of th-the time” Salvatore grumbles under his breath.

Karl clearly heard him, but knew better than to argue with the water not even a foot below where the two were currently sitting, his sunglasses having already taken a nice little dive as punishment for his big mouth. Salvatore might have only agreed to speak with Karl because the latter had demanded it, but they were still very much in Salvatore’s territory, and it wasn’t even a question of who had the topographical advantage should an “argument” actually break out between them.

Karl is strong, nobody can deny that. But Salvatore has the home advantage, and they both know it.

After a moment of tense staring, Karl finally breaks first, sighing heavily before tossing his finished cigar cap into the water below them, a crime Salvatore briefly contemplates knocking the younger man in for, before deciding against it, knowing, with his luck, that it would only come back to bite him in the ass later.

“Alright look,” Karl finally says, a look of frustrated determination on his face, “I don’t know what Miranda really has planned past her whole “get a suitable vessel for Eva” obsession, or what she’s really after on this mission of hers… but something about this whole situation going on recently just doesn’t feel right to me, and I think we need to do something about it before something bad happens and we all somehow end up dead. Now, I'm not 100% sure why I’m talking about this with the head of Miranda’s fuckin’ fanclub, but considering what my other 2 options were it wasn’t like I had much of a damn choice. My only saving grace right now is the fact that you’ll at least occasionally listen to fuckin’ reason, given your gaping maw can be yanked from Miranda’s tit long enough to hear me out, that is. It’s certainly better than my chances with Lady Super-sized Bitch and Crazy Psycho Doll, over there.”

“Are you s-sure you’re n-not just being p-paranoid?” Salvatore asks slowly, not wanting to offend Karl by outright stating he didn’t believe the younger man’s hunch, but also trying to figure out if Karl actually has something to be concerned about, or if he’s just looking for an excuse to badmouth Miranda.

“No, no no no, don’t you do this to me too, Sal” Karl begs in frustration. “You can go about the rest of your life loving the absolute shit out of that crazy woman if you want to and I won’t say a goddamn thing about it, but I need you to promise me, and I mean promise me, that if you see or hear something weird regarding Miranda and this little “trip” she’s about to go on, you come tell me so that we can at least make sure our own asses are covered when shit hits the fan.”

“Well… I-I uh…”

“Come on, Sal. None of these psychotic assholes have ever had my back like you, and that’s exactly the reason why I’m telling you all this” Karl says honestly, catching Salvatore off guard with the oddly familiar wording.

“I know I can be a royal fucking pain in the ass most of the time and that I’m not always the… nicest to you… even though you did kinda do... a bit for me here and there when I was a little tyke... But none of that matters now, because even if Miranda isn’t trying to hide something from us, with the two of us banded together, we could do whatever the hell we wanted while she’s gone, and neither of the other shitheads would be able to tell us otherwise. What do you say, Sal? Come on, you and me, together, just like when I was a kid, remember?” Karl asked excitedly, his eyes shimmering in boyish glee as he spouts off all the things they’d be able to get away with when Miranda finally left, the torment they’d be able to unleash upon Alcina being a particular favorite of Karl’s, it would seem.

Salvatore remained silent for a moment, contemplating the deal he’d just been given.

It’s… not a terrible deal, at least compared to some of the previous deals Salvatore has been offered in the past. It wasn’t like him agreeing to “ally” himself with Karl was a direct declaration of war against Mother Miranda or anything like that, merely a mutual effort that would guarantee safety for both him and Karl should Mother’s plan not go exactly as she wanted, which scientific experiments were known to do. Not to mention that giving Alcina a good messing with did sound like quite a bit of fun.

Maybe… maybe Karl was right. Maybe Salvatore was being a bit too much of a stick in the mud. It was just Karl after all, who Salvatore had practically raised, starting from the boy’s arrival into the family at 6 years old and more or less up until his factory was completed just after his 22nd birthday. Karl could certainly be a handful for even the most powerful individuals, but even on his worst days, he always found some backwards, convoluted way to apologize for his behavior.

“W-well… I-I’m not s-sure… I d-don’t know how I f-feel about… about d-doing things th-that Mother… wouldn’t a-approve of… just b-because sh-she’s gone...”

“But...” Karl continued for him.

“B-but I suppose… k-keeping each other u-updated… when we f-find… or h-hear s-something weird is… wouldn’t be… wouldn’t be th-the worst idea… in th-the world… e-even if it just t-turns out that… we w-were just being p-paranoid.”

“Excellent! That’s just what I was hoping to hear” Karl says triumphantly, standing up.

“A-are you l-leaving, already?”

“Ya” Karl affirms, “I’ve got work to do at the factory, and based on the look of things here, you were busy with a project of your own it looks like.”

Salvatore nods, pocketing his freshly finished cigar cap for later, proper, disposal. “I c-can’t even remember… the l-last time I… p-properly cleaned this p-place… it l-looks so m-much nicer… even w-without being f-fully finished…”

“Good for you. My own property could probably do with a good cleaning of its own now that you mention it. If nothing else though, I’m sure your new little lady friend will appreciate that you picked up the place for her arrival.”

“Y-you think s-so?” Salvatore asks.

Karl shrugs his shoulders. “Who knows with chicks, they’re unpredictable, but I suppose it’s possible. Then again, maybe not considering who you ended up with. I don’t know the full story or anything like that, but based on what I heard from Miranda, that blue bitch you went with was the craziest one of them all. Practically tore her pod apart the first time Miranda tried to put her in it, and caused all sorts of other damage throughout her mutation phase too, not that I blame the poor girl. I’d tear that whole lab right out from under the surface and set it ablaze if I could. Going back down there after so many years… I was puking like you for the rest of the fuckin’ day when I finally got out of that hellhole. Stomach still feels a little nauseous if I’m being honest...”

“I-I’m sorry… to h-hear that” Salvatore says, though Karl is quick to brush him off.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. I’m a big boy and I can handle myself. But do we have a deal? Keep each other in the loop whenever we hear anything… strange or abnormal about Mother Miranda or her special little mission?”

Salvatore pauses for a moment, thinking one last time about whether this was a good idea, before finally shrugging his shoulders and nodding. “Y-yes, we h-have a deal… b-but just remember something, Karl… 40 years d-didnt do… nearly as m-much for your p-poker face as i-it did for your s-smart mouth. If I c-catch you lying to m-me-”

“Ya, ya, ya, you’ll chop up my body and toss my remains in the lake to feed the fishes, I’ve heard that one a million times before” Karl interrupts. “Don’t worry, Sal, if I was planning on lying to you at any point throughout this process, you’d have already caught me by now. Even I know better than to try pulling a fast one over the walking fuckin’ lie detector.”

“I’m h-holding you to th-that, Karl” Salvatore calls over his shoulder as the younger man stands and begins heading toward the gate to return to his factory, chuckling lightly when Karl returns his warning with a middle finger.

“Take it easy, old man. And let me know how that crazy fish bitch you ended up with turns out. If all else fails I’ll turn her into a nice stuffed pillow for you” the bespeckled man says, throwing his head back in laughter as though he’d told a funny joke, before adding, “And I’d better get my sunglasses back within the week, or else I’m draining the whole fucking reservoir so I can find them myself. Don’t think I won’t do it, old man.”

Salvatore merely returns the middle finger, a response that Karl seems to appreciate, if the wolfish howl of laughter the younger man let's out says anything, at least.

‘Cheeky brat. Always plotting something’ Salvatore thinks fondly to himself as he slips back into the water to continue cleaning the reservoir, quickly grabbing the green sunglasses that had sunk to the bottom and pocketing them to return to Karl later. He pauses for a moment when a thought crosses his mind.

Within the past 24 hours, both Mother Miranda and Karl had been… unusually kind and affectionate toward Salvatore, which pleased but also confused the twisted man.

Karl was easy enough to explain away, the younger man has been flip flopping between periods where he likes and spends time with Salvatore, and periods where he’d sooner set himself on fire than be in the same room as his older brother, since the day they met, so as far as Salvatore was concerned, Karl’s behavior was hardly breaking news, though perhaps a bit surprising given everything going on with Mother’s gifts. Mother Miranda, however, was a different story.

Usually more distant and hands-off in her parenting ways, Miranda had been uncharacteristically affectionate toward the disfigured man the night before, going as far as to openly praise Salvatore for all his hard work and even hold him without being asked to. It had been such a wonderful experience at the time and yet, the more Salvatore thought about it, the stranger and stranger the behavior seemed, especially now that Karl had confronted him.

Speaking of Karl… Mother seemed quite upset with him when she spoke of him the night before. Going as far as to badmouth him specifically, calling him a ‘conniving little snake’, despite the younger man usually being her favorite by a country mile. Had Karl done something to incur Mother’s wrath? Is that why Karl came all the way over here to make that deal with him? Is he trying to rally the 4 lords to rebel against Mother Miranda?

No... No, no no no, that couldn’t be true, there’s no way.

Even Karl, for all his incredible intellect and hunger for power, was too afraid of Mother Miranda to ever try anything as drastic as that. That being said however, even though Salvatore doubted that Karl would ever try to rebel against Mother Miranda, it did seem like the younger man was trying very hard to get Salvatore onto his side for some reason. In fact, both Karl AND Mother Miranda appeared to be trying to sway the eldest Lord in their favor, though for what reason, he still had no idea.

It was definitely something that made Salvatore slightly wary of the both of them, though.

There’s nothing in this world that Salvatore hates more than doubting his beloved Mother, but even he couldn’t write this oddity of a situation off as a mere one-off incident or sudden change of Miranda’s tune. Mother has been acting very strangely recently, doing things she wouldn’t normally do and acting overly affectionate as if to try and throw everyone off her tracks, and the longer Salvatore thought about it, the more he couldn’t help but wonder, as painful as it was to admit, if maybe Karl was actually onto something.

Logically, he knows that Karl is just being Karl, looking to stir up some trouble for his own, and supposedly Salvatore’s, amusement, and that Mother Miranda is likely just trying to enjoy the time she has left with her children before she leaves on her mission. However, something in the back of Salvatore’s mind can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s more going on than he’s been led to believe by either of them. And as if this situation couldn’t get any more confusing for the deformed man, now his overly anxious and analytical mind was beginning to understand what Karl meant when he said there was something strange going on, no matter how much the rest of him practically screamed to just listen to Miranda like he always has.

Shaking his head of his scrambled thoughts and turning his focus back to his work, Salvatore decides that the best thing he can do right now is keep an ear to the ground on both Mother Miranda AND Karl, just to be fair. He still isn't sure if he plans on being 100% honest with Karl regarding their deal, but he supposes that maintaining a good relationship with the younger man wouldn’t hurt in the event he turned out to be right and Mother’s plan backfired on all of them.

Besides, if Karl did turn out to be right, and Salvatore was ready for if things took a bad turn, he could still be there to rescue Mother Miranda and ensure she’s brought to safety along with them. He’ll have successfully fulfilled his family duties to both Karl and Mother Miranda, without ever having to actually choose which side he was definitively on. A perfect plan if the mutant man says so himself. Now the only thing left to do between now and whenever things started getting interesting was work on the reservoir and wait for his gift to finally arrive, his mood regarding this whole situation greatly improved thanks to Karl’s visit.

Hopefully, if things went well, he’d have some exciting news to tell the younger man the next time they met up.

Maybe he’d even have a new friend to introduce.

44 notes · View notes

plasticnightmaredoll · 3 years

Photo

Ok, so I had to do this after reading @justasimplesinner ‘s absolutely adorable and precious h/cs for Arkham Knight Riddler meeting his s/o’s family for the first time. I mean, AK!Eddie being happy? Having some sort of family? It hits me right in the feels 😭

But I was inspired to write something similar for Telltale Riddler and his s/o but with a twist. I mean, it’s already going to be quite different considering how Telltale Riddler is, but I’m taking things a little further and getting a bit personal. Since I self-ship with him, I figured, why not turn these h/cs into self-insert ones?

Basically, Telltale Riddler meeting my family for the first time on Christmas.

The h/cs will reflect what the reality of my family is like but I won’t get, like, too personal. Y’all don’t need to know everything.

Pre-headcanons warnings to be fair:

There is a little but of smut at the end. Nothing explicit but it’s a little bit spicy.

These are self-insert headcanons, not reader-insert ones

This is an age-gap pairing since I’m 33 years old and Telltale Riddler is 60 years old.

Anyway, let’s head on into these h/cs for Telltale Riddler meeting my folks for the first time (and that seems awkward as hell to write but hey, I’m fictosexual so....🤷‍♀️)

There is a little bit of smut at the end. Nothing explicit but it’s definitely a little spicy.

It’s the first Christmas spent with Eddie since becoming a couple, and it’s also kind of an awkward time because family, you know? And, well, my parents don’t know I’m dating anyone...let alone THE Riddler.

It’s going to be a challenge getting them to accept me dating someone nearly twice my age (I’m 33 and Edward’s 60, but damn, did he age like fine wine or what?) But revealing that it’s the goddamn Riddler?

So, yeah, I’m freaking out but I also realize that I have to tell them eventually because it’s only fair, for one, and keeping it a secret for a long time would just make things worse if -- or more realistically, when -- my parents found out on their own.

Plus, I’m not ashamed or afraid to date Edward. He treats me much differently than he treats most other people, and I want my parents to know that, yeah, he’s Riddler, a criminal mastermind but honestly, he treats me better than any guy has and I’m actually happy.

Edward isn’t nervous but he’s concerned because he doesn’t want to complicate things between my parents and me, doesn’t want to bring unnecessary drama and angst into my life. He can handle people disliking him -- hating him -- but he doesn’t want the only person he’s ever truly cared for to have a damaged relationship with her family because of him.

But we discuss it and decide it’s better to just go ahead and do it. Rip off the band aid and get the pain out of the way as fast as possible, so to speak. Whatever happens, happens, and hopefully it’s nothing (too) upsetting.

I call my parents and tell them I’m coming to visit for Christmas, and I reveal -- while my hands are shaking and my heart is pounding from the anxiety consuming me -- that I want to bring my boyfriend.

Oh, I have a boyfriend? For how long? How did we meet? What’s he like? What’s his name? Why the wait to tell them about him?

I know it wouldn’t go over well to just show up at my parents home hanging off of the goddamn Riddler’s arm, like, “Oh, hey, my boyfriend is a criminal genius, don’t ya know?”

So, I approach telling them over the phone the truth slowly, cautiously. I say his name is Edward and we met kind of by accident and we’ve been dating for a good portion of the year. It’s my first Christmas with him, actually.

Wait, it’s been that long and I never told my them?! What the hell?!

Needless to say, they are baffled and also concerned about this news.

I explain the awkward but less, uh, shocking news that he is an older man, and I was worried they’d be upset about that. They ask how old Edward is and I hesitate, wondering if I should lie and say he’s, like, in his early 50s because he could easily pass for that age. Hell, even I thought he was in his early 50s (or even very late 40s) when I first met him.

However, honesty is the best policy, and this is not even the “bad” news yet.

I say that he just turned 60 years old this year in a calm, cool, casual tone, like I’m talking about the weather and not revealing to my parents that I’m dating a guy who is my dad’s age.

There is silence and I internally panic because if they’re angered or appalled by this, they’re not going to handle finding out who Edward is well at all.

They are surprised, a little worried for my wellbeing because they think Edward’s some perverted Sugar Daddy to me. They don’t say it like that but it’s heavily implied.

I explain that’s not the case at all, that he’s actually very sweet towards me.

My folks decide to go along with this bit of news because hey, I’m 33 years old. I’m an adult. I can date an older man if I want.

Then comes the “fun” part, which is revealing to them what Edward does for a living.

I laugh nervously, and Edward, who has been patiently sitting beside me on the couch, realizes what I’m about to tell my parents. He watches me closely, hoping this doesn’t turn into a disaster for my sake.

“Yeah, so, Edward, yeah...Edward is...well, he’s, um...Well, he’s, he’s a genius. Like a tech genius, great with electrical engineering, computers. And uh, his job, his profession, his, um, career? Yeah, that’s...well, he’s...”

I take a deep breath and prepare for the worst.

“He’s The Riddler, one of Gotham’s...elite....masterminds.”

The silence on the other end of the phone is so terrifying that I feel like I’m going to faint from how anxious I am. Edward places a hand on my knee as a means of comfort, still wanting to give me some space to breathe and calm down.

My parents aren’t...thrilled, to say the least. I’m dating a fucking criminal mastermind?! I’m dating RIDDLER? THE RIDDLER? What the goddamn fresh hell is this?!

I start crying because I’m so stressed about this, and Edward moves closer so he can put his arm around me. He feels bad, he really does, and it shows in his troubled expression, but there’s not much he can do. It’s not like we can take this back and say, “Oh, hey, just kidding!” No, this was the truth and now we were dealing with the consequences.

I manage to get my parents to calm down long enough so I can get a word in. I get up off the couch and walk to another room to speak to them alone.

I tell them I know it’s not the most pleasant news to hear, and I know it seems awful, but it’s the first time I have been with a man and he’s treated me well. Like, really well. It’s not just the nice gifts or expensive dinners. Edward does genuinely care about me. I don’t feel like a “booty call,” he doesn’t ignore me, he doesn’t threaten me, he’s never abused me and never will. He’s not the same person with me as he is with some other people. I wouldn’t be dating him otherwise.

It takes some more convincing, but once I get it through to my parents that yes, I’m actually happy and yes, I’m safe and yes, Edward is a very doting boyfriend, they decide to meet him at Christmas. I know they will still have concerns and may be a bit cold to Edward at first, but I hope they would see what I see.

The day arrives and I’m a nervous wreck. Edward is worried for me. He assures me that everything will be ok, and I want to believe but I’m still scared.

Deep down, he thinks maybe dating me is a bad idea -- not because he doesn’t love me but because he feels like he could damage my relationship with my parents. However, he doesn’t bring this up as he doesn’t want me to be even more upset than I already am.

Edward had brought with him some gifts for my parents and my grandma (she was staying with them, too). He brought the most most beautiful bouquet of flowers and a necklace for my grandma, a very lovely diamond bracelet for my mom, and a high-quality (aka expensive) watch for my dad.

I had to dress to impress and by that, dress in things Edward had given me to give my parents more visual proof that he was taking care of me. But I was careful not to overdo it. I didn’t want my parents to think I was his piece of...eye candy.

When we arrive, my parents greet us at the door, giving me a much warmer welcome than they give to Edward. They’re not rude to him, but they look uneasy, even a little irritated.

Edward, being the charming bastard he is, keeps his calm and showcases his gentlemanly side. It’s genuine because he IS quite the gentleman as I have learned, but I don’t know if it will be enough to convince my parents to accept him.

They appreciate the gifts, seem a little caught off guard by the pricey but very lovely things Edward bought them. They also notice I’m wearing a dress that cost a pretty penny and jewelry just as extravagant. But none of it’s gaudy.

Basically, I don’t look like Riddler’s trophy girlfriend.

Edward is courteous and charming, which seems to help my mom relax a bit. My dad still looks rather tense, though.

My grandma, being 90 and having frequent issues with memory, doesn’t remember who Edward actually is. My parents told her but she had forgotten and it was probably for the best.

My grandma is impressed with Edward, finds him to be a proper, handsome gentleman type. She also was very grateful for the gifts he brought her.

Edward is very patient with my grandma, which I know isn’t easy due to her memory problems. But he is very relaxed, behaving pretty much like he does around me.

We all have dinner and chat, and the tension in the air lightens. My parents even laugh at a few humorous comments from Edward. He thanks my parents for allowing him to visit and for the wonderful dinner, and offers to help my parents clean up.

Good. This gives my parents time alone with Edward which, as nerve-wracking as it is for me, is something that needs to happen. They need a one-on-one with my boyfriend...and hopefully it didn’t turn into a mess.

I stay with my grandma and act like everything’s fine as I anxiously wait to find out what my parents will ultimately think of Edward.

They are upfront with him once they’re alone with him, asking him if he’s putting up some kind of act or if this is all really him. They also ask if he genuinely cares for me or if he’s just using me because I’m “young and pretty.” They don’t hide their feelings, my parents, and they are concerned for my safety and happiness above all else. They NEED to know that Edward is good to me despite being Riddler. They can’t tell me who to be with but it would put their mind at ease if they were assured I was in good hands.

Edward is honest with them. He isn’t putting on a front. He is gentlemanly by nature with people he likes and respects, and he’s a bit old-fashioned in some ways anyway due to his age. He doesn’t fake his feelings for anyone, and while he does want my parents to accept him as my boyfriend, he knows it’s not an easy choice. He also tells them they have every right to reject him, and he won’t hold a grudge towards them about it if they do.

If anything, he’s earned scorn more than kindness due to how he’s lived his life, and that’s fair. He accepts that.

But then he explains that no, I am not eye candy for him. He’s not a play boy looking for a “good time.” He’s serious about me and feels things towards me he’s never felt--never expected to feel. I’m the one thing in his dark and violent life that is bright and soothing, even though he’s done nothing in his life to deserve such a sweet and caring partner.

He tells them that I’m always protected and cared for, and he has made arrangements to ensure I’m still protected and cared for if -- or more realistically, when something happens to him.

Being Riddler’s girlfriend has its perks. No one messes with me, that’s for sure, because they know I’m important to him, and they know what he is willing to do to keep me safe.

As scary as that is to hear, my parents find some relief in that. Yes, Edward is The Riddler, a criminal mastermind who strikes fear into many. However, he takes care of what is precious to him -- and not much is precious to him. Actually, nothing is save for me. I bring him a lot of joy and much-needed peace, and he’d give his life to protect me.

I deserve to be happy, he tells my parents, because I am a good person unlike him, and he works hard to make sure I know I’m loved and cared for, that I’m good enough and that he has no intentions of leaving me or cheating on me for someone else.

Edward also assures my parents that, should they need anything, he can provide. Of course, he won’t force his help on them but he won’t ever turn them away either. He looks out for those that mean a lot to me, who are close to me, regardless of who they are and how they feel about him. That is a promise he makes to my parents, too.

He also comments on how they have been taking care of my grandma pretty much on their own for a couple years now, and he knows from what he has observed and from things I’ve told him that it is a very exhausting duty. It’s an admirable one, though, for sure, and he respects my parents for being good people.

He sees where I get my kind nature, he tells them.

He says that he can pay for live-in help for them, like a live-in nurse, someone who can help take care of my grandma and let my parents have a break every now and again. Also, should she need anything that isn’t covered by her insurance, he will cover the costs.

Same goes for my parents, who aren’t the healthiest people in their old age (Edward has the regenerative properties of the LOTUS virus on his side -- they don’t). He doesn’t tell them that obviously, that they’re unhealthy, but he says should they need any expenses covered for treatments, medication, etc., he can provide.

Because he is THAT serious about me.

My parents are, to say the least, much more confident in my relationship with Edward now that they’ve talked with him one on one. They give him their blessing, so to speak, to be my boyfriend, and appreciate his generosity. They do ask for help with live-in aid for my grandma, and Edward says pick who they want and he’ll pay whatever insurance won’t cover.

I am beyond relieved that my parents have decided to accept Edward, and am so grateful to him for offering his help to them...because they need it and deserve it.

He tells me it’s no trouble at all, that whatever makes me happy makes him happy, and he’s more than willing to aid those that are important to me.

Edward and I stay over Christmas Eve so we can spend more time with my family on Christmas Day. We get the guest room which has a small bed, so we’re “forced” to get close.

Of course, I can’t resist tempting him even now, and he doesn’t turn me down. I do warn him that we have to be careful because, hey, my folks are here in this house and I’m not the quietest lover.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he tells me with a smirk. “I came prepared for any eventuality.”

Needless to say, I need to be gagged because Edward makes sure I have a Merry Fucking Christmas -- literally -- and also makes sure I know how much he both loves and desires me.

We decide to leave out the whole Dom/Sub aspect of our relationship in regards to my parents.

We also don’t tell them about how I call Edward, “Daddy” almost any other time 👀👀👀👀💦💦💦💦💦💦

My mom also refuses to believe he’s 60 years old because he’s so good-looking 😄

#telltale riddler #edward nigma #the riddler #riddler #self-insert #self-shipping #riddler headcanons #edward nygma #slightly nsft

30 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Text

Treasure (Indruck)

Prompt for the 9th was: Knight Terrors

Knights are generally well-prepared, the way those in charge of the kingdom's wellbeing ought to be. Prepared for monsters bursting from the woods or dropping from the sky, prepared to protect citizens from harm, prepared to guide royalty through all manner of perils.

What Duck Newton, knight of the realm of Kepler, was not prepared for was being carried off by a fucking dragon.

He didn’t even know there were dragons in this part of the world.

Worse the dragon doesn’t seem to know his haul contained an unwilling extra item, and so he’s dumped Duck into some sort of sorting room, rather than a central horde or other spot where he might be able to see the cave entrance and get out.

Beacon is somewhere in this mess, but he’s coiled and so can't talk. It figures, the one time that obnoxious sword’s even more obnoxious voice would be helpful is the time Duck remembered to silence him.

He’s never been do freaked out in his life. Fuck, he can’t even tell where the door is.

That problem is resolved and immediately replaced with a much worse one when a stone panel swings open and a large, black-scaled dragon appears.

“Huh. I was half convinced there was something wrong with my foresight, But no, there is indeed a human in my storage room. How on earth did you even get here?” He takes in Ducks clothes, the insignia on his chest, his armor. Red eyes narrow, “did you follow me, oh brave knight, hoping to slay me in my sleep?”

“No, I was in the goddamn carriage when you just lifted the whole fuckin thing up and flew off.”

“And what were you doing in a carriage meant for treasure alone?” The dragon cocks his head.

“Guardin’ it.”

“And what, exactly, were you to do to an attacker?” The dragon drops to all fours, thoroughly blocking the exit.

“Uhhhhhhh, um, to, uh, to not, fuck, to do not slayin? Fuck. Look,their directions weren’t real clear. They just told me I was headed for a royal guest.”

The glowing red eyes widen with understanding Duck does not share. “So that’s what they told you? A pity” The dragon steps closer, and Duck refuses to flinch when hot breath ruffles his hair, “I was hoping they had been truthful with mine.”

“With your what?” Duck looks down just as a black clawed hand is held out to him.

“I will explain in a moment. This is one of the colder parts of my lair, and I would rather have this discussion somewhere warm. Come.” He flattens his palm and Duck, energized by the thought of being somewhere with more escape routes or weapons, sits down in it. The dragon carries him out; it’s smaller than he assumed, maybe twenty feet at most from his head to the tip of his tail. But it’s terrifically strong, given that it picked up the carriage he was in as if it weighed no more than a sugar cube.

“What is your name?” One eye regards him with a glint of...something. It looks pleased whenever it scans over his body.

“Sir Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.”

“It is nice to meet you, Duck Newton. I am Indrid Cold.” His voice is remarkably lilting, not at all the deep rumble Duck expected.

“This is the parlor.” The dragon sets him down near an immense fireplace, embers glowing warmly nd reclines against a large pile of furs and pillows, “my room and horde is just through there. You may see it later, if you like, I am rather proud of it.

“Uh, no thanks, I’ll need to be headin back to take my licks for losin the thing I was guardin.” His hope is that if he acts as if the dragon has no reason to keep him around, it will just let him go.

“Ah yes, about that.” He taps a claw on the stone floor, “you see, this is terribly awkward. That carriage was meant for me. As were you. I knew you would be arriving soon, but not when, and I was preoccupied using my visions to watch for danger, and thus did not realize you were in it until after we returned.”

“Why do you keep sayin that I’m yours, what do you need a human for? Oh fuck, am I fuckin dinner or something?”

“Nono, nothing of the kind. In many ways you are the opposite. You see, it has long been a tradition for kingdoms along the Draco Mountain Range to send a knight to act as an assistant to each dragon. When there were more dragonborns and fewer standard dragons, there was another, ah component as well.”

“But you ain’t a dragonborn, so we don’t gotta worry about that second part?” He crosses his fingers in hope.

A sigh, “Technically I am dragonborn; long story painfully short, I was blamed for something I did not do and was cursed to remain like this for eternity. But no one outside of a few trusted friends knows that. So your kingdom assumed I could still take my more human form. Which means they chose you for the, ah, the second purpose as well as the first. You are meant to be my consort.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and then Duck is standing, looking for something to put between himself and the dragon, “nope, nope, no fuckin way, this ain’t happen, this can’t be happenin.”

“Oh dear, you are frightened.” The dragon furrows his brow

“I’m fucking terrified! Who wouldn’t be?!”

Indrid starts to move towards him and then thinks better of it, “I promise, you have nothing to fear. Is it not clear that the arrangement means I will not eat or otherwise harm you?” Indrid blinks at him, seeming perplexed.

“And the part where I’m supposed to be the start of some fuckin dragon harem or some shit is supposed to calm me down?” Duck’s voice echoes off the walls.

“You did not let me finish my explanation. While that is the misconception your kingdom is under, I will under no circumstances expect you to fulfill it. Your duties here will be as if I was born this way, so you will primarily do small household tasks, assist with security, and aid me in things where having small hands is helpful.” Indrid is frustratingly calm, as if Duck is the one being ridiculous for being afraid of this whole situation and the implications of his initial explanation.

“Great, just fuckin great, so I’m your servant now.” Duck rubs his forehead, as if that might make this all stop.

“Nothing of the sort. You may do tasks, but I must do the same. We are sharing this home, so we must each participate in its maintenance. So no, you are not my servant. Although you are part of my horde.”

“I’m not a fuckin necklace or somethin you dipshit!”

“You are not an object, if that is what you fear, and I do not see you as one. I, ah, my horde is made up of that which I value or find pleasing. You can be both those things as a human. You are a treasure and I will treat you as one. I will bring you the finest silks, jewels, works of art, whatever your heart desires, for everything that is mine is now yours. Indeed, you may be that which I treasure most; just looking at you makes me happy, and I dearly wish to curl around you and keep you safe.”

Chills run along Duck’s skin, and he notices the embers have gone out, meaning the only light is the red glow of Indrid’s eyes, pinning Duck in place. Vibrations move cross the stone.

“Hold the fuck on, are you, uh, purrin from thinkin about takin care of me?”

Indrid blinks several times, shakes his head, “Yes, it seems I was. I, ah, I apologize for all I just said it, it sort of came up unbidden. I wonder if that is why they chose you, if someone knew that you would be the most appealing human I ever laid eyes on.”

Duck tries not to be flattered, tries to focus on figuring out what the fuck he’s supposed to do now, but it’s hard with the way Indrid is looking at him with affectionate curiosity.

“Look, Indrid, I don’t mean no offense, but this is all super fuckin weird and I just...I don’t fuckin understand why they sent me and not, I dunno, a princess? Ain’t that traditional?”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why would they send princesses? Most of them are trained to run the kingdom, and thus are rather important. Knights as far more expendable.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You asked me for their reasoning. I did not say that I agree. Did no one ever suggest you might be trained for a specific role?”

He freezes, thinking back on ll the times he was encouraged to pursue knighthood for the sake of a supposed destiny. Then so much anger hits him at once he has to sit down on the cold floor, even as the dragon nudges a human sized chair his way.

“That’s why they were so fuckin determined to get me to accept my destiny. Fuck, they made it seem like I was trainin’ to do somethin great, to protect people, and all the while they knew they were just gonna ship me off without warnin! ‘Oh, sorry Duck, you don’t get to have a life of your own, we gotta train you up so you can go be a fuckin dragon toy!”

“That was rather uncalled for.”

“Well what the fuck else am I gonna call it? You talk about dressin me up, sleepin with me, you seem to think I ain’t no more than something you get to look at it.”

“I think no such thing” the narrow tip of his tail thrashes, “I am trying to be hospitable. I have not had a human visit me for more than a few hours before, forgive me for a few missteps. And I am not the one who misled you about your destiny, so kindly direct that anger elsewhere.” The last few words come out in a growl.

Duck’s so pissed he growls right back

“Fine. I’m gonna walk my ass back to Kepler and give ‘em all a piece of my mind.” He spins on his heel, only for Indrid to zip in front of him.

“No, do not do that. It is considered a literal declaration of war.”

“......are you fuckin kiddin me?”

“No. Now please move away from the door.” Indrid tries to scoot him backwards with his tail. Duck slaps the scales, causing Indrid to yelp.

“You only did that in one future.”

“I can move my own damn self. And I plan on movin it somewhere I can get some privacy.”

Indrid points down the center most tunnel, “The third door on the right is yours.”

“That feels like a trap.”

“It is a study. Equipped for humans, including a bedroom and washroom”

Well, that’s better than sleeping on top of a dragon.

He turns without another word, and as the room disappears from view he hears the slow slide of scales on stone, heading the other direction.

----------------------------------------------

Indrid reaches his bedroom and proceeds to clonk his head into the door.

There was no way around that confrontation. The moment Duck Newton asked for an explanation, there was no future where he was not upset by what Indrid told him. Indrid does not blame him at all, and he’s quite angry with whoever in Kepler misled him for so long.

None of that changes how excited he was when he was informed he’d soon be getting a human companion. He has visitors and friends of all kinds, but he’s lived alone ever since the disaster that led to his transformation. He was so looking forward to having someone to talk with, to get to know, to be gentle and kind to, something a dragon his size is not given many chances to do.

There’s a much smaller horde in the corner, full of items he thought a human might enjoy. Dragonborns still hold the custom of giving those they wish to charm (in platonic or romantic ways) finery as a show of goodwill. His eyes keep drifting back to the red cloak woven with gold and the green shirt made to accentuate muscles. Duck would no doubt look remarkable in them.

But the human wants to be alone, wants nothing to do with Indrid. If Indrid is to make him feel at home here, he must abide by that desire. He sighs, curling around his horde. The way forward may become clear after some rest.

Later that night, he sets several items of clothing,the finest he can find that are still simple, as Duck seems to prefer that style, next to a plate of fish from the nearby stream. He charred them on the hearth so they’d be warm, though this resulted in one being burnt to a crisp.

He ate that one as penance for frightening the human.

The next morning the plate is clean but the clothes are there. Indrid leaves them be until mid-morning and then replaces the plate with a bowl of blackberries and more fish. Since there are books in the study, he leaves the human tools for embroidery, in case that is a hobby he prefers.

This process repeats for the next three days, with Duck never taking anything besides the food.

On the fourth morning, Indrid leaves one of his favorite items he collected for the human; a kit with seedlings and a stone that mimics the sun, allowing one to grow the plants even in the dark of the cave.

When he comes back that afternoon, the space in front of Duck’s door is empty. This both pleases him and gives him an idea. He knocks on the door, then steps back, opting after a moment to go on all fours so as not to tower too much over the human.

“Yeah?” The drawl sounds tired more than hostile.

“I was wondering if you would like to see the gardens. You, ah, that is, I can lead you to them and then leave you be, you do not need to be around me if you do not wish to.”

The door creaks open, and Duck peers out.

“How can you garden in a cave?”

“Let me show you?”

The walk is silent and awkward, but when they arrive Duck’s entire face lights up. Indrid preens a bit, answers the question he sees coming.

“I believe when the mountains formed, something caused this area to not come together. Hence the lack of a cave roof.”

“Are all these yours?” Duck kneels down, radiant in the sunlight, examining a pumpkin plant.

“Indeed. I grow some for medicine and spell purposes, and some for food. Larger plants tend to work best for food, in that I can harvest them more easily. which is why there are many squash and melons. But, you will notice there are many unplanted patches. If you wish to garden, I can procure whatever you need.”

Duck grins, “Hell yeah. Wonder if I could get a tree or two to take. I’ll have to study the soil and the sun a bit before I know what I need.”

“Take as long as you desire. You can find your way back?”

The human turns fully to him, glances down at the dirt, “You can, uh, stay if you want. Wouldn't mind the company.”

Indrid dips his head, and settles into his favorite sunny spot, body curving around the bushes.

“Y’know, you’re a real different shape from what I expected.”

“My friend Barclay once said I looked as if I was a noodle that sprouted legs and wings.”

Duck giggles, “Yeah, that’s about right.”

Indrid flicks his wings, “I will have you know I am a very dignified noodle.”

Duck laughs harder at his prim tone, then his face turns serious, “Indrid I, uh, I wanna apologize for how I acted. I know you don’t mean no harm. It was just a lot to take in, and then realizin everyone had been lyin to me, rather than lettin me make a real choice about my destiny.”

“I understand, and I do not hold it against you. I want this to be a welcoming home for you, Duck. I have no intention of keeping you from other things you love or have trained for. And I foresee us being rather good friends and, hmm, I suppose collaborators is the right word. If you need more space, I will give it, but I would also like the chance for us to get better acquainted.”

Duck picks up a handful of earth, rubbing it between his fingers, and when he smiles this time it’s meant for Indrid, “Think I’d like that too.”

------------------------------------------

“Damn, this is real soft.” Duck rubs the sleeve of the deep blue bathrobe.

“Oh good, it is yours.”

“You sure, it was in your pile-”

“-as I have said, my horde is yours to use.” The dragon smiles, goes back to sorting paintings. A summer storm has ruined their plans to sit by the river, Indrid fishing or sunning himself while Duck swam or went for a walk. So they’ve opted to pare down Indrid’s horde, finding things Duck wants or can use as well as things the dragon no longer likes or needs, Duck using his knowledge of Kepler to figure out where in town could benefit from a sudden influx of precious metal.

“How about this? Wait, damn, though it was suspenders.” Duck grapples with the leather and silver straps. Indrid trills a laugh, only for his cheeks to turn golden.

“That is meant to be worn over a bare torso.”

“Oh, uh, did you used to wear it?”

“Oh no, I do not like the texture, but I know some humans who wore it beneath their clothes. Orcs also wear them in the summertime. My second cousin married into an orc family.” He adds when Duck raises an eyebrow.

“While I must admit the idea of you in it as intended is...intriguing” Indrid holds out a claw, at the end of which dangles a pair of suspenders.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.” It’s a double thanks. The suspenders are nice, but Duck appreciates the dragon trying to reign in his enthusiasm for Duck’s looks. It’s not that he doesn’t like feeling attractive, but the idea of a royal dragonborn stuck in his dragon form feeling that way about his squishy, farm-born body is too much. Just...too much. But Indrid has, on Duck’s request, scaled back the comments about his attractiveness and him being Indrid’s treasure. The more he's done so, the easier it’s been for Duck to accept his attempts to fuss over him.

The dragon is true to his offer to give Duck whatever he desires; the finest oils for his baths, soft linens on the bed, any food he wants (that first week, he walked into the kitchen to find the dragon trying valiantly to make a human sized french onion soup). While he cannot breathe fire, he does all manner of spells to make Duck’s life easier, and last week he even took Duck on a low flight over the forest.

What Duck is enjoying even more are the evenings stargazing with his back against Indrid’s side, the way they trade information about their respective corners of the natural world. He enjoys not eating his meals alone.

(He’s been dressing nicer for dinner lately, wasn’t even aware he was doing it two nights ago, when Indrid arrived with jeweled dust on his wings and Duck spent several minutes trying to work out why the dragon felt he had to dress up).

There’s a wistful sigh, and he turns to find Indrid perched on a cushion (in truth, the dragon's nest is far more pillows, fabric, and cushions than it is gold or gems), holding a framed drawing in his hands.

“I do so miss drawing. To do it in this form is such a rigmarole, I have not done more than rudimentary sketch in a long time.”

“There ain’t a spell for it?” Duck climbs to where sitting puts him eye to eye with Indrid.

“None that can replicate the feeling of being so consumed by creativity, the tactile sensations and the working and reworking until you have something you are proud of.” He looks at Duck, eyes, and voice far away, “so many things I would do, were my hands not immense and clawed.”

“Bet you’re real clever with ‘em.”

The double meaning only registers when the gold blush once again blooms on Indrid’s cheeks.

“I, uh, I’m gonna run that one sack of stuff over to Aubrey and Dani. You want to wait on dinner until I get back?”

Indrid smiles, “Yes, I can wait.”

-------------------------------

Fall comes early this high in the mountains, and with it comes the chill. Duck wakes up shivering, and none of the blankets are enough to chase the cold from his bones. Maybe Indrid has something he can use.

He only means to be in the room an instant, but as soon as he enters warmth floods him. Indrid explained he ran warm, as all dragons do, but got cold easily. In the summer, the heat radiating from him disappeared beneath the warmth in the air. Now it’s noticeable in the cold cave. Noticeable and tempting.

He offered once to curl around Duck as he slept, which--to his goosebumped skin--sounds like a good plan.

No, he’ll just find more blankets somewhere else.

His heel knocks over something that clanks, and Indrid opens an eye.

“Duck? Is everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah, just got colder than I thought. I was, uh, was wonderin…”

Even in the near-darkness, Indird’s scales glint, and his eyes glow gently as he waits for Duck to finish.

“...I was wondering if I could, uh, take you up on that offer to sleep next to you. I’m thinkin on top might be safest. I mean, uh, if that's still alright?”

Indrid holds out his hand, helping Duck onto his back and handing him a pillow and three blankets.

“Are you comfortable?” The dragon nestles back down into his bed.

“Yeah, this is real nice. Thanks, Drid.”

“You are welcome, Duck.”

Duck has kissed before, has fucked plenty, has lain in bed next to someone. Yet the rise and fall of Indrid beneath him, the steady sound of his heart when Duck lays his head down, the soft purr that leaves him when Duck rubs his cheek on his scales, are unfamiliar in their intimacy and thus twice as captivating.

Which is why, when he awakens, their absence is instantly obvious. As is their replacement with a much smaller chest beneath his head.

“Well, I must say this is a surprise”

It’s Indrid’s voice, and when Duck sits up, startled, it’s somehow unmistakably Indrid’s face staring up at him. The ruby eyes are the same, as is the smile and the color of his horns and the scales peeking out in patches on his skin.

“My mother was only half dragonborn.” He says to the question Duck almost asks.

“Fuckin stunnin.” Duck breathes out.

Indrid reaches up, cupping Duck’s cheek with a slender, slightly scaled but very human hand.

“I fear it will not last. My foresight tells me I will revert to my dragon form in a few moments. But this is a singularly interesting development.”

“No kiddin. Guess we know there is way to get you back.”

“Agreed. Ah, before I revert, will you permit to do something?”

“Anythin.”

Indrid sits up, and places a gentle, cool kiss on Duck’s cheek.

“Oh yes” He sighs, resting their foreheads together as his body begins shimmering “just as lovely as I thought.”

And then Duck is once again atop a large dragon.

“Whelp, no we really gotta break the curse.”

“Oh?”

“Because I wanna kiss you back, properly. And soon.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #Indruck #TAZ Amnesty #dragon au #promptober

30 notes · View notes

afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

Only For A Moment Epilogue

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: On a peaceful afternoon you reflect on the past couple of years while Bucky naps in your lap.

Warnings: None

A/N: Wow. Weird. Somehow more weird than posting the last chapter... Endings are strange things y’all. Only For A Moment is over, like really really over.

These two had an intense journey together throughout “Part One” and I’m really glad so many of you went on that ride with me. Now before we head into a new side of this story (and likely a new title) I thought it would be good to kind of post a little wrap up and something that can live with Part Two for those who maybe don’t want to read all of Part One and the drabbles.

As always, you’re all wonderful.

(P.S. If you’re seeing this and want to read Only For A Moment, the Master lives both on my profile and linked in the admin profile above.)

TAGS ARE OPEN

“Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature.”

The line from Frankenstein makes a lump rise in your throat. It feels like a lifetime ago that Mr. Goldstein quoted it to you in his cozy little bookshop in Bucharest. At the time it made you think of Bucky, the man whose depths you’d only skimmed. Now, a continent and a few years separated you both from the people you’d been as you stood in that shop.

You hadn’t read Frankenstein since your time in Romania but when you saw a copy in a bookshop in Wakanda you knew you had to have it. As you devoured the words you could almost smell the shop, hear the gentle cadence of Mr. Goldstein’s voice, feel the soft fur of the shop cat Victor.

It seemed wrong to feel homesick for Romania. Bucharest was supposed to be a stopgap, a place to lay low while you attempted to figure out what it meant to keep living your life after what Hydra had done.

There had been times there where you’d considered ending it, so tired of fighting and so unsure of what it was you were even fighting for. Your family - small and chosen and so precious to you - had been erased, any semblance of home destroyed. They’d even made you feel like a stranger in your own body, this body they honed to be their weapon. Hell, you could disassociate for days, just a ghost trapped in a shell she didn’t understand and didn’t want. It wasn’t like you were living so why go on?

But you did. Some part of you unwilling to let them win, hearing your brother Nix’s voice in your head reminding you that giving up meant letting the bastards win.

Then Bucky happened. A smile tugs at the edges of your mouth as you look away from the book pages to the lake sparkling in the later afternoon sun, remembering those early days.

He’d recognized you from your time in Hydra, though he hadn’t remembered the details until you talked about your first encounter - he’d tried to save you, and he did get you out of the facility, though you’d been caught days later. When he sought you out you hadn’t trusted him but it took mear hours for you to see your own reflection in him.

You were both broken, but in a way that only the other could truly understand. Bucky saw you, all sharp edges and shattered pieces, and didn’t flinch once.

It had been rough at times, each of you so terrified of what may come, of who may come, even of the people in the mirror. Still - despite nights punctuated with night terrors, days peppered with flashbacks, and moments of deep dissociation - you held tight to one another, weathering the storms as they came. It made you both stronger, together.

So, without meaning to you built something of a life in Bucharest. Days spent training for unknown battles to come or helping in the bookshop nights together watching old movies and learning bit by bit how to be human beings again.

For a time it had felt like enough.

Losing Mr. Goldstein had been the beginning of the end of your time there though. You’d both been in one place for too long and without the old man’s grounding warmth… well, there was nothing left to tie you down. Together you laid out a plan to start again in Vienna, fresh identities, a clean slate, still on the run but this time together. You never got there though - Helmut Zemo made sure of that.

A chill passes up your spine as you remember seeing Bucky’s face on the staticky TV at the laundromat, the terror that grabbed you as you watched SWAT descent on the home you’d shared. It had felt like the sky was falling.

Even now you struggled to comprehend how everything that followed had only taken a little more than a week. You’d chased them across Europe to get to Bucky only to watch in horror as his worse nightmare came true - being brought back under someone’s control, being The Soldier again - and been unable to stop it. From there you’d fought the goddamn Avengers, had your chest clawed open by someone who was now your friend, been arrested, tortured, rescued. It was one hell of a week.

The months that followed had hurt almost as much. You didn’t know where Bucky was, if he was truly safe, or what he was going to put himself through to make sure he wasn’t a threat to your safety ever again. Sometimes you thought you wanted to throttle him for leaving and others you knew you’d forgive him anything as long as you had him back.

There had been a few silver linings to your time apart because, well, nothing made close friends like being international fugitives.

After Steve, Natasha, and Hill sprung those who were interested from The Raft, yourself included, you’d laid low with what was left of The Avengers. They became your friends and, in Steve’s case, family. You trusted each of them, even Nick Fury, with your life and knew you’d give anything to protect them.

Leaving them behind had been hard. Even though it meant being with Bucky, even though it meant safety, the temptation to say no to T’Challa’s offer to shelter in Wakanda was stronger than you’d ever admit to anyone other than Steve.

At least Steve was able to visit here and there bringing updates and even letters from your wayward friends.

Sam bitched about Steve’s antics, how he had to cook everything with you gone, and always asked after your wellbeing. Natasha entertained you with explicit tales of her international exploits, proving that few could say no to her - in another life you certainly wouldn’t have been able to. Wanda’s letters were filled with questions you knew she didn’t ask anyone else - about love and loss and being different from those around you, sometimes it was easy to forget she was still so young.

A soft snore brings you back to the present. Bucky’s head rests on your thigh, sound asleep. The soft lapping of the lake, the humming of cicadas, the goats romping about - one munching on the remnants of your picnic - it was all so peaceful, this life you were building here. Gratitude didn’t even begin to cover how you felt.

You missed Sam, Wanda, Nat, Steve, even Hill, and Fury deeply but you’d forged strong bonds here in Wakanda too.

When you decided to stay you couldn’t have foreseen the sisterhood you shared with all of the Dora Milaje but especially Okoye. Without hesitation, she’d brought you into the fold, unfazed and, honestly, unimpressed with your ability. She trained you just as hard, if not harder than the rest of her soldiers - you had catching up to do after all - and made sure your training was varied so you were honing your power and your body at the same time. You’d come to not only respect her as a leader but to trust her deeply as a friend.

Much to Bucky’s chagrin you and T’Challa loved to poke fun at the fact that you’d basically all tried to kill one another when you first met. He found it far less amusing than the two of you did, but if you didn’t laugh about it what else could you do. T’Challa was a strong king, though you’d argue he was an even better man. You were often in awe at his level of compassion and wisdom.

Shuri, was honestly the most amazing human you’d ever encountered. You had to often remind yourself she was half your age, which wasn’t too hard when she brought up some new trend or artist you were completely unaware of - maybe you were getting old. Even if she tried to write it off, she’d given you Bucky back by doing what seemed impossible in removing the effects of decades of torture and conditioning. Then she went even further to help you understand your own inner workings in regards to your telekinetic abilities and the enhancements Hydra had forced on you.

There were so many others too. Nakia, though often out in the field, had become a fast friend. T’Challa and Shuri’s mother Ramonda, with her gentle welcoming spirit - she and Bucky had actually formed quite a bond. Even, M’Baku most days, was someone you’d welcome to your dinner table - only when it was a meatless night that was.

A grin makes your cheeks ache.

You’d been trying to convince T’Challa to allow Steve and the others to visit for the last few weeks. Just imagining Okoye, Natasha, and Nakia together was enough to make you giddy with excitement. And while the world may not survive it, the thought of Sam and M’Baku bantering was enough to make a little laugh bubble from your chest.

Bucky shifts in your lap a bit at the noise. Tenderly you pull a lock of this thick dark hair away from his face. Suddenly you’re overwhelmed by just how much you love this man with his gentle heart and easy smile.

You’d endured a fraction of what he had and it was almost enough to destroy you. But James Barnes was made of far stronger stuff than most. Nothing they did had truly broken him, you suspected there was nothing in this world that could.

Tears sting your eyes.

“Doll?” Bucky’s soft voice almost startles you. Looking down into his grey-blue eyes, you force yourself to swallow more tears. “Sweetheart, what is it?” His fingers, calloused but so very gentle, wipe a tear from your cheek.

“Just happy,” you say with a shaky voice.

It was more than that. This was the happiest you had ever been in your life. For the first time, you looked toward the future with hope and excitement without the looming shadows of fear and uncertainty threatening.

Maybe you’d grow old on this little farm, Bucky caring for the goats and helping out others in the area, you working with the Dora Milaje maybe finding some new passion to pursue. Or maybe you’d move into the city, convince Bucky to take classes, maybe in literature or creative writing. Maybe a little of both.

Maybe you could figure out a way for Steve and the others to be granted refuge in Wakanda as well. The idea makes you dream of Friendsgiving meals, potluck Sundays, and movie nights.

“I’m glad, baby,” he says with a sweet smile.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky fluff #bucky fic

36 notes · View notes

mobius-prime · 4 years

Text

264. Sonic the Hedgehog #195

Hedgehog Havoc! (Part 1)

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Matt Herms

Before we get started, I want to point out our new colorist, Matt Herms! He pencilled for a couple previous issues, but his real talents lie in his colors. I pointed out before when Jason Jensen joined the team that his colors were much more dynamic and detailed than those of his predecessors, but Matt's colors are even more rich and deep than Jason's. My favorite effect, personally, is when he blurs the backgrounds in some panels that are centered around dialogue, giving an impression of a camera focusing on the characters. Anyway, onto the story: Jules and Bernie, concerned for Sonic's wellbeing, have gone to Chuck to find out where he's gone. Nicole shows up too and helps explain the situation with the star posts and the trip to Moebius, somewhat glossing over the fact that he's currently been stranded there by the actions of the Suppression Squad. While Nicole reassures the two that Sonic likely has the whole situation under control, in actuality he, Amy, and Scourge are all facing the insane wrath of Rosy, who's mostly focused her murderous intentions onto Scourge for now. Sonic asks Amy to check on Buns, stuck inside her wrecked Omega suit after losing her fight against Rosy from before.

Meanwhile inside the Eggdome, Eggman is working on his latest project, which is… yet another Metal Sonic. But of course. As you might expect, Snively is not impressed.

Pssh, still using email in the future, Snively? C'mon, the Eggnet has instant messaging capabilities, why not chat with "her" that way? Eggman gets Metal Sonic working, and Metal immediately determines that Sonic isn't on this planet before teleporting away in a flash to check other likely zones. Eggman, angry that Metal didn’t even wait for orders, begins once again erratically grumbling to himself, and Snively, clearly fed up, declares he'll return to his workstation, which of course we now know means he's about to go chat with his new online girlfriend. Meanwhile in Mercia, Rob informs Silver of where Sonic resides, and Silver pulls out a warp ring which he uses to take himself and Rob to Freedom HQ, where Sally is currently angrily calling the Suppression Squad out for trapping Sonic and Amy in Moebius. They're startled out of their argument by the arrival of the two other hedgehogs, who, after learning of Sonic's whereabouts, set up the warp ring once more.

But wait, it gets better! As Sonic and Scourge get ready to smash into one another in Moebius, suddenly a flash of light between them resolves itself into the figure of Shadow the Hedgehog, who is surprised to find himself here and not the Special Zone. Sonic explains the situation and then casually invites him to help kick Scourge's ass since he's already here, and Shadow, having nothing better to do, agrees. Then, Metal Sonic pops in to say hello, and finally, Rob and Silver arrive through the warp ring, just as Amy and Rosy run back to the quickly-growing group. What does all this mean, you ask? Well, the title should have given you a hint already - it's a grand battle of the hedgehogs, minus Silver, who has no goddamn idea what's going on!

This has got to be easily one of my favorite pages in the entire comic, I swear to god. Silver timidly tries asking various combatants about Sonic's whereabouts, not actually knowing what Sonic looks like, but they're all too busy beating each other's brains out to answer him. Finally, he gets fed up, and uses his psychokinetic powers to freeze them all in place, demanding they tell him which one of them is Sonic.

Rob immediately steps in to Sonic's defense, demanding Silver explain himself, and while Silver tries to tell Rob he'll thank him later, the fight starts back up anew. Silver explains that his future fell to ruins right around this time period due to the actions of a traitor within the Freedom Fighters, and that he'd figured the traitor was Sonic, since no one else really has the raw power that would let them destroy the world. Rob points out that making a guess like that based on very little evidence is kind of ridiculous, and that Sonic is renowned for being a hero far more than he's known for his power. Scourge then interrupts by punching the both of them into the ground while insulting them, including outright telling Rob his Moebius counterpart was murdered by his own brother some time ago, which is… pretty harsh, man. Sonic, battling Metal alongside Shadow, decides that enough is enough and the battle is going nowhere, so he yells for everyone to stop and proposes a new truce.

Oh, c'mon Scourge, you've hardly done anything to endear yourself to any one of these individuals. Scourge takes off running for the throne room, and manages to get his butt in the throne with Sonic and Shadow in hot pursuit. Sonic tries to force him to surrender as he's outnumbered, but Scourge arrogantly announces that that doesn't mean he's outgunned, as his throne is stocked full of… Anarchy Beryl. Sonic quickly puts together that this is this zone's version of Chaos Emeralds, and sure enough, Scourge takes on a dark purple hue with a black glow, having achieved his Super form and ready to win this fight single-handedly… But wait a second, just what do you mean, "Anarchy Beryl"? Hasn't it been established in previous issues that Moebius' main source of godlike power is also Chaos Emeralds? StH#44 comes to mind right off the bat, as O'Nux's Sunken Island was kept safe by the power of not just one, but six Chaos Emeralds, which seemed to be identical to Mobius' emeralds in pretty much every way from what we'd seen. I guess the most likely explanation is that Scourge, ever-determined to make Moebius into its own unique zone separate from that of Mobius, simply renamed the emeralds to "Anarchy Beryl" himself, but still, not even a cursory explanation, Ian? I suppose he must just be relying on older readers either forgetting or not caring about that little slice of continuity, despite his penchant for bringing back really old characters and concepts for use in new plotlines.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 195 #writer: ian flynn #pencils: tracy yardley #colors: matt herms

17 notes · View notes

sparkmender · 4 years

Text

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE: MUN & MUSE

Fill out & Repost ♥ This meme definitely favors Canons more, but I hope OC's still can make it somehow work with their own lore and Lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multimuses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

Tagged by: @ifthearmorfits -- thank you opo!!

MY MUSE IS. canon / oc / au (...in-canon au, because transformers) / canon-divergent / fandomless

(I will be getting into spoiler territory with this, but given that you all are following this blog, you’ve probably stuck around long enough to already see what’s up haha.)

is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO.

is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? WELL… / NO / IDK. (evidently a lot of people have it bad for the nerd but I don’t do NSFW on tumblr, so lol)

is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK.

are they underrated? YES / NO.

were they relevant to the main story? YES / NO.

were they relevant to the main character? YES / NO.

are they widely known in their world? YES / NO.

how’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. (Given Rung’s quantum forgotten status WHO KNOWS)

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON?

Putting it bluntly: Functionist alt. dimension Rung has a whole lot of plot holes. Swiss cheese boy. I’ve made liberal changes here and there so that he can play with a majority of muses in the MTMTE/LL community, but I’ve also taken a lot of free reign giving Rung’s general lack of backstory in-between spoiler/plot beats :P

SELL YOUR MUSE! (aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutual.)

Rung is a very rare type of character, being an ostensibly ‘masculine’ character (in regards of a human binary lens) who prides himself on empathy, understanding, and caring for others’ physical and mental wellbeing in ways that often linger in more ‘feminine’ realms (again, in approx. to the human binary); it interests me to be able to explore such concepts in a territory where, considering lore and implied history, there’s no societal concept of (human ideal culturally-imposed) gender. He’s a creator ‘deity’, he literally produces souls, but nothing about his design is meant to emphasize a human sense of reproduction/fertility/etc. Most people would never look at him and conclude who and what he is. There’s also the fact that he’s been methodically documented, experimented on, taken apart, and then tortured for approx. 2 million years and yet he refused to let that break him. Rung is unflinchingly kind, willing to reach a hand out to anyone who needs a shoulder to lean on even when he has nothing of his own to offer. Hell, he studied medicine and philosophy so he could build the foundations for the Cybertronian method of behavioral psychology because even without memories of being Primus, Rung wants to take care of his creations. ...And then you add in how absolutely adorable it is to watch this old man dodder about with his puzzles and models and big googly glasses and I love him so much okay--

NOW THE OPPOSITE! (list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?)

To be honest, Rung can be kind of a Mary Sue/over powered character in some people’s eyes. Like, what, this random character who’s new to the franchise and made specifically by the author is actually Transformers God who suffered amnesia? And is friendly and polite to everyone but also has a streak of keeping a grudge and survives literal untold horrors because his body can just heal itself?? And he spits out crystals that make up sparks??? OH AND HE’S MILLIONS OF YEARS OLD AND DID I MENTION HE’S GOD SOMEHOW AND THEN HE STRAIGHT UP JUST DIES TWICE IN CANON, WOW

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE?

H,,,, Him round,,,,,,,, No really I just loved his design that much. Him round. Also both my mom and my granddad are shrinks so I have, like, a basic grasp on psych stuff after reading through their textbooks and watching my granddad’s old research films and study tapes, so it was familiar territory I settled on writing Functionist!Rung in specific because I sympathize with having weird + painful medical shit inflicted on you all the time and because the idea of someone so genuine and careful being the core of a revolutionary movement is really,,, makes my heart squeeze.

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING?

hell if I know I’m just kinda here forever lmao

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO. needs more weird eldritch tech woogies but I’m terrified of alienating people

do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO. (mostly as they get yoinked by the fandom at large and then my notifications break my phone)

do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO.

do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES (to an extent because I write a lot of different muses and I’m constantly making/doing/playing something to keep my hands busy, so it’s inevitable) / NO.

are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO.

are you confident in your writing? YES / NO.

are you a sensitive person? YES / NO.

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL?

Criticism is the best way to grow as a creator, tbh, but I will say I think the biggest complaint is just how goddamn slow + forgetful I am hahaha,,

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER?

Sure! I have a tags specifically for weird Cybertronian biology quirks and for Rung just rambling about things, and it’s fun to get to reveal bits and pieces of the backstory I’ve created for him.

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY?

........I mean lmao you can tell me why you disagree but at the end of the day this is my personal portrayal of a specific version of a character who only shows up for like three issues of a 70+ issue long comic series.

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT?

There are several other fantastic Rung writers out there each with their own interpretations and understandings of the character, so like. Godspeed. Go, find the god your heart desires, and whatnot.

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT?

Do you hate my portrayal of Rung, or just Rung in general?? I know a few people who just straight up dislike any version of Rung at all, so there’s that.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS?

English hard, hebrew and yiddish and spanish and romanian and german only. More seriously I was raised in an extremely weird house where English was the primary language but I was being taught by older people who never remembered which language they were using at the time. My first word was Mickey Mouse. I don’t know what’s happening. I went to art college. Please be gentle with me, sir.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN?

Oh most likely. There’s only like... one or two things I will go out of my way to discourage or avoid + I’m generally just kinda here to make other people happy haha

#ooc|moon above

9 notes · View notes

sloshi · 5 years

Text

Sasusaku Fanfic - ch. 1 preview

Title: Captain!

Pairing: Sasusaku

Summary: Passing lewd notes in class is all fun and games—that is, until it smacks a certain baseball captain upside the head. Japan!highschool AU [will be Slow burn / eventual smut]

Read the Prologue here

Because this was so kindly received, I decided to post a preview of the next chapter :D I’ll upload to FF.net when I have about 5 or so chapters down and tweak it a little more; enjoy!

Chapter 1

It’s only at her locker that she catches her breath, hunching over with hands on her sock-covered knees, desperate for lost oxygen that doesn’t necessarily have to do with running. Her heart races against her chest. Pink hair falls over her shoulders and into her eyes, when suddenly a pair of shiny black flats enter her line of sight.

“Sakura!” Ino exclaims, exasperated and breathless as if she, too, had taken off running in pursuit of her pink-haired friend. Sighing in defeat, she straightens upright to face her best friend. She’s surprised to see guilt marring her feminine features, but it doesn’t make her feel better in the slightest. “Goddamn, you’re quick! Seriously, how the hell do you run so fast?”

“Are you kidding?” Sakura almost screeches. Several curious heads turn to look at her as they pass through the hallway. “Sasuke-kun just read our disgusting note, Ino!” Sakura drops her voice to a harsh whisper. “Which—by the way, is all your fault—and you’re worried about how fast I can run?” She throws her hands up in disbelief before they slap against either side of her green-and-gold plaid skirt in frustration.

Ino’s perfect brows cinch in anger. “My fault?” She’s defensive immediately, as usual. “How the hell is this my fault! You’re the one who pitched the note like it was a fucking baseball across the room! Suddenly it’s my fault?!” She scoffs haughtily. “Oh, congrats on the home run by the way. And the crowd goes wild! Woo-hoo!” Ino waves her arms hysterically, openly mocking her.

That does it. Sakura jabs an accusing finger to Ino’s collarbone, completely ignoring her stupid sarcasm. (Which is totally not funny.) “Yes! Your fault! If you hadn’t thrown that note in the first place, none of this would have ever happened, Ino! And Sasuke—“ she breaks off abruptly, bottom lip trembling like a leaf as she’s reminded all over again the nightmare of which she has just been flung into. “Oh, gods, Sasuke-kun. . .” Covering her face with her hands, she tries to hide the tears that are swiftly filling her eyes to the brim. She’s so embarrassed, it’s nauseating. “What am I going to do . . .” She finishes with a defeated whisper and a sniffle against her palms.

Ino’s warm embrace surrounds her immediately, comforting and familiar. But it doesn’t help.

“Let’s just go to lunch, and try to forget this ever happened, okay?” Ino’s voice flips like a switch, not a sour note perceptible in her now soothing tone. Sakura blinks, wondering if she’s imagining things, but when Ino pulls away, a bright white smile shines back. Sakura almost has to squint.

(Ino is so weird.)

When they enter the cafeteria, Sakura hides behind Ino’s back, eyes darting around frantically as she shuffles behind the blonde, as if Sasuke will somehow jump out of nowhere and pounce like an angry lion. He’s in here somewhere, hiding in the underbrush. (She knows it.)

“Will you relax, Forehead?” Ino complains when Sakura jumps in fright, dramatically clutching onto the blonde’s shoulders and nearly pulling her backwards as a kid with black hair (not Sasuke) strolls by. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being cautious, Pig. There’s a difference.”

“Well, can you be a little less cautious so that I can get my lunch in peace, please. People are staring.”

Sakura squeezes her shoulders. “What if he comes up to me?”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I’ll make sure of it, Forehead, now get off me!”

Sakura groans, but acquiesces reluctantly. Although she steps back to give Ino some breathing room, she trails behind her like lost puppy as they make their way to the lunch line. Every spot of black in her peripherals has her jumping in her own skin. She doesn’t think Sasuke will actually confront her, but she’s not taking any chances, dammit.

But it’s only when she and Ino have their lunch trays in hand and headed towards their usual table that she finally spots him. He strolls through the double doors of the cafeteria coolly, hands deep in the pockets of his beige slacks, expression indiscernible and unruffled as always.

His KHS uniform is in perfect shape—the forest green blazer is unwrinkled, the rich golden tie tucked beneath the dipped V collar, and a stark white dress shirt underneath. The matching gold KHS logo is sewn into the left breast of the jacket. A mop of spiky midnight hair sits thick and messy on his head, moody black eyes just barely peeking through his overgrown bangs, yet somehow it’s still perfect.

Mouth dry, Sakura nearly drops her tray.

“Oh, god—there he is, Ino. He’s right there!” She whispers harshly, terror ripping through her gut, leaning to try and hide her face from Sasuke’s line-of-sight behind Ino’s shouder just in case.

He’s far away enough that she thinks he probably doesn’t see her, but that doesn’t stop her fingers from trembling as her eyes follow his graceful stride to the lunch line behind them. (Even his walk is flawless!) Sakura quickly takes note of the several pairs of eyes following the very same baseball captain she’s basically ogling. She’s surprised, however, when she catches a few angry glares sent her way. She averts her gaze.

“Okay, and?” Ino prompts, unimpressed, as they finish their trek to the lunch table where they join their typical ring of friends. Tenten, Hinata, and Karin wave them over excitedly.

“And—how are you not freaking out about this?!” Sakura squeaks incredulously, trying and failing to keep her voice down.

“Freaking out about what?” Karin asks casually when Sakura and Ino shuffle in and take their seats, always ready for whatever juicy gossip she can snatch.

“N-Nothing!” Karin blinks at her strange behavior. It’s not like her, Karin thinks, when the pinkette shifts her eyes warily, as if she expecting someone to come up and stab her at any given moment. Sakura casts several looks over her shoulder. What, did she suddenly become schizophrenic overnight?

“Is e-everything okay, S-Sakura-chan?” Hinata asks kindly, pausing in the middle of wrapping stringy ramen noodles around her chopsticks to observe her pink-haired friend with concern.

“Yeah, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Tenten adds unhelpfully around a mouthful of rice.

“She’s fine.” Ino says with a roll of her blue eyes.

Sakura doesn’t protest Ino’s remark, and when Tenten and Karin exchange glances with a shrug, they start gushing about a science project (At least she thinks that’s what they’re talking about; she can hardly pay them any attention.) And because all seniors share the same biology class, just different intervals in the day, Sakura quickly tunes them out.

(Wait—Did they just say project?)

Sakura blinks, but then thinks better of it and doesn’t bother to ask; she’ll just ask Kakashi-sensei about it tomorrow. She decides she doesn’t need another stressor today.

Hinata returns to her ramen, and Sakura is left to stare down at her miso soup, appetite zapped. She knows she should eat something, but her stomach won’t stop flip-flopping. A tiny square of tofu floats lazily across the gold liquid. (She’s gonna be sick.)

Next to her, Ino tucks into her extra-light salad, coated with a light (low-fat) dressing, slivers of raw carrot, and two measly cherry tomatoes. Sakura grimaces, opening her mouth to unleash a lecture Ino’s already heard thousands of times. But really, Sakura worries. All thoughts of Sasuke are momentarily forgotten in light of her friend’s health.

“You should really eat more than just lettuce everyday, Pig, it’s not healthy. As much as you’d like to think so. You need protein—like an egg or something. I swear to god you’re one leaf away from turning into a pile of dust and bones. One day you’re gonna’ wake up and Poof!” She makes an exploding gesture with both hands. “Just like that.”

Ino looks offended, stabbing the lettuce with a little more force than necessary to prove it. “My weight isn’t going to maintain itself, Dr. Billboard-brow. But thanks for the advice, I’d like to check out now.”

“Hey!” Sakura frowns at the mockery of the career she’s chased since she was a child. “I really will be a doctor one day, Ino. And the minute I graduate from medical school, you’ll technically have to listen to me.”

“S-She’s right, you know.” Hinata says quietly, supportive as always, pearl eyes blinking innocently under her dark purple fringe.

Ino sniffs, lifting her chin in defiance. “I don’t care. I’ll eat what I want, how much I want, and when I want. And none of you—“ she sweeps an accusing manicured nail at each girl at the table. “—can stop me.” With that, she pops one of the only two cherry tomatoes in her mouth.

Sakura rolls her eyes, but gives up. (For now. She’ll try again tomorrow.) Ino’s so stubborn it almost hurts. But she’s skinny—the forest green and gold KHS uniform that once fit her snugly just a few weeks ago is noticeably looser. It’s more than just being an aspiring doctor, she cares about her best friend’s wellbeing. Sakura has seen the magazines plastered on Ino’s wall; the one-hundred pound American model women posing fierce and beautiful. But gods, so underweight. She really hopes Ino knows better than that.

Sakura opens her mouth to change the subject, when a boisterous laugh erupts through the cafeteria. Even though loud noises normally wouldn’t bother her (or even catch her attention, honestly, because it’s the cafeteria and it’s always loud.) She’s already on edge, on guard, and she jerks her head and cranes her neck, searching for the source of racket.

A few tables away, she sees it in the form of blonde hair and mirthful blue eyes. Not the pale blonde hair or baby blue eyes like Ino’s, no. His colorings are saturated; full of color and light. He’s laughing so hard he’s wheezing—though at what, who the hell knows. But it’s not Naruto Uzumaki or the several other impossibly cute guys in his groupie who has her heartbeat skyrocketing instantaneously, it’s the onyx haired man sitting right next to him. Sasuke looks irritated, if not totally pissed off, as he tilts his head back and sips his water bottle.

Sakura inhales sharply, heart leaping into her throat, because the second she blinks, his dark, dark eyes somehow catch hers just as he’s tipping his head down, lowering the plastic bottle from his lips.

“No!” Sakura squeaks, dropping her eyes to her lunch-tray so fast she has to blink furiously to bring herself back to reality. It happened so fast—so fleeting and quick she has to wonder if he even registered their brief eye contact.

(But he’s a genius, stupid. Of course he totally caught you eyeballing him! Pull yourself together!)

“Forehead? You good?”

It takes a second for Sakura to catch her breath, anxiety sweeping her whole frame and filling her stomach with tingles that she’s not quite sure feel good or bad. Its his eyes, she thinks. They’re so . . . Intense. So dark and strange and filled with something she can’t explain. It makes her feel like jelly all over.

(And technically, that’s the second time he’s ever looked at her!) Sakura mentally drops her head in shame. So pathetic . . .

“—you okay?” All of her friends, except Ino who sits next to her, blink at her from the other side of the table, concerned.

Sakura snaps back to earth and smiles a little too brightly, waving her hands as if to dismiss their worry. “Y-Yeah! Totally fine. Peachy. Absolutely perfect.” She laughs nervously, palming the back of her neck with a twitching smile.

Karin’s expression turns serious and Sakura almost reels in surprise. “No, really Sakura. What’s up with you? You’re being all . . .” Her lips purse in thought as she tries to find the right words to describe her mousey pink friend. “Skittish and weird.”

Tenten and Hinata bob their heads in sudden agreement, as if just now realizing Sakura’s strange behavior themselves. Ino merely sighs, parting her lips to fill them in on all the details when she is rudely interrupted.

“Sakura! Sakura!” A feminine voice shouts (shrieks) from behind her and Sakura jerks her head over her shoulder in alarm, long pink hair—pulled halfway back and fixed with a yellow ribbon—whipping Ino in the face.

A girl with short purple hair runs full speed towards her, huffing and puffing when she makes it to their table, as if she had ran across half the country just for Sakura. The pinkette blinks in astonishment. For a moment she considers covering her head, because surely the sky is falling. “Ami?”

Still huffing, bent over with hands upon her sock-covered knees, she breathes quickly. “You—I can’t believe you threw a love letter at Sasuke-kun’s head! What the hell were you thinking, stupid! Have you even heard what everyone’s been saying!”

Several chairs screech backward when Sakura—along with Karin and Tenten—leap like frogs from their seats, palms slamming upon the table. Her forgotten miso soup sloshes over the rim when the surface shakes.

“What!” They all scream in unison, sharing the same horrified expression. Hinata merely squeaks.

The cafeteria immediately falls silent at the outburst. Even though every head is turned in their direction, Sakura becomes hyper-aware when she knows without a doubt that Sasuke is looking at her—all loud and obnoxious, she wonders how she can ever redeem herself in those dark eyes that are burning holes onto her face right now. She doesn’t even dare look.

(God, he’s judging you so hard right now.)

But it’s not like she could help it! She totally did not give Sasuke a love letter, dammit! Sue her for being upset; she should have known rumors would begin to circulate. It wasn’t like she was fucking subtle about it when she nailed the side of Sasuke Uchiha’s head with a wad of paper in front of the whole biology class of forty-five people.

Hinata looks like she wants to run to the bathroom in humiliation at the sudden limelight, and Ino is slack-jawed, speechless. Tenten and Karin exchange disbelieving looks before turning back to Sakura slowly, carefully, as if afraid of scaring her off with their next sentence. “You. . . You did what?”

When not-so-hushed whispers and stifled snickers start to erupt all around them, Sakura plops back into her seat, properly mortified—again. Heat fills her cheeks, lips trembling when she whispers: “I didn’t. . .”

The second Karin and Tenten settle back into their seats, Ino stands abruptly, chair scraping noisily against linoleum. “What the hell! Sakura didn’t give anyone a love letter, it was for me!” She snaps at Ami, who edges backward at the rage in Ino’s voice. “We were passing a note back and forth and Sasuke just happened to intercept! Tell your little friends to stop spreading false crap and get your facts straight or i’ll—“

“Ino!” Hinata gasps when the blonde starts rolling up her uniform’s sleeves. But Sakura is already laying a hand on her friend’s forearm in warning.

“Ino, you’re causing a scene!” Sakura bites out through clenched teeth, nearly groaning out loud in irritation. Just how many times is she going to draw attention to herself today! “Sit down!”

“I—I’m not trying to cause trouble, you idiots! I came here to warn you.” Ami casts a shifty glance from side to side before dropping her voice so that only their table can hear. “I overheard it in the hallway; everyone’s saying you smacked him in the head with a love letter. Somebody else said it’s because he rejected you.”

Sakura’s mouth flounders in incredulity. “That did not—what! That’s not even . . . “ She glances around the cafeteria and its only now that she notices the waspish looks being thrown her way. Glares. So many of them. And they’re whispering. Sakura groans, shoving her tray away and crossing her arms over the table, burying her head. Because not only has she ruined any chance of being in good graces with Sasuke ever, she’s also drawn a big fat target on her back.

Why me . . .

“There, there, Forehead.” Ino says lightheartedly with a pat on her back as she sits back down. “It could be worse.”

Sakura straightens up at this, her face awash with disbelief. “How?!”

Ino simply smiles. “He could have actually rejected you.”

She tries to think of a nasty retort, but Ino’s kind of right. (For once.)

“Yeah!” Tenten chimes in cheerfully. “Besides, it wasn’t actually a love letter right?”

Sakura shakes her head, sick to her stomach. No. It was so much worse. At her sudden change in expression, Karin takes over carefully, crimson eyes narrowed in uncertainty. “Sakura. . . What exactly was in that note?”

Her locker is jammed.

Of course it is, she grumbles sourly to herself, because clearly she can’t catch a break today. Her fist bangs against the cool metal in frustration.

Breathe, Sakura. Just breathe—

Her mood plummets even further when a trio of girls she’s never even seen before pass by, pointing and sniggering at her expense.

“—the girl Sasuke-kun rejected.”

“No way, I would hate to be her.”

“Did she really throw a love letter at his head? How embarrassing.”

Sakura scowls at them darkly, but instead of scaring them off like she hoped, they only laugh harder behind their manicured nails before disappearing down the hallway corridor.

Filthy witches, Sakura seethes inwardly.

The warning bell trills through the emptying halls. She’s going to be late if she doesn’t get this stupid thing open. Her chemistry notebooks are in there and unfortunately, that’s the one class she actually needs to take notes in. Cursing, she yanks the locker handle, hiking her foot against the wall for better leverage.

(Come on, come on, come on—!)

By some miracle, the locker finally bursts open. She stumbles backwards while everything inside spills to the floor in a waterfall of loose leaf papers and notebooks. Yanking on her long pink tresses in aggravation, she tries not to let out a high pitched scream. She huffs, bending over and attempting to scrape the papers up off the floor when a sudden (large) tan hand shoots out.

Sakura jumps back, startled.

“Woah, hey! Relax—I just thought you looked like you could use some help.”

She blinks stupidly, eyelashes fluttering several times in succession before she takes in the friendly cerulean eyes, strange whisker marks and sunshine hair.

“You’re—you’re. . .” Her mind stutters and she swallows hard. He’s taller than her, she notices immediately, the tip of her head just reaching under his nose. His shaggy blond hair falls carelessly over his crinkling eyes and Sakura can’t help but feel starstruck by his charming presence.

“Naruto.” He introduces cheerfully before laughing at her baffled expression. It’s a sound so genuine and pure that Sakura’s mood lightens immediately. She’s grinning before she can help herself.

“Ah—Right, right!” Shaking out of her daze, she quickly bows to introduce herself. “I’m—“

“Sakura Haruno,” he finishes for her, taking her by complete surprise. She straightens up and cocks her head to the side.

“Y-Yeah . . .” She drops her gaze bashfully, toes curling inward. “How’d you know?”

(Since when do popular guys know who she is, anyway! She’s a nobody!)

He scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly before bending down to sweep up the rest of her papers. “I—Well, I don’t know if you’ll remember but,” Sakura leans down to help pick up the last few pieces of paper before he passes over the rest of her stack. She cradles them to her chest, nods in thanks and listens intently. “freshmen year we were in math together. I really sucked at it, you know?” He chuckles uneasily and Sakura can’t help but wonder if he’s somehow nervous. But that’s not possible because why would Naruto Uzumaki ever be nervous around her? “But one day I was stuck on a certain question, god it was so stupid, but you were sitting in front of me and Iruka-sensei wasn’t looking so I tapped your shoulder and asked for your help. You were the first girl who ever bothered to help me. You know, before I joined the baseball team that is.” His grin turns sheepish and there’s something about it that suddenly makes him look like a child. His cheeks are pink. “It’s . . . kind of hard to forget something—someone—” he corrects quickly. “—like that.”

Sakura thinks there’s no way she would forget something like that, but considering Naruto hadn’t really risen in popularity until Sophomore year, she supposes it would make sense that she hadn’t even bothered to remember his face. As terrible as that sounds, it just wasn’t a striking memory. She feels bad.

Sakura bows apologetically, pink hair spilling over her shoulders. “Please forgive me. I don’t remember—“

A firm hand on her shoulder has her squeaking in surprise. Her head jerks up, green eyes wide. “It’s okay, really, Sakura-chan.” Pink eyebrows raise in astonishment at the sudden endearment, but his smile is so contagious and it sounds so natural coming from his deep raspy voice that her shoulders slacken a little. “I just figured I’d tell you, you know, so I don’t come off as some kind of a creep.”

“Of course not!” She blurts with a little more volume than necessary.

(Because, gods, this is Naruto Uzumaki! The man who helped win KHS’s national baseball tournament three years in a row! And practically Sasuke’s right hand man. He’s so cool, how could he ever think he was a creep?!)

Sakura voices none of these inner thoughts, but flushes immediately at his puzzled expression. “S-Sorry it’s just—“

“Hey, wait a second. . .” He begins suddenly, face inching closer as cerulean eyes squint in scrutiny, studying her like she’s a curious specimen under a microscope. Her heart picks up the pace and she takes a hesitant step back. (Because why is he looking at her like that!) She immediately shrinks, uncomfortably vulnerable beneath his hardening gaze. “You—aren’t you the one who threw the love letter at the bastard this morning?”

Sakura nearly chokes, heart thumping like a war-drum inside her chest. (I guess this is my life now.) She flushes several shades of red before stuttering out: “No! That wasn’t—I didn’t—!”

He looks taken aback by her discomfort, and he quickly waves his hands defensively. “Relax, Sakura-chan! I wasn’t going to tease you or anything. In fact, I was laughing so hard when I heard I nearly fell off my chair! I wish I hadn’t been sleeping in Biology, I would have paid to see his face!”

Sakura grimaces, cheeks pink, clenching the papers against her chest tighter, as if it could protect her from this humiliation that has so quickly ruined her life. “It wasn’t a love letter.” She grumbles sulkily.

He simply laughs. “You should have seen the bastard’s face at lunch when someone brought it up. He was so embarrassed!” So that’s what he was laughing so hard about, Sakura muses with dread. But then her heart twists painfully when she registers what Naruto just said.

‘He was so embarrassed!’

Oh, man. Sakura screws her eyes shut. (I’m so sorry, Sasuke-kun!)

“T-That wasn’t my intention.” She says earnestly, hoping Naruto understands.

Naruto smiles brightly, shifting to shove a lazy hand in the pocket of his slacks and waving dismissively with the other. “Oh, he’s fine. He’ll get over it. It’s definitely not the first time he’s gotten a love letter,” he pauses in thought before adding with a cheeky grin: “although, I’m pretty sure it’s the first time one’s ever been thrown at his head.”

“Well, I’ll see you around Naruto.” She abruptly spins on her heel, intending to walk away before he can make her feel even worse. Cute, popular guy be damned. She doesn’t even bother putting the rest of her stuff back in her locker. She’ll carry her whole damn academic career in her arms if it means escaping from the blond who is so clearly poking fun at her misery.

“Wait! Sakura-chan, I was just kidding—!”

Sakura walks faster, picking up the pace when she hears his dress shoes clacking against the linoleum behind her. Nope. Not happening. And when she feels him closing in on her, she breaks out into a run (she’s going to be late and she needs to get away from this guy before she spills ugly fat tears!)

When the final bell rings through the hall, she careens down the corridor like she’s being chased by a rabid dog, frowning when she still hears his footsteps behind her.

Naruto pumps his legs wildly, desperately trying to keep up with Sakura’s incredibly insane speed and he can’t help but stare after her in amazement. God damn this girl’s fast!

Running even faster, she bolts down the next hallway, huffing and puffing, before she swiftly rounds the corner—

“Uaah!” She slams into something hard.

Sakura flies backward, arms flailing, papers bursting into the air and fluttering like snowflakes all around her before they float innocently to the ground. Her head smacks the hard tile and for a moment everything goes white. Stars swim across her vision.

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead. I died. I’m dead.

There’s a soft, pained grunt a little ways from her, but her vision isn’t clear enough to see what—or who—it is. Slowly, she struggles to sit up, rubbing at the lump forming on the back of her head underneath her satin yellow bow. She moans quietly when the pain shoots from the back of her head to the base of her spine. Yup, definitely a trip to the nurses’ office.

“O-Ouch.” She mumbles.

She cracks an eye open, only for every muscle in her body to freeze.

Because there, sitting on the ground in front of her, is Sasuke Uchiha.

(Yeah, she’s definitely dead.) .

“You.”

Sakura tenses like a coiled spring, bristling with a hurricane of emotions.

Because first of all: ‘you.’

(Not: ‘Are you alright?’ ‘Are you hurt?’ ‘I’m so sorry’ ‘Let me help you up’)

Nope. Just a very deep, accusing ‘you.’

Sakura’s not sure what hurts more; the fact that he hadn’t even addressed her by name, (because he definitely knows it by now.) or the fact that he bypassed her wellbeing completely in favor of glaring muderously at her. She stiffens when he rises effortlessly to his feet—he really is tall—and has to crane her neck to look up at his scowling expression from her pitiful position on the floor. He impatiently wipes the dirt from his spotless uniform.

She gulps.

There’s a desperate clack-clack-clack growing ever closer, the sound of shoes against tile echoing in the barren halls, and it’s only when she hears the obnoxious “Sakura-chan!” that she winces. “Sakura-chan, are you—oh.”

Naruto skids to a screeching stop when he takes in the situation before him, head swiveling left and right. Large cerulean eyes blink at Sasuke’s arrogantly cocked eyebrow, before Naruto’s expression darkens considerably.

“Watch where you’re going, you stupid bastard!” Naruto chides, immediately at her defense as he helps Sakura to her feet. His loyalty would be endearing if it wasn’t Sasuke Uchiha he was aiming to piss off. When she finds her balance, he begins to fix the yellow ribbon that fell askew during her graceless fall. She can’t help but blush.

“T-Thanks, Naruto, but I don’t need—“

She’s interrupted by a bitter scoff. “She ran into me, idiot.” His dark eyes lock onto Naruto in blatant irritation before they flicker almost reluctantly to hers. She wants to step backwards at the animosity she sees in them, but his intense gaze skewers her in place. “Watch where you’re going next time. . .” The Uchiha promptly side-steps them.

“. . .annoying.” He mumbles as an afterthought when he brushes past her shoulder, continuing his way down the corridor as if he’d never been interrupted in the first place.

Annoying?!

She blinks after him, openly gaping at the audacity. The nerve! The absolute gall of that guy! Her foot stomps childishly before she can help it and she crosses her arms with a huff.

But Naruto, clearly having none of Sasuke’s usual bullshit, swivels around immediately, lips floundering indignantly as he jabs a finger at his best friend’s back. Obviously, he’s not going to let Sasuke get away so easily.

“Now you wait just a minute, you bastard! Get back here and apologize to Sakura-chan right now or I’ll—!”

“Shh! Naruto!” Sakura reprimands fiercely, yanking his accusing arm down. “S-Shut up!” She casts a terrified, fleeting glance at the Uchiha’s back, praying he would ignore Naruto’s unfinished threat and pretend none of this ever happened.

(Because the last thing she needs is to provoke the very guy who could crush what’s left of her reputation in an instant!)

But because she’s somehow subject to torture, Sasuke’s tall form has already paused mid-step. While a brief moment of tense silence hangs in the air, Sakura considers jumping out one of the windows that line the hallway. Since she’s on the second floor, she calculates the possibility of whether she’d die on impact or simply cripple herself.

She stiffens, spine snapping straight as a toothpick, when Sasuke suddenly throws a challenging glare over his shoulder, black bangs flopping over narrowed eyes. “Or you’ll what?”

Naruto reels, clearly taken off-guard by the sudden intensity of the Uchiha’s threatening tone.

Wait a second, aren’t they friends?

Sakura looks between them helplessly, head swiveling side to side as if watching an intense match of tennis, wondering if she should say something to ease the tension when Naruto’s jawline tweaks in anger. He tilts his chin downward and without warning, once-friendly blue eyes fill with pure rage and a raw promise of pain that would send a lesser man screaming with his tail tucked between his legs. “Or I’ll beat your fucking ass.”

Sakura can’t stop the sharp gasp that escapes past her lips. She takes several steps backward because Naruto looks simply terrifying and she swears his pupils shrink to slits.

Lightning crackles dangerously between them as they stare each other down.

W-What the heck is wrong with these guys!

Oh gods, she’s needs to get out of here, right now! (She has a chemistry class to get to, dammit!) There’s no time for this! Before either of the boys have a chance to act on whatever personal ill-will they have towards each other, Sakura skirts around the hallway in a pink blur, scraping up her lost papers and notebooks before scampering down the hall in the opposite direction.

“—WasNiceToMeetYouGottaGo!” She nearly trips over her own feet in her haste but she doesn’t slow down nor does she dare to look back.

“Wait, Sakura-ch—!”

But she’s already rounding the corner at the opposite end of the hall and out of sight.

Seriously, how is she so fast?!

--------------------------------------------

Thoughts? :D Lmao this is so fun to write, if i’m being honest. Dorky!sakura is the best sakura...

#sasusaku #fanfiction #sakura x sasuke #highschool #au #captain!

105 notes · View notes

winterhawkkisses · 5 years

Text

755.

for @mandatoryfunday‘s take fandom to work challenge. It was gonna be longer but I’m legitimately exhausted. It’ll be longer if it ever goes up on AO3 :D

Apparently, Kim had done ten thousand steps before it even got to lunch today, and the comparisons that followed were making Clint feel tired. He tugged his headphones up over his truly spectacular bedhead and tried not to swallow the microphone whole when he yawned. See, he hadn’t done ten thousand steps, Kim, and yeah he had had a breakfast from McDonalds, but he had taken down three muggers and an asshole with a shotgun last night and Fitbits weren’t spectacularly helpful when trying to measure that shit.

She could take her judgy eyes and shove ‘em.

“Hey, good morning,” Clint said, when someone picked up the phone on the other end. “This is Clint Barton calling from Lilac Training, is James Buchanan there please?”

“Barnes,” someone said on the other end of the call, and he sounded like he was having a worse morning than Clint was.

“Sorry?”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the voice said, “I’ve told you guys this half a hundred times.”

James Buchanan Barnes is an asshole, Clint wrote helpfully on his handy purple pad.

“Sorry about that, sir,” he said, “I’ll make sure we get that altered on the system for you. I’ve got you booked in for a review call today, is that still okay with your schedule?”

“Oh sure,” James said. “My busy fuckin’ schedule.” He poured some liquid in the background, and Clint could just tell - ‘cos he’d spilled his goddamn McDonalds coffee, and he hadn’t had time to grab another from the break room - that it was blessed caffeine pouring into a mug. Clint pouted, his lip catching on the microphone. “Go ahead,” James said.

“Okay. So the first thing I have to do is check in on your general safety and wellbeing,” Clint told him, flipping his pen over his knuckles and repeating the spiel by rote. “Are you currently in a safe place where you’re unlikely to be interrupted?”

James snorted. “Sure.”

“And you’ll hear the fire alarms if they go off.”

“Only person likely to set ‘em off is me,” he said, and Clint grinned a little - shitty cook solidarity.

“When you’re in your place of work,” Clint said, “have you had any inappropriate or confrontational contact with customers or staff?”

“You ever worked in retail?” James asked, and Clint couldn’t help the little noise of disgust that escaped him. “Yeah, exactly,” James said. “Show me a retail worker and I’ll show you fear in a handful of coupons.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “so I’ll admit that difficult customers are kinda a given. Do you have someone you can go to for support, then? Someone who’ll have your back?”

“Yeah,” James said, and his voice warmed a little for the first time, slippin’ a little slower and a little more Brooklyn. It was a nice voice. Kinda familiar. “Yeah, Stevie’s always got my back - he’s my supervisor.”

“And does he also act as your mentor on this course?”

“Nah, that’s Sam. Steve is too easy to distract,” James said, and there was an element of mischief now that made Clint vaguely envious of this Steve guy - it had been entirely too fuckin’ long since he’d got laid. He’d even phoned one of those jerk-off lines a couple times, makin’ it a little less lonely to get himself off on his own again.

“Sam. Wilson, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the guy. You did your homework,” James said, a little patronising, hella smooth. “Good boy.”

And… oh. Jesus. Clint knows where he’s heard that fuckin’ voice before, now.

He gets through the rest of the call in a daze - which isn’t so far off from the way he usually gets through ‘em. He’s been doing this long enough that it’s autopilot now - how’s the deadline looking for you, when will you next be submitting some work, are your bosses letting you take some study time? He’s not sure the notes he’s taking are any kinda helpful, but he can get the majority of what they talk about off the computer system later.

“Is there anything else I can do for you today?” he asks, and he can almost hear James smilin’ all slow.

“Nah, you’ve been plenty satisfying,” he says, a tease, and Clint tries not to swallow his tongue.

#winterhawk

122 notes · View notes

threeletterslife · 5 years

Text

Lack of Apathy

→ summary: Love’s enemy is not indeed hatred as many may think. It’s actually indifference, apathy, in simpler terms just not giving a goddamn fuck. In fact, love’s very own kin is hatred. You need to care enough to both love and hate—an important factor to duly note.

→ pairing/rating: hoseok x reader | PG-13

→ genre: probably the lightest angst ever existing but whatever | breakup!au

→ warnings: insults you should NEVER EVER say to anyone (or even to yourself)

→ wordcount: 2k

→ a/n: i’ve always wanted to write an all-angst oneshot,,, this was not what i had in mind but i mean, it’ll do for now lmaoo

♫: Red Ribbon by Madilyn Bailey | All of my Life by Park Won

A week without him is arguably the worst 7 days of your life. You don’t know if this week will turn into a month or two; you don’t know if that month will merge into a year or even a decade. You don’t know anything and it’s driving you fucking crazy.

Normally, you’d say you’re a control freak — it’s the only way things can go perfect, or at least according to your well thought out plans. Maybe that was why he left you. But then again, he liked to do things his way too. Maybe that’s why you left him. And now as the memories flood back, you realize it had been a spur of the moment thing.

Nasty arguments had built up, and once the point of no return had been reached, both of you could no longer undo the damage your words had caused each other.

You don’t deserve me… you don’t deserve me…

His words echo endlessly in your ears, staticky and piercing. It’s enough just to bring tears, the way the phrase was said, the way it was put together so quickly and ruthlessly. The way that it heightened the verbal fight.

You’re dating me for my money, aren’t you?

That’s enough for you to choke on your own breath. He had always known that it was one of your greatest insecurities when you two had been together. You can never get over the judging looks of others, the whispers stabbing you behind your back. Gold digger… thirsty coquette… leech. He had used your vulnerability against you. And in more than one way.

To think I’ve wasted seven years with you.

It’s enough to make you fall to your knees. While your friends have had at least ten fleeting relationships in the past several years, you’ve stuck with the same man—and for a good cause. He was everything to you. It wasn’t a perfect match made in the heavens, none of that soulmate nonsense, but it was a trustworthy relationship, tolerable and overall reciprocating.

Even after the breakup, you don’t doubt that.

You might as well still love him. In fact, you love him so much, you hate him. You hate how you find yourself indulging in thoughts of him, basking in the memories of a past, ruined relationship. And you hate how you still care for him, how you have to resist the hundreds of urges to call him or text him to apologize.

Most of all, you hate how he hurt you. You hate what he told you before he left, slamming the door and never once looking back. Those are the words that are enough to kill you.

They’re so simple but indescribably lethal. They squeezed, tore and obliterated your insides, painting your internal organs with permanent pain that you can undoubtedly feel to this day. And you realize it hurt as much as it did because you still care; unlike he who had so fiercely told you:

I don’t care about you anymore.

The loud, repetitive beats bounce off the multicolored walls, thumping in everyone’s chests as they drink and dance heartily. Jung Hoseok takes a shot of water, not particularly in the mood to party despite his festive surroundings. Normally, he’d go out to clubs any chance he got, relishing in the lax social life. Granted, he’s been going to more of these things ever since he left you.

One, because you never appreciated fleeting, one-time relationships, nor did you feel the need to build rapport with avid drunks. Two, because he needed a distraction from you.

How ironic, he thinks. Hoseok had come here thinking he could lose himself in the all too loud music, and shot-taking, but he’s only getting lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts of you.

He doesn’t understand why his mind pines after you. You’d hurt him, shut down the parts of his brain that permit happiness and optimism and good, healthy thoughts.

My parents were right. I shouldn’t be dating you.

They were unspoken acknowledgments. Both of you had known your parents had never approved of him. Hoseok has a few ideas why: he’s spoiled, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and diamonds on his crown, he practically lives in night clubs, chasing after transient relationships so he never has to reveal his true self and worst of all, he’s aggressively verbose.

In fact, both of you are. Words have the greatest power to hurt or heal, depending on the bearer, and both of you had used it against the other. But then again, it had been a spur of the moment thing. With a heavy heart and tired mind, Hoseok admits that he still loves you. He hates you and what you’ve told him, but he cares enough to yearn for you. Even when you threw and shattered the crystal jewelry box he gave you for your first anniversary. Even when told him to go fuck off.

I don’t love you anymore. And I might as well never have.

Even when you’d whispered that with tears streaming down your red cheeks and hands in tight, angry fists, he still cared.

He cares enough to worry about your wellbeing now. You’re sensitive but you like to act tough, and he knows you’re stubbornly hanging onto the words he’d screamed at you out of pure anger.

Hoseok, on the other hand, couldn’t care much less of what you’ve uttered. He only misses your presence; he needs you back in his life. You’ve been there, next to his side for seven years, possibly more. In the end, your words had hurt, but not as much as your absence.

He needs to see you.

“I don’t care about you anymore,” is arguably the worst thing to say to anyone. The opposite of love isn’t hatred. Love is to care. But if you hate someone, you still care—their face looms in the back of your mind, not in a positive way, granted, but their presence is there. The opposite of love is apathy. When you just don’t give a fuck.

Exactly what Hoseok had confessed to you when he’d left.

[a week ago]

“You didn’t mean that.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I apologized, and you don’t think it was genuine?”

“Of course it wasn’t! Just look at your face, the way you said it! You don’t fucking mean it!” His voice rises with each uttered sentence, and he already regrets picking a fight with you. But it’s too late now.

“And who’s to judge if I meant it or not? If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t have apologized!” you yell right back, standing up from your seat on the couch. “Besides, not everything is about you, asshole!”

This time, Hoseok scoffs, standing up as well. “I never fucking said it was about me!”

You laugh dryly, arms crossing in front of your chest. “The fact that you’re demanding a more rightful apology when I’ve already given you one says everything. Don’t you think I deserve an apology as well?”

“Oh yes, I am so fucking sorry for having to deal with your insistent accusations!”

You frown, face becoming heated. “My parents were right,” you jeer, throwing the television remote behind you, “I shouldn’t be dating you.”

Hoseok grips at his hair in frustration, glaring at you. “Good, because you don’t deserve me.”

“Don’t know why we’re together.”

“Well, you’re dating me for my money, aren’t you?”

It’s silent. Then, you scream, reaching over to grab the nearest object and hurl it, not towards Hoseok but close enough to scare him and display your rage. The object happens to be your first-year anniversary gift—an expensive crystal jewelry box containing your favorite earrings, necklaces and rings of all assortments. It shatters ear-splittingly.

“Fuck off!” you shriek, eyes wet with tears and your hair wild.

“Gladly!” Hoseok yells, “to think I’ve wasted seven years with you!”

“Get out of my sight!” You attempt to wipe the tears flooding your face, sniffling and falling back on the couch. Your body shakes with anger, sadness and frustration. “I don’t love you anymore.” You look him right in the eye, causing him to step back. “And I might as well never have.”

The words shock him and he stumbles, chasing after phrases to say next. He doesn’t want to apologize, not like this when anger and hatred courses rapidly through his veins. Besides, it’s too late. The damage has been done.

So with that thought, he stomps across the house, flinging the front door open with such force that the floor beneath him shudders. Hoseok’s halfway out the door before he stops, turns to you, looking you right in the eye and utters the last of the damage: “I don’t care about you anymore.”

He slams the door shut and never once looks back like you had expected him to have. It was over right then and there. You knew as you wept loudly on the floor that he wouldn’t come back—not after this fight. He should also know you’d never go out to look for him, either. You have your own pride, thank you very much. That and the fact that he blatantly told you he doesn’t care for you anymore.

There’s a thin line between love and hatred, a mere sliver of a slow-running rivulet, whereas love and apathy might be so different they’re oceans away from the other.

The soft pad of his pointer finger hovers just over the doorbell. The last time he’d entered your house, he’d left with hurt, regretful tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He hopes things won’t end similarly.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes the little, weathered doorbell. He can hear the short chime going off inside your house, and his insides especially twist when he hears your scurrying footsteps coming closer to him.

Suddenly, he panics. God, this was a bad idea. Hoseok doesn’t know what he’s going to say, what he’s going to do. What if you tell him you hate him, or worse, tell him you just don’t give a single fuck about him? This had been an impulsive decision, thus unsurprisingly a bad decision.

Maybe he should leave—

It’s too late when the front door swings open and Hoseok sees you, eyes puffy and red and looking uncomfortably bloated. He watches as your sad face morphs into shock then confusion then back to sadness.

“Hoseok?”

Your voice sounds so refreshing, saying his name like that with no hint of anger or hatred laced between.

“Yeah,” he whispers, nodding slowly. “I-I…” he takes a deep breath, closing and opening his eyes and steadying himself before speaking again. “I didn’t mean the things I told you before.”

“I didn’t either.”

“I care for you, Y/N—I’ve never stopped. I was just furious and hilariously immature. I wanted the last words, and unfortunately couldn’t stop myself from saying that…” He maintains eye contact with you, although it's humiliating to admit to his past mistakes that pained you so. “I deserve for you to hate me right now… You can even shut the door on my face because you just don’t give a fuck—” he takes a deep breath—“but I just want to confess that I’m sorry that I—”

“Hey, it’s in the past,” you interrupt. “We don’t have to list out our past faults. We don’t care for them, we care for each other, right? Besides, I trust we’ve already learned from our mistakes.”

You open the door wider, tired face blooming into a small but radiant smile. You’ve never looked more beautiful in Hoseok’s eyes, and he realizes this is the best thing he’s done since a week ago. He smiles right back at you, which in turn makes you realize he’s never looked more perfect.

Both of you care enough to try again. After all, there is a thin line between love and hate. And neither of you really ever stopped caring.

“Come in,” your voice speaks in smiles, “let’s talk.”

masterlist

#hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok fanfiction #hoseok ff #bangtan fanfiction #breakup au #lack of apathy #loa #i tried angst out... yikes

72 notes · View notes

tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

On my mind, in my soul - 12

Prompt: Anon was kind with “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC (shown in blockquotes as usual), Asgard, the throne. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual, references to lemon and sugared lemon (nothing detailed this time), a truckload of feels, and a pinch of...recklesness? A/N: I know my writing is very slow at the moment and you may all blame my BA for that. I hope this chapter ended up as good as I claim and if you do like it PLS reblog <3

Is it madness?

A golden glow manages to worm its way past your heavy eyelids, reminding you of a world outside of the cocoon you’ve snuggled into. A nest of soft sheets and cool limbs, a gentle breath fanning your shoulder in a slow but steady rhythm.

Blinking against the morning sun, you take in the serenity that are the ruins from the night: parts of the pretty dress are scattered in a path to the bed and the golden horns are dangling from the canopy above, gleaming playfully at you until you see the warped reflection of you and Loki who’s practically wrapped around you.

Craning the neck only brings a sliver of the god’s face and pale upper body into view. Time to be sneaky. There’s no way you want to wake him up already. He needs the rest…and honestly, you want this moment to last. All too soon this dream of a morning will be shattered in some nasty way that probably involves guards and a prison cell…if lucky. So you twist slowly, careful not to jostle Loki too much with the series of wriggles it takes before you finally lie chest to chest with him.

If someone would have told you this is where you’d end before you’d stolen the tiger’s eye pendant…the would have sounded like liars. Or at least you’d have made sure to let them know how crazy there were. Crazy indeed. Of course stealing from a god could have consequences! It just wasn’t supposed to have included falling for the freaking guy.

How could you not have? Chiseled features hides one of his best assets: the highly intelligent mind that enjoyes challenging you and holds immense knowledge on any subject you could possibly fathom even a fraction of. Combining that with a personality which you don’t even have the vocabulary to fully describe and a body tha–

“You’re staring, my queen.” Loki’s voice is raw and sweet, still heavy with sleep.

“Still got your eyes closed so how’d y’know?”

When they open, there’s only a tiny hint of crimson at the edges to contrast the turquoise. Perfect and cold like ice to some, it’s hard to understand how warm his gaze is. Loki isn’t one person with neatly defined traits. No. He’s a living, breathing, goddamn paradox.

“My eyes are open now,” he smiles, “and you’re still staring.”

“A cat may look at a king.”

Living easy, living free Season ticket on a one-way ride

Dark brows wrinkle as he ponders the meaning of the idiom, and you can see the moment he realises what it means. “There are some laws here that we will have to abide by.” The smile’s gone, the joy too.

“What’s gonna happen to you?” If you’d wanted to sound brave, well, that’s not what you managed to pull off as the question’s reduced to a meek whisper.

Soft lips seek out your forehead and mouth. It’s not a real answer. Less so the answer you actually want because you can taste the desperation on his tongue as both of you try to commit the other to memory in the hopes of stretching this glorious morning into infinity.

It’s to the sound of the birds and rustle of silk sheets that Loki makes love to you. Sweet and tender. Toe-curling bliss rolling through your body like waves onto a dry beach until the second orgasm pulls the god along in the surf, your name spilling from his lips in a broken whisper.

We belong…

… Loki’s PoV …

He had never intended for things to go the way they did. [Y/N]’s feistiness had drawn him in, her wit and skills had dazzled him…and none of it was enough to explain why Loki had found himself falling for this woman. The many excuses he’d thought up during the long days as he tried to distract himself from her memory were, in the end, bullshit. And the curses he’d been prepared to spit in the woman’s face after yet another lonely night haunted by her scent with nothing but his mind and hands to quench the burning desire? No…Loki’s intellect and foresight had not saved him from this fate.

I love her.

The knowledge isn’t new. He’s known for quite some time although the god has done anything to avoid both thinking and saying it. Nearly losing her was just the latest push in the same direction, down a path that inevitably will break [Y/N]’s heart because that’s all this cruel semi-Asgardian can offer. It’s selfish of him to covet her heart.

A broken heart is better than a dead heart, he’d thought as he chose to repay his debt the only way he could. But it hadn’t worked as intended, and while [Y/N] could ask him anything of him, Odin would be the one to deem it possible or not. One night. The request had been Loki’s even though he knew the price would be high. At least Thor had pleaded his case or the All-Father surely would have denied it without a second’s hesitation.

One night…and then what? What seemed like a great idea once has turned into a sweet nightmare which Loki has to distract himself from by doting on the Midgardian woman in the hopes that she might understand how much she has come to mean to him.

I could just tell her? They bathe together, barely speaking a word because no words will be enough anyways. He dresses [Y/N] in dark blue and silver, hoping to spare the pain it would be to see her in Loki’s own colours because there’s no way anymore that she will ever be his in this world or another…not even now as she willingly gives herself to him. Not give. No, this time the god is the one who has prayed for and received nothing short of a miracle. But the sweet satisfaction has come too late, on the very cusp of judgement.

Breakfast is brought to them, brimming with the best delicacies Asgard can offer. It’s with a feigned smile and unnatural cheerfulness that Loki speaks of his childhood when he was causing mischief in the great halls of Valhalla and more often than not pinning the suspicions on Thor. Time and time again, an honest laugh is coaxed from [Y/N] only to be snuffed prematurely as reality catches up with the game of pretence.

Their time together is brought to an end by the arrival of a dozen guards preceding Odin and Thor. Heavy manacles and chains are wrapped around Loki despite the oath he’s given. Upon [Y/N]’s life, the prison would neither struggle nor attempt to escape. His distaste of the safety measures are not for himself (he wouldn’t trust himself either), but for the pain in her eyes that never waver from him once. Thor’s by her side, a heavy hand upon the comparatively narrow shoulder as though to comfort her or keep the woman in place.

“Wait!” They’ve already marched Loki to the door when he hears her cry.

Someone must have accepted the plea, because next moment the taste of [Y/N] is on his lips once more, mingling with traces of salt.

Don't need reason, don't need rhyme Ain't nothing I would rather do

… Reader’s PoV …

Just like that.

You can only surmise Loki’s being brought back to the prison, but it has been more than obvious that this time there’ll be no visits. Even though the guards and Odin left now without as much as a word to explain, you can’t risk sneaking after them because Thor’s hovering around in the room that suddenly seems cold and barren. Maybe you should be comforted by his presence. At least it’s keeping you from doing some pretty stupid things that could make Loki’s situation worse. Glancing over at the blond meat-wall of a guy, you don’t feel any better.

“Lady [Y/N],” he offers lamely, an apologetic smile on his lips that does nothing to hide the pity, “do not fret…my father has not decided on the verdict yet.”

“What are the odds?” You can hear it yourself, how hollow your voice is.

Falling onto a chair, which groans under the sudden strain, even Thor seems to be at a loss for anything optimistic. “There’s a strain in the relationship between my brother and father.” No shitting. “Over the years, my word has come to way less and less. In fact…” He pins you to the ground where you stand with electric-blue eyes. “In fact you may be the best hope there is for him.”

Then we’re fucked. The odd wording of the thought makes you hesitate. It’s his freedom or worse on the line. Not yours. A year ago, there’d have been no “we” and you’d never have ended up this close to anyone, instead stayed detached enough to simply walk away without a second thought. It had been a simpler life. A lonely life. Well this is gonna be fucking lonely anyways unless I do something.

“Tell me how the justice system works here.”

Nobody's gonna mess me around Hey Satan, paid my dues

…

For three days, you and Loki are kept separate and the news on his wellbeing are close to non-existent. It’s fairly clear, how badly Thor wants to speak with you, tell you something to bring comfort. Maybe the king has made him swear to keep quiet in that respect but at least the prince compensates by giving you a crash course on Asgardian courtroom etiquette which turns out to be surprisingly simple (and prone to flaws).

Odin’s the judge. There’s no jury, save for anyone the old ruler might call upon as a sort of council. And the executioner? Anyone he points to.

At first, you make the mistake of thinking it’ll make things simpler because the way of addressing Odin as judge will be no different from the manners required when addressing him as a king, but the next second you realize that you’ll be talking to a man who’s used to complete obedience and that for all his rumoured wisdom…he will most likely be biased. This is his son. Adopted, sure, but a son nonetheless and Odin’s not forgiving towards the mistakes of his children.

Anything I say can and will – fuck! Poking at the smoldering wood in the fireplace, it seems to you like there’s no way out unless you and everyone else are willing to sweet-talk the King until his ears are dripping with honey. Loki chose to return despite the banishment, and it had been clear from the beginning that the consequences would be harsh if that were ever to happen. Idiotic god. The poker releases an eruption of sparks. Fucking, grudge-holding, semi-sadistic stepdad. At least Odin’s kind to you, treating you tenderly on the rare occasions you are together to the surprise of even Thor.

The shadows from the poker dance and dive blackly against the surrounding stones while you ponder the obvious. Why? You’re a freaking human, Midgardian, an outsider in whom the king isn’t supposed to show any particular favours or interest…except he does.

Ignoring the clatter and angry flares from the hastily discarded poker, you push to your feet and grab the nearest cloak to throw around your shoulders. Soft and dark green, it allows you to blend into the shadows as you leave the room in search of answers and limits.

I'm on the highway to hell Highway to hell

…

Considering that Asgard and the royal castle are supposed to be more or less impenetrable there sure are a lot of guards. But guards are people and people are, well, simple. Thankfully, the Asgardians don’t prove to be anymore complicated than those at home, in fact, none of the motionless figures clad in golden armour even bother to ask what you’re doing out of bed as you hurry quietly down the halls in search of set of double doors taller than a house.

When you find the entrance to the throne room, you walk by as if perfectly disinterested and only come to a halt once you’re past the corner and into a stretch of the hallway with no one in sight. Could work.

Only a few minutes have passed before the guards rush past where you’re crouched in the shadows, the catalyst a strange wail which they automatically attribute to the unusual shape in the darkness further on which they don’t know what belongs to yet, just that it’s not supposed to be there. Attention solely on the possible threat, neither guard notices the green flurry of movement that dashes away.

Why in the freaking universe do they not event big doors that don’t weigh a shit ton?! At least you only need a narrow gap to slip inside the room, back against the door to make sure it closes without a sound. A few embers in the braziers in the wall sconces cast an unnatural glow like puddles of faded heat which hardly is enough to navigate by, so you send an unspoken excuse to the designer of the castle who thought far enough to allow the natural light from outside shimmer in through impossible arches at the very top of the walls, each showing a sliver of star-spangled night sky. The room is warped in shadows and splotches of cold light to create a scene from an old photograph with the imposing throne at the far heart of it all. No longer golden but silvery it looks even bigger now and should hold your interest better than it does, but your eyes are glued to the object stretching from armrest to armrest.

It does seem too good to be true even as you finally stand before the seat. Tentatively, you reach out to brush the fingertips along the metal shaft. It’s real. Gripping the spear firmly, there’s no immediate reaction other than a shiver from the nerves you suddenly find ablaze with worry and exhilaration. Lighter than it appears, the weapon slides soundlessly through the night air as you wield Gungnir for the first time.

Probably last time too, you accept as you finally take a seat with the spear in hand. Before you are two sets of eyes belonging to predators and your only consolation is that rather than attack you, both wolves lift their heads to the ceiling and howl.

And I'm going down All the way

47 notes · View notes

ashandboneca · 5 years

Text

Unsolicited Criticism

So a few years ago, I dealt with some criticism in my personal life over my choices. I’m a NB queer witch who is (not legally) married to two people. It was a bit of a thing, but it has ended my relationship with an extended family member. I had some other things happening in another sect of my more immediate family that I did not agree with, but I held my tongue (because it’s none of my business) which was kind of weird as well.

So I got to thinking, because I like to take things like people being assholes and turn it into a lesson that can apply to other people and other situations. There should be a way to turn something wretched into something you can learn from. It’s not about putting a positive spin on things - sometimes, things just suck and there is no turning that frown upside-down. It’s about taking the situation, removing the emotion from it, and using it as a blueprint for other, similar situations so you can have a plan for how to deal with these things that crop up in the future.

I thought it might be a good thing to talk about dealing with unsolicited criticism and opinions about your choices, your life, and your craft.

I really believe that the choices we make in this life are ours to make. I think too many people are willing to stick their noses into things they have no business being wrapped up in, and it causes more grief than it is worth. Everyone feels their opinion is valid, important, and needed. This is not always the case.

People should ask themselves these four questions before the open their mouths/type away on their keyboards:

- is it true?

- is it kind?

- is it needed?

- is it something I need to say?

Opinions or criticism should have some grain of truth to them. They should be constructive (aka kind). They should be necessary - and actually necessary, not just because you feel ‘it’s the right thing to say’, and it should be something that you feel you are required to impart to the party receiving it.

How do you know if it fulfills these simple requirements?

Firstly, and always, you need to look at where the criticism/opinion is coming from. Is it someone you trust, or whose opinion you value? Is it some random stranger? Why do you think they are saying what they are saying? Have you decided to become a drug mule or join a crime family, or did you just get your hair cut short or paint your bedroom? Most times, when these things are coming from trusted people, like family members, they are coming from a place of love. Most times. Because they are family, there is a certain expectation that their opinion carries more weight. When your old Christian aunt is telling you that you are going to hell because if your beliefs, it could be coming from a place of love. It could also be coming from a place of condescension. Maybe auntie thinks your beliefs are stupid, or silly, of that you aren’t capable of making your own decisions? The key is learning to interpret the tone of their concern, and act accordingly.

My old Catholic grandmother, gentle soul that she is, told me at 14 that I was going to hell because I would not get confirmed. It was so matter of fact, with not a lick of condescension. She merely said she would pray for me, hugged me, and we both moved on with our lives. It came from a place of love. Previous drama came from a place of condescension and foolishness, and it was rebuked.

Secondly, use your own critical thinking skills and judgement to determine if the criticism/opinion holds any merit. Sometimes people around us try to present us with situations that we may be otherwise blind to. Maybe you’re culturally appropriating something and it’s offensive to the people around you and to that group. Maybe something you present online or in person is actually super racist. Maybe your practice includes some manner of hurtful or harmful practice, and people are concerned for your wellbeing. Maybe you’re mentally ill, and off your meds, and people are concerned for you. We can’t always see things that are right in front of us, and sometimes it takes an outside observer to clue us into what we may be missing. There are valid points in being criticized - we often learn from it in a beneficial way if it is constructive and seeks to better you as a person. Hell, a large portion of my schooling was learning to take constructive criticism, which is super important as an artist who works commercially. Not everyone is going to like what you present, or agree with your own opinions.

Thirdly, you have to realize that you have every right to disagree or rebuke the criticism/opinion. If someone is disagreeing with how you are practicing, you have every right to tell them to go pound sand. Depending on the source, you should be able to decide how you want to act. It also depends on how forceful or backward the opinion is - if the person is family but is holding a bigoted and hurtful opinion, you have every right to disagree with what they are saying, and explain to them how they are incorrect. Opinions are not factual - they are not immovable, or static. They are moveable and should be ever evolving. If they then refuse to alter their opinion, and choose to continue to hold a hurtful viewpoint - for example, they’re racist, homophobic, bigoted, sizeist, etc - you can make the choice to be willing to accept that as a part of who they choose to be, or move on in life without them.

Now, I have a pretty strict policy on just cutting people out of my life. Part of that reason being I spent a large portion of my life being a doormat and letting people treat me poorly. I decided a long time ago that life was better spent with those who can respect me and love me rather than out of obligation. Life is too short for bullshit. I know I am a good person who deserves to be treated with the dignity and respect I seek to treat others with. I will not lower my standards to expect any less. Second chances are given, but if someone wounds me badly enough, no amount of 'I’m sorry’ is gonna cut it. I can always forgive, but I have the memory of an elephant and I will never forget. (Short version: I know I’m a good person, and if you treat me like crap I will cut you.)

How you choose to proceed is your choice. Always know that as an adult, you have the choice to have a relationship of your choosing with family or friends. Some families suck, some people have had abusive upbringings or have been kicked out by parents, and it’s not feasible to maintain a relationship. There is no obligation - no one owes anyone anything. You owe your parents nothing - the gratitude for bringing you into the world and raising you is fine, but that was a choice they made in having you. Realizing that is liberating, and can also set you up to address issues and problems that could be hurting your relationship with family. It can help to form real and lasting bonds built on mutual respect and equal footing. The same goes with friends - they are people you choose to surround yourself with. How and what relationship you choose to have with them is just that - your choice. The quote 'the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’ comes to mind - we often build secondary families outside of our blood relations who we often have stronger bonds with because we can choose those people based on their merits and that they closely align with our own sensibilities. I have relatives that are crazy conservative, pro-life nut jobs, I have an aunt who physically and emotionally abused me as a child. I actively make the choice to disavow those people because we have no common ground to stand on - we are so vastly different there is no way to reconcile it. We are blood, but we are not family, if you get what I’m saying.

I should also point out that not every opinion should be aired. Sometimes, there are things you just need to keep to yourself. Yeah, okay, Susie’s hair does look like it was cut with a weed whacker, but telling her that will only hurt her and serves no purpose other than to be judgemental - maybe Susie likes her hair like that. Assuming you know better than Susie makes you a dick, because Susie is her own person and can do whatever she goddamn pleases with her hair. Maybe Joe’s altar looks tacky and cheap - still not your place to comment, because that’s Joe’s space and has nothing to do with you. Unless it involves the serious well being of someone or involves you directly, it may serve better to keep your opinions to yourself.

In the case of this criticism coming from an outside, anonymous source - I normally evaluate it, but often ignore it. It is hard to make personal judgements on someone without knowing who they are. If the person is actually making a really good point, even if it contrary to how I feel, I will take it under consideration and use my critical thinking to evaluate its usefulness. I try to approach all of my problems in a logical, matter-of-fact way. I often try and put myself in someone else’s shoes - like if I was an outside observer in the situation, how would I react? If you remove the emotion from the situation, and look at the words said and the intention behind them, you can get a fairly clear sense of what you should do.

I’m not advocating cut and run - not even remotely. I am advocating personal choice, and telling you that if you are an adult, it is okay to make that choice if it is better for your wellbeing overall. Don’t keep people around out of obligation - it serves neither of you any purpose, and just builds resentment. It breeds guilt and doubt. Cut the ties, move on, and maybe someday you can get to a point of reconciliation and trust again - people grow and change as life and circumstances change.

When you are expressing your own opinions, remember those four points - is it true, kind, needed, and are you the vehicle to impart it? It makes conversations and discussions a lot more functional, that’s for sure. Anything that can make socially awkward people communicate effectively deserves a high five or self five.

#ash and bone #ashandbone.ca #witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #heathenry #the crooked path

4 notes · View notes

lionessrinoaviii · 5 years

Text

Hikari Chapter 1

Cloud stared at the bright patch of lilies in the empty and desolate church with a frown. All this time he had visited her here, prayed for her, talked to her…but today…today he felt alone. It wasn’t bearable. How long had it been now since he’d seen her smile or heard her laugh? How long ago had he watched her long silken braid sway with the feminine curve of her hips, or gazed into her lovely sea green eyes from across a room? It wasn’t fair. She had been so full of light, Sephiroth couldn’t have stolen a better person from all the Planet. Cloud grimaced at his own melancholy and knelt before the garden, fingers delicately brushing a soft white petal. She had also been so, so soft. “Have you moved on, Aeris?” He whispered, a hot tear sliding down his cheek as he received no response. “I suppose I can’t blame you…fleeing this awful hellscape. It treated the best of us without mercy…you deserved…we deserved…there is nothing good left here.”

“Nothing? Not even me?”

Cloud didn’t have to turn toward the voice; he knew who was there. “You know what I mean, Tifa.”

“Do I?” She accused in an attempt at rousing some form of emotion from her friend, though his eyes remained blank and wet. She gritted her teeth, brown doe eyes filling with unshed tears. She just got so frustrated when he was like this. It was as if nothing she could ever do would be good enough, she would never compare to the girl he barely even knew. “I won’t wait for you forever, Cloud. One day you’re going to have to realize she isn’t coming back. I know she was our friend, I miss her too, but there are real living breathing people out here that care about you and you just…don’t care.”

She waited a moment, for a response that never came, and she sighed heavily. “Fine.” Even as she stormed from the church, red boots clanking angrily after her footsteps, part of her hoped he would call out to her. Anything…say anything to stop me. She wished to herself as she walked out into the chilly night air. No word from him was spoken, no muscle moved. He let her walk out without so much as an apathetic grunt, no acknowledgment that she’d ever even been there. Her tears spilled, and she ran passed the small camp her teammates had made outside when they had stopped for the night. She needed to be alone for a while.

The others watched Tifa quietly as she sat herself off to the side, under a nearby embankment. Cid swore under his breath at the sight, making somber eye contact with Yuffie from across the fire. “Shit. That kid’s got some nerve makin’ her bawl like that. He’s out of his goddamn mind.”

Yuffie shrugged. “I think Aeris meant a lot more to him than any of us realized. Trips back to Midgar haven’t been so easy since…well, you know…it’s hard for him.” Her thoughts trailed off as she watched the fire flicker and dance, admiring the spark and heat. “They had passion.”

Cid snorted. “What kind of passion could you possibly have with a girl who never shows her ankles?”

Yuffie wrinkled her nose. “Cid! Not what I meant!” She chewed on her cheek for a moment before continuing. “He was in love with her. This problem isn’t going away, not until I fix it.”

It was Cid’s turn to make a face. “Fix it? And just how the hell do you plan on doin’ that?”

A wide grin graced the ninja’s features and she reached for the small sack she kept near her bedroll. She snickered to herself as she peered in at all her loot, stolen from countless enemies and friends alike. Nothing made Yuffie happier than stolen Materia…except maybe her knack for thievery actually bringing some good into the lives of those she cared about. “Voila!” She announced happily, more than proud of herself as she presented Cid with a piece of dark blue Materia. It radiated a horrible, negative aura, and Cid scooted away from it as best he could.

“How is your good for nothing kleptomania gonna help anyone? And would you put that thing down? It’s kinda freakin’ me out.”

Yuffie puffed her bottom lip out in a pout. “You can’t say that, you don’t even know what it does! I stole it for Cloud!” She insisted, waving it around in his face as she inched closer and lowered her voice. “You remember that demon we encountered a few paces east from Nibelheim? It was carrying this. I took it to a Materia shop on our last stop, they told me it was Wish Materia.”

Cid blinked at her as if she were stupid. “Never heard of it. If you were smart, you’d put that thing back where it belongs and stay out of Cloud’s business. No amount of magic is going to fix somethin’ like this.”

Yuffie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. Cid didn’t understand, he was always such a grump. “Stay out of Cloud’s business, he says, as if he weren’t just sticking his nose in ten seconds ago.” She muttered, turning her back to him as she did so. She stood suddenly, stretching her limbs and tucking strands of onyx hair neatly behind her ears. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

Cid waved her off dismissively, though the more he sat there the less it sat right with him. Something was off about that Materia. Materia is crystallized Mako, it is made of the very Lifestream of the Planet. Cid had to wonder what kind of soul had to have come from the portion of the Lifestream that created that Materia for it to pulsate with such an evil energy. It was something he just couldn’t shake, and he clamored to his feet with a grunt. “Kid, wait. I’m comin’ with ya.”

Inside the church, Cloud had finally moved from his kneeling position and was tending quietly to Aeris’s flowers. No matter how far he ever traveled from Midgar, nothing was ever going to happen to this garden or church as long as there was still breath in his body. He would always come back to this place. He would never forget buying that flower from her in the slums when they first met. The way her face lit up that he’d even thought to stop and speak to her—the way just looking at her almost changed his entire outlook on protecting the Planet. He remembered thinking that if there was anything in the world as radiant as the creature before him, maybe AVALANCHE was on to something after all. His lips curled into a bittersweet smile at the memory, and he barely took any notice to Yuffie barreling in through the front door.

“CLOUD!” She shouted, dragging her heels across the floor in an attempt at slowing her speed as she almost ran right into him.

“Don’t step on the flowers.” He muttered absentmindedly, earning a chuckle from his friend as she grabbed for his hand and gave him a sharp tug toward her and Cid.

“Forget about the silly flowers, I have something that’ll help.”

Cloud turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. He sat his watering can to the side and hummed curiously at his companions. It was odd to see Cid look so disgruntled, like he was worried for his wellbeing. It was almost funny, though he felt for his armors Materia slots just in case. He knew how Yuffie was. “Help with…what, exactly?”

“Aeris!” She exclaimed, holding her hands out before him in excitement, clasped tightly together.

Cid let out a groan and shook his head wildly. “No, I’m tellin’ ya, this has stupid idea written all over—”

Cloud cut him off, a serious look crossing his face. His eyebrows furrowed and his intensity in his eyes made even Yuffie back up a few paces. “What about her?”

Yuffie opened her hands, presenting him with the shiny blue Materia like it was made of solid gold. She could see the confusion written on his face as he made eye contact with Cid, and she cleared her throat, demanding his attention. Her eyes were shining with pride; she truly believed this would be the answer to all his problems. “This is the beginning of your new life with Tifa.” A haze of confusion clouded his eyes and it was clear that he didn’t understand. Yuffie giggled, tossing the Materia to him as she elaborated. “It’s a Wish Materia. Once you equip it, it allows the user one wish before it becomes useless. It’s incredibly rare. I just thought…you know, if you wished your pain away everything could be back to normal again. You don’t have to be sad anymore.” She offered with a gentle smile.

Cloud grimaced as he rolled the orb around in his hand, though his heart was thumping wildly inside his chest. This was his opportunity…Yuffie had brought him the chance of a life time. He didn’t care about his pain or sadness, those were arbitrary things. Cloud didn’t give a shit about himself; he deserved to suffer after everything he’d done in his life…or…everything he had failed to do. No, if he were allowed one wish, it wasn’t to be wasted on him. This was for her. He stuck the Materia in one of his empty slots, and a Cheshire cat grin broke across Yuffie’s face.

“There you go! First and last time you’ll ever be given Materia by me, you’re welcome!” The bright cheer that seemed to glitter off of her faltered slightly, however, as she heard the words coming out of her friend’s mouth. Her large chocolate eyes widened, and she gripped the side of Cid’s shirtsleeve. “Wait…that’s not what I…”

Cid snorted. “I told ya this was a bad—”

“I wish for Aeris. I wish for my light back.” Cloud whispered, his hand clutched over the Materia slot for dear life. His whole body was shaking with nerves, anxious that it might not work, that it might break his already fractured heart.

Cid had finally had enough. “Goddamn it Cloud I mean it! You can’t just play with this shit, it’s serious! Yuffie, I told you!” He cracked his fist hard against the wall of the church, rage turning his face red as he tried to shake some sense into Cloud. It was already too late, the wish had been spoken, and the Materia turned pitch black and clattered to the ground.

“Cloud…” Yuffie whimpered, falling to her knees as the ground began to tremble beneath them. The spot where the Materia had fallen was now consumed by bright blue flame, and it traveled up Cloud’s body like a wildfire. “CLOUD!!!!”

He couldn’t hear her. His body was searing, feeling as if the flames were tearing his limbs apart piece by piece. The ground beneath his feet was suddenly no more, and he tumbled into a deep dark nothing. His screams echoed through the void for what seemed like an eternity, as if he had summoned the deepest darkest pit of Hell and cast himself inside. He was burning in his own misery, and yet, the only thing on his mind was her. He would fall through a thousand Hells if it meant bringing her back to him, though he couldn’t fathom why she’d ever be sentenced to an eternal abyssal damnation.

He was falling faster now, gaining momentum as the fire vanished from his body and he slammed hard into the floor beneath him. He attempted to catch his ragged breath, flinching in the darkness as he heard a loud snap in the distance. A dim light appeared from nowhere, and he glanced about his surroundings with caution. His skin was somehow unmarred, and he sat upon a stain glass circle encased in oblivion. A sleeping princess was painted on the glass, and her pale alabaster skin seemed to blind him in the tar-like gloom. He winced at her brightness, and shakily climbed to his feet. “Is anybody there?”

There was a cackle, from whence he could not discern, and the blue flames fizzled back into vision from afar…this time, in the shape of a man. “Well, well, well, it’s not every day someone strikes up a contract with me, it’s almost always the other way around.” The silhouette sauntered forward steadily, and Cloud pulled his sword off his back with a swoosh. It cackled again, louder than before, and when it’s face came into vision, it leered at him with a viscous smile. “Save that for the Games, kid.”

#clerith #cleris #cloud strife #aerith gainsborough #cloud x aerith #cloud x aeris #aeris gainsborough #final fantasy #final fantasy vii #ffvii #fanfic #kingdom hearts

31 notes · View notes

backtodc · 6 years

Note

As fun as it is to throw salt at Gosho I think this could be a good time to talk about some good DC cases. So, which are your top ten cases so far?

Hmmm, this took some thought–presented chronologically because I couldn’t pick preferential order XP

Billion Yen Robbery (013-016): Even disregarding its long-term impact on the plot, this case on its own had a good twist in how Akemi disguised herself and the lies she told to track down her robbery partners. I’m always a fan of people, rather than going for big heavy-duty disguises, just using little details of makeup and presentation to completely change their appearance. Ran’s big heart was evident in this case and how strongly she felt about “Masami”‘s safety after just meeting her twice, and this one also what is still one of my favourite ninja-Ran moments to date. Potential kidnapper/murderer across the street? Maybe we should call the police, or run down the stairs OR I GUESS WE COULD JUMP OUT OF A FIRST FLOOR WINDOW AND CHASE HIM ACROSS THE STREET AND DO A FLYING KICK TO DESTROY HIS CAR WINDOW AND ALSO HIS NOSE

Akemi’s death opens up a shitton of plot, and, despite how it gets slightly overused later on (not quite to “did you know Bruce Wayne’s parents got murdered” levels but definitely a biiiiit overused) it’s still one of the most genuinely tragic deaths, especially since Shinichi admitted his real name to her to try and offer her some comfort as she died. TEARS Q_Q

A Haunted Mansion Murder Case (017-019): The case that introduced the Ayumi, Mitsuhiko and Genta. I always think of this one quite fondly. It had a genuinely creepy atmosphere–the “haunted” mansion looks the right side of cliche-creepy, especially once it turns out there’s actually someone around, and honestly I can forgive the incidents of the kids wandering off alone and vanishing because they’re six, of course they’re gonna do silly shit like wander off alone in a haunted mansion. And the truth of the matter is something that’s vanishingly rare in Detective Conan, something I wish we saw more often: a crime of passion.

There’s no clever trick to the murder: the son, Akio, just loses the rag under a torrent of verbal abuse and smashes his father’s head in with a candlestick. There’s no clever trick to the cover-up, either; his mother messed with the crime scene a bit and reported it as a robbery, and given that the family’s obviously very wealthy, money probably changed hands if any investigating officer did think to suspect anything other than a robbery. All she’s thinking about is protecting her son from the consequences of his crime; all he can think about is his guilt and horror over the murder he committed. The case goes from genuinely creepy to honestly tragic. It’s a proper emotional story, and at no point do any six-year-olds have to witness a human corpse, which I’m always in favour of. And I like Genta, Mitsuhiko and Ayumi and I’m glad they were introduced shut the fuck up

The Hatamoto Family Case (020-025): This was another case with good creepy atmosphere, a solid closed circle situation, classic big fucked-up family situation but at the heart of it, Natsue and Takeshi are a genuinely sweet couple who really don’t deserve all this bullshit and you spend the case really hoping for them to be safe and things to turn out okay for them, the traumatic deaths of several close relatives aside. The murderer is pretty sad, though I feel like Gosho intended him to be more sympathetic than he actually was–he certainly could’ve done with less abuse from his grandfather and been allowed to emotionally invest in his art more, but the cousins thing aside, murdering multiple people over a girl you’ve never even approached marrying somebody else with whom she’s had an actual relationship and is in love with is… not sympathetic. But I’m also glad that the nice chef uncle came out alright too, and that all three of the sympathetic family members reappeared in later cases since they were all very likeable characters.

Moonlight Sonata (062-067): This one sticks in a lot of people’s minds, and I think it’s for the same reason that the haunted mansion case sticks in mine; atmosphere. This is another one with a good, genuinely creepy atmosphere from the immediate sense of “small town with a dark secret” we get as soon as the Mouri Detective Agency arrives on the island. Gosho was very good at building these atmospheres once upon a time, I would’ve liked to see him write a horror manga. The case is deeply tragic from start to finish, from the murders of the Asoh family, to the fact that Seiji/Narumi got the idea for the “curse” from playing a funeral song for a man who’d just had a heart attack after admitting to murdering their family, to the complex nature of Dr Asai’s grief and guilt that they felt the need to avenge their family but simultaneously called for a detective in the hopes that they’d be stopped, to their suicide at the end because they can’t live with what they felt obligated to do. There are Gosho’s usual… issues… with gender, and given the bigotry that became obvious later he probably had no clue at all what he was doing with Dr Asai’s gender, but I feel like they weren’t handled unkindly for an AMAB character living as a woman? I could be wrong and I wanna open this one up to the trans folk in the audience because I’ve never found a trans fan’s commentary on Dr Asai and how they think they were handled, but goddamn I still cry thinking of their suicide at the end and I appreciate that this was a one-off case that had a visible long-term emotional impact on Conan.

Magic Lovers’ Murder Case (192-196): As well as being an interesting murder involving some quite sympathetic characters, this is a really good case for seeing what Kaitou Kid’s like under the mask (or was like; I feel like he’s lost depth since this?) as expressed through Katsuki Doito. He came along to investigate suspicious user activity, but he joined the magic-lovers’ forum because he is a nerd for stage magic and stage magicians and enjoys nerding out about stage magic and stage magicians. He gets to unapologetically fanboy over his late father with other magicians, with is pretty goddamn cute imo. He also gets to show off knowledge and fondness for other magicians, and his knowledge of magic tricks is useful in solving the case, even though, by his own admission, he’s no detective, and it led to tragedy. We don’t really see how Kid felt about being unable to prevent that murder, since he was still being played as pretty mysterious at the time, but it was a good choice for his second appearance in DC imo since it cemented him as Not A Bad Dude. Also, Conan gets to be one of Those Shonen Protagonists by running across a burning bridge, which, y’know, is always cheesy, but also always kinda cool (the artwork was particularly effective imo)

Twilight Mansion (299-302): I genuinely enjoyed the gathering of the knock-off famous detectives and was pleasantly surprised by Hakuba’s appearance (back when I still held out hope that that kind of thing meant that Kid would get more involved in the plot). The mansion itself is actually quite gorgeously designed and rendered, especially at the end when the exterior crumbles, and again, DAT CREEPY ATMOSPHERE. I guess it’s officially plot-important now, too, which I just wanna say, I officially called nine years ago, but also I was hardly the only one calling BO involvement with Karasuma.

Most of all, in general, I just really like watching and reading things involving skilled people being very competent at what they do, so the fact that ALL of the gathered detectives (save that one dead one) figured out what was up and were able to communicate and come up with a plan without revealing themselves to the brilliant detective BEHIND the whole thing, and the execution of that plan, were all very, very good and I liked it. I might reread this one right now, actually, while I’m thinking about it, I really do enjoy it top to bottom.

Golden Apple Case (350-354): PEAK interesting backstory on the part of Vermouth and Yukiko, a reasonably interesting murder, Yukiko’s RAD driving scene, and one of my favourite Ran moments ever. The confrontation with the serial killer/Vermouth is tense as hell, and the fact that Ran reacts instinctively to save his life and just can’t bring herself to drop him and let him die, to be responsible for a death, no matter whose, is a very powerful statement on the integrity of her character. She’s just to her core, and Shinichi does steal the moment a bit by helping her pull the serial killer up and getting the really good “you might need a reason to kill, but you don’t need a reason to save a life” line, but this still feels entirely like a Ran moment for me. We find out later that this incident had a profound effect on Vermouth, too, and is possibly the entire reason she’s hiding Shinichi’s secret from the BO and explicitly the reason she doesn’t want Ran to come to harm. Shame we haven’t had much Vermouth character development in a while because this stuff was JUICY.

Two Cases Under One Moon (429-434): An ICONICALLY good Bo-fightin’ case where everybody involved is putting in Maximum Effort. Heiji puts on an extremely good show as a fake Shinichi (the boy’s an extreme drama queen and Heiji does that very well), Yukiko’s disguise skills are valuable and well-used, we finally get the revelation that Vermouth has been Dr Araide for a while AND that she’s maybe immortal (…not… that we’ve gotten ANYTHING on that since..) AND we get the VERY interesting nature of her feelings concerning Shinichi and Ran. Also, we get Ran so concerned about Ai’s wellbeing that she hides in a car boot and then jumps into gunfire in order to protect her, GOD that’s SUCH a good Ran moment. Shinichi, Jodie and Akai all also get to be very brave and very smart and very badass, and ugh really I just wanna go back to everything about Vermouth in this case and explore more of that forever. Please. Also more Jodie, whose backstory we finally got in this case after revealing that she’s not Vermouth. What is it with interesting women disappearing as soon as their backstory is out MOVING ALONG

Clash of Red and Black (595-609): This case is a cracking case. This one was long and complicated and many-layered and everybody involved was on their highest gears and it was great. Akai and Conan work as a fantastic team and Conan gets free reign to do some very good detective work for the FBI (I still believe he told Akai who he was during this case, it would make sense and undercuts how concerned I am with all of these grown adults letting a six-year-old run all around an active incident). We get a good look at the incredible power and cruelty of the Black Organization when they cause immense collateral damage just to flush the FBI out. We get the story on both Akemi and Akai’s relationship AND the Hondo family, and OH BOY THE HONDO FAMILY.

It’s also one of the most interesting Eisuke cases, imo, where not only does he do some solid investigation to find Mizunashi Rena, we get a glimpse of some real deep trauma over losing his last family member that’s driven him to be willing to attack Rena with scissors out of desperation to get answers about what happened to his father and sister. I mean, I am most definitely not advocating stabbing coma patients, but for Eisuke a lot of the trauma of your whole beloved family dying or disappearing was just implied and not explored, and then he got booted from the series immediately after things got interesting with him, so bleh. We also barely see Hidemi after this, and ?????????? because she’s a CIA agent who’s in DEEP to the BO after surviving a HORRIFYING situation where she has to proudly boast of murdering a man who was secretly her FATHER, who SACRIFICED HIS LIFE TO PROTECT HER… why are we dicking around so much with Mystery Family instead of exploring this one??? This case is kind of the last hurrah for anything interesting happening with the Hondos so I love it for that.

And I love the complicated counter-bluff involved in delivering Kir back to the Black Organization without looking like they were delivering her. Again, this was apparently in exchange for her assisting the FBI and she barely appears after this…? Nope this isn’t about salting at Gosho moving on

The Life-Threatening Broadcast of Love (804-808): I love this one solely and 300% for the part where Miwako Sato jumps out of a helicopter, shoots a noose off of her boyfriend’s neck, grabs him, wraps her coat around him to protect them and knocks both of them out of the range of a bomb blast at the last second, like the goddamn action hero that she is.

So in no particular order, those are my top ten: how about the rest of you?

#peggaboo #detective conan

90 notes · View notes