#like yeah… their love is monstrous it’s ugly it can’t be killed.. can’t ever be something ur fully rid of… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bandedbulbussnarfblat · 10 months

Text

All Go Home in the End chapter 5

here is the latest chapter of my fic using the story from TotBT with the show versions of the characters.

“Lestat.”

The mortal is clearly unimpressed, but Lestat can sense the fear building in him. Fear that translates into anger, a deep, searing anger at vampires and all their drama. Hard to blame him for that; he has spent the last however many days listening to Louis whine. Louis loves his whining.

“The one and only. And you are?”

“Daniel Molloy,” Daniel says and frowns. He keeps looking over at Lestat instead of the road. “If you’re going to kill me, I’d rather just get it over with.”

Lestat laughs; the moxie of this mortal! He can see why Louis and Armand like him. “I have no intention of killing you; you’re more useful alive. Lucky you.”

Daniel snorts. “Yeah, lucky me.”

“Take the next left,” Lestat orders. He needs to get Daniel somewhere isolated and alone. Fortunately, he’s already found the perfect place.

Daniel is considering wrecking the car and trying to escape. Lestat puts a hand on his knee and digs in his claws, not enough to tear the fabric of his pants or break skin, just a warning. Daniel takes the next left.

“Is there a reason you’re kidnapping me?” Daniel says. “Something to do with Louis?”

“Kidnapping is such an ugly word, Daniel.”

Daniel sighs. He seems tired, weary. One hand on his lap is trembling, and not from fear. Sickness, then. That could complicate things. Lestat can’t very well have him die on him before he’s had his use. “What do you want?”

“I have a problem I need help solving,” Lestat says. “You are my guarantee Louis and Armand will help me.”

“Help with what?” Daniel says, and he sounds genuinely curious. Like he can’t help himself.

“It’ll be best to start at the beginning…”

“My name is Raglan James, but you can call me Gretchen. I have a proposal for you.”

This woman is lovely, petite and blonde and quite pretty. In fact, she reminds him a little of Gabrielle, though not nearly as beautiful. Lestat can smell her, her blood pumping under her skin, fragrant and distracting. It’s so strong she must be bleeding from somewhere, and have some open wound. Or she’s menstruating. His gums ache around his fangs. It’s been so long since he’s had human blood, being trapped here after his stint in the sun.

He takes a step forward and she swallows, fear flashing in her eyes. But she doesn’t step back. So she has some manner of courage; that’ll make it interesting. He likes when they fight back a little.

“You don’t want to kill me,” she says, “Not before hearing my offer.”

“Oh?” Lestat says and drags a nail across her throat. It causes a thin scratch and her blood wells to the surface. “And what can you offer that’s sweeter than your blood?”

“Humanity,” Gretchen says. Lestat leans forward and licks over the cut on her neck. She tastes divine. He wants to sink fangs into her and drain her dry. “I can make you a human again.”

Lestat cocks his head and looks at her. What an odd offer. How could she even manage such a thing? “Explain.”

Gretchen points to her head. “It's all in here. Why don’t you take a look?”

Then a series of images flash into his mind and there’s the press of a mind against his own, stronger than any mortal mind has ever felt. Gretchen–or rather, Raglan–shows him his story.

A powerful mortal psychic with the ability to steal bodies. A secret organization that studies the supernatural. It’s fascinating.

“We could switch bodies, if you’d like. Just for a day, to try it out. You experience being human again, I experience being a vampire.”

It’s tempting; he’s felt rather monstrous lately. But he hardly wants to be a woman.

“Why don’t you find a more suitable body and we’ll talk.” He’d very much like to choose the body himself. He’d prefer to be someone handsome and tall, similar to his appearance now. It’s an intriguing enough idea that he decides not to kill him.

Gretchen doesn’t look too disappointed. His face barely reveals any emotion at all. “There’s another offer I have for you. The Talamasca has on record instances of vampire blood enhancing psychic abilities. I’d like to see if it’s true. So I propose an exchange. Your blood for mine.”

His interest seems more clinical than anything. Lestat would be insulted at such a proposal, but Gretchen, or Raglan, doesn’t seem to understand the intimacy of what’s being asked. It’s a purely scientific way of thinking about it, nothing erotic at all in his head. And Lestat is hungry.

Lestat sinks down to his knees in front of Gretchen and inhales the scent of him, stronger here near his most private parts. His mouth is watering with the desire to taste. “As long as I taste you first.”

“Skip the part where you earn your red wings,” Daniel cuts in. He’s been following Lestat’s instructions as he talks. They’re headed for the desert. Lestat found a motel out there off the main road that’s perfectly secluded. Lestat has been telling his tale, right up to when he first tasted Gretchen’s blood.

Mortals can be such prudes when it comes to sex.

“Over the next few weeks, Grethen would visit me daily. Sometimes he would use his psychic gift to force vagrants into the house so I could feed. Other times he would bring me blood from the butcher. Often we would exchange blood, which only made his gifts stronger.”

Daniel looks unamused. “Uh-huh. So you were basically fucking.”

“Sharing blood is an intimate act. It was only natural that we fell in bed together from time to time.”

Time to time was quite often, really. Lestat never has been one to deny himself the pleasures of the flesh, and the effect of vampire blood on mortals could be arousing.

“So what went wrong that led to you being here?” Daniel asks.

“I decided against switching bodies with him. Once I began drinking human blood, my healing worked much faster. I remembered what it felt like to be powerful. Why would I give that up?”

“I’m guessing Gretchen didn’t like that much.”

“No, he did not,” Lestat says. “He’s been following me ever since. He’s made attempts to steal my body, I’ve felt it. So far I’ve been able to ward him off, but it exhausts me. I am still weak from my time in the sun.”

“And he’s stronger because of your blood,” Daniel says.

“Yes,” Lestat says, “what he wants is to be a vampire. One way or another.”

Daniel nods and says, to Lestat’s complete surprise, “I met him, you know. Back when I was young and dumb. Raglan James. Uncommon name, it’s why I remembered. That and the Talamasca stuff.”

Lestat doesn’t bother with warning, he dives straight into Daniel’s mind and pulls out the memory. It’s easy enough to find, right there on the surface since he’s thinking about it.

That’s not what’s interesting. What’s interesting is what else he finds. A block, and behind it, years of memory. Too delicate for Louis to construct, his mind gift has never been that strong. Armand, on the other hand. He takes a dive inside, careful not to unsettle anything.

Well, well, well. Daniel Molloy is more useful than he knows. He thought Armand would help because Louis liked Daniel. Now he knows Armand will help for his own reasons.

Turns out Daniel Molloy is the perfect pawn.

#iwtv fic

2 notes · View notes

iamanartichoke · 3 years

Note

Another totally unprompted ask, on the assumption that you are definitely no longer in need of them… another thing I’m trying to work out about Loki characterisation in preparation for perpetrating fic torture on him is how suicidal the poor sod is most of the time. This is another thing I’ve seen referred to a lot but only in passing. Though obviously this is a pretty triggery topic, so ignore if you want.

I am always in need of totally unprompted asks, otherwise I just assume no one wants to talk to me lmao

So, hoo boy. I have been mulling over this for, apparently, three days now bc there's just ... there's a lot to unpack here. Putting under a cut for obviously triggery content and also for length bc fml.

In my opinion, the response to "how suicidal is Loki most of the time" is "very, but whether or not he wants to do anything about it varies from moment to moment" (see what I did there? I'll see myself out). In other words, I have always had a headcanon that Loki is consistently, passively suicidal. This is a headcanon that comes straight from TDW, bc I'm certain that Loki never had any intention of surviving their mission. And that could be a whole other post, really, but the point is that even though this is a TDW-centric headcanon, I have come to adopt it as applying to Loki in general as well, not just in those specific circumstances.

When I say passively suicidal, I mean that Loki is just sort of ambivalent about the value of his own life. He feels like he doesn't deserve to be alive, and feels like there's little point in being alive. Which - I don't mean to sound all gloom and doom, like, poor uwu emo Loki (and I kinda hate that I have to pause to disclaim that, no, I don't just have a fixation on Loki being depressed for funsies/the aesthetic/whatever); I think that this mindset stems from really complicated places that I'm not sure I can articulate, but I will try.

I view Loki as someone who suffers from a severe inferiority complex, and I feel like it stems from being abandoned as an infant. Loki's life started with a traumatic event and, even if he doesn't remember the event itself, the feelings he experienced stayed in his subconscious. Feelings of loss, of fear, of despair and abandonment, of suffering - these are all feelings that burrowed into his bones and lived there for his entire life, feelings that colored how Loki viewed himself as a person as well as how he compared to the people around him.

Keep in mind that Loki didn't know he was abandoned until the events of Thor 1, obviously. We don't really know how old Loki is, in human years, but I have always assumed that he and Thor were at least adults (not teenagers), maybe the equivalent of early twenties - and the reason I bring that up is because it means Loki made it all the way to adulthood carrying the weight of a trauma that he did not remember or even knew had happened, so to him, there was no real reason for how wrong he felt. There was no explanation for the feelings of loss, of neglect, of fear. So on top of struggling with those feelings, Loki was also burdened with the alienation that comes with wondering why one can't just be like everyone else, why one can't just "snap out" of depression, why one's sense of self-worth has always been lacking.

So imagine what it's like to grow up as Loki. He was traumatized as an infant. The trauma has been with him his entire life, along with the confusion/alienation of not understanding why he feels the way that he does, and then on top of that, his basic personality lends itself toward introspection and isolation, so he likely felt even further removed from Thor and from his peers. Loki's too smart for his own good, and he's got an enormous capacity to feel and I feel like this is a combination that works against him as much as it does for him, bc it probably means he spent a lot of time examining himself and identifying all of his perceived flaws - and then berating himself for said flaws.

People with depression are probably pretty familiar with the bully that lives in your head, the one who is always there to remind you that you're stupid, or ugly, or that nobody likes you, or that you have nothing of value to contribute to anyone, etc. Loki's no different; he's got that bully in his head, too. Add onto this the fact that his brother is literally perfect, that he feels his father doesn't love him (or love him as much), that his interests in things like magic are looked down on in his culture, and that he's a prince (meaning that along with the privilege comes pressure, and being in the public eye, knowing that everyone around him is comparing him to Thor as much as he compares himself to Thor, well.) and you have a total clusterfuck of a mindset, and Loki's been existing inside of that clusterfuck for nearly all of his life.

I always go back to the quote where, when filming I think the vault scene, Kenneth Branagh directs Tom by saying, "This is the moment where the thin steel rod holding your brain together snaps." And it's such a significant moment for Loki bc this is where it all crumbles for him, learning the truth, but I also fixate on the "thin steel rod" part of the quote bc that's not how one would describe a healthy, stable person's mind. The implication, to me, has always been that Loki wasn't that stable to start with due to his general upbringing, his internal struggles, and his personality, so of course the devastation of learning he's adopted, and Jotun, would send him over the edge. One doesn't go from zero to 60; one doesn't fall over the edge unless they were balancing fairly close to it in the first place. And to me, the "thin steel rod" basically equals the aforementioned clusterfuck of a mindset.

THE POINT IS. (Holy shit, I ramble.) This is the foundation on which I'm basing my headcanon that Loki neither values his life nor feels as if he even deserves to live it - bc his default mindset is one of inferiority, of loss, of pain. And I think that going from being a general unstable person pre-canon to being passively suicidal post-canon is a thing that happened because, somewhere between the vault in Thor 1 and the dungeons in TDW, Loki just stopped caring.

Life is exhausting for everyone, but even moreso when your mental load becomes more than you can carry. Loki is exhausted. His experience is that things just keep getting worse and worse for him - he's never been valued, he's always been found wanting. He discovers that he was literally thrown away as an infant, unwanted and left to die, and things haven't gotten much better for him since then. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. His plans spin out of control. He's unable to prove his worth and his value and when he is, in fact, rejected, he literally tries to kill himself (only to survive and end up in an even worse situation).

It all just continually goes downhill, and Loki is fucking exhausted. He's done. He has no hope that anything is ever going to change - he will never be valued or even seen, he's unable to connect to anyone, he has no family (aside from Thor, but their relationship is so fraught with pain). As far as he's concerned, his life has been nothing but a waste since he was born and if no one else values it, why should he?

So - passively suicidal. He places no value on his life, and doesn't shy away from situations that could cost him his life. It's possible that the only reason he's not actively suicidal is bc his previous attempt not only failed but led to such a horrible situation that he's probably too afraid to intentionally seek out death again. He doesn't want to fail and end up worse off for it.

And - not that you asked this in particular, but - my biggest disappointment in the series is that none of what I've just written is addressed in a satisfying way (to me). That is, we don't get any real explicit acknowledgement of the trauma of Loki's abandonment as a baby or how that affected his mental health growing up; we don't get to explore how devastated he was to learn of his adoption; we don't ever see him reconcile his ingrained belief that jotuns are monstrous savages with the fact that he is jotun. He says "I betrayed everyone I loved, but I'm different now" and we're supposed to infer what he means without Loki actually articulating why he feels that he's the only one who should be held responsible for all these things that had happened or what "I've changed" even means to him (aside from not betraying Sylvie).

I would have liked to see these things addressed for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that I would want to see how Loki comes to terms with all of his issues and his pain enough that he stops being passively suicidal. We never get to see that; after TDW, the time that passes allows for Loki to kinda chill, resulting in the Ragnarok version, but if there was any real healing or recovering going on, it was happening off-screen, with the audience expected to just go with "yeah Loki was going through it for awhile but he's kinda better now."

Furthermore, much of what I've written here is based on prime Loki's development through TDW, but doesn't account for series Loki's split from that timeline nor the theme of "Lokis survive" that's so prevalent in the series. So I don't think the "passively suicidal" headcanon is really appropriate for series Loki but, at the same time, I'd like to have seen why. I'd like to have seen Loki learning to value his life, or where the "we survive" mindset comes from, since that's not really been a thing before now. (Out of universe, I suspect it comes from the context of Loki just not dying whenever he tries to, but since TDW and IW haven't happened, and Loki didn't intend to survive his fall from the bifrost, framing Loki as an innate survivor doesn't really make sense, but to be fair, I'm just being picky.)

So, yeah. I'm not saying Loki doesn't experience growth or development in the series, I'm just saying that his arc left much unsaid and, furthermore, framing his growth as "wanting a throne to not wanting a throne" without addressing that Loki doesn't actually want the power of the throne, he wants the value and self-worth he associates with the throne, is - well, again, unsatisfying. Not bad, but it leaves viewers like me wanting bc we're cognizant of how much more could have been done.

I ... am going to end this now. This is probably nonsensical and all over the place, so I'm very sorry, and I'm sure this is why I don't get meta-starter asks lmfao bc no one's out here trying to read my dissertation submission for a Ph.D in Loki, but well, sometimes it just be like that.

Thank you for the ask and the opportunity to ramble.

#asks #charlotte replies #loki pokey artichokey #loki series #loki series criticism #loki meta #tw suicidal ideation #tw suicide attempt #tw suicide #tw mental health #tw depression #i spent two fucking hours on this yet i still feel like it's rambly nonsense #i hit stream-of-consciousness at some point and just went with it #and now i'm too lazy to revise #so i'm sorry #this'll probably only get like 10 notes anyway bc that's how it be on tumblr #put effort in and get little validation; put no effort in and everyone loses their minds

144 notes · View notes

hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Dream Baby Dream

A/N: So Charlie’s latest movie, Jungleland, is an ABSOLUTE MUST-SEE!! It’s so fucking lovely 🥺😭🥰 Whether you’ve seen it or not, I hope you’ll enjoy this little one shot, based on the below request that I got! It’s all kinds of angsty and smutty and fluffy. (Title is a reference to the Springsteen song played at the end of the movie!) **This fic is SPOILER-FREE**

Pairing: Stanley Kaminski x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, reader gets pregnant, gifs of Charlie in his underpants 😋 Request: This lovely request (p.2) for pregnancy/smut with Charlie’s character from Jungleland!

Word Count: ~3.1k

Important Note: The first line of this fic is a line Stanley says in the movie (scene shown in the gif above and in this gifset) – yes, loves, an actual quote. So if you’ve not yet seen this film but are a fan of Charlie Hunnam, I promise you this scene is reason enough, to watch if only just to hear those words from him... 🤤

***************

“I like the way they make my dick look.”

... Is he serious? Yes, definitely is. One drink was all it took, for you to know. He walks and talks like someone straight out of an old forgotten book or an obscure off-Broadway show. As if his whole life is imagined, yet for him the fiction feels so fucking real that it’s the only thing he’ll ever understand.

“I like the way they make my dick look”? What the fuck? You’d just paid him a half-joking compliment on his ridiculous sweatpants. But this is a man who takes jokes for the truths they expose. Mama always told you to avoid men like this—cons and crooks—men who crush their own hearts in their fists, steal their strength from the shadows, to run from their weakness. She knows best, and knows that you can’t. Knows that you turn to dust in their hands. But she’s not here to witness.

No, nobody is.

You take another shot, tossing away what little self-restraint you’ve got. “Dare you to tell me just how many times you’ve used that line.”

The fucker flashes you a smile. Cheeky smirk, the only kind that suits his style. Cheap as dirt. Just like his stupid ugly shirt. “Hey, if I had a dime...”

Rolling your eyes, you suck the sour from a slice of lime. Can’t seem to chase away your thirst. “How many times did that shit work?”

“Well, let’s just say you wouldn’t be the first...” he whispers, leaning close to take the lime in his own fingers, squeezing it without reason till every little pulp ruptures and bursts. “Wanna fuck you so hard it hurts.”

***************

Is it the best sex that you’ve had? Hell fucking no—not even close. It’s pretty bad. Probably the worst.

It’s almost gross. Feels like you’re stuck in a low-budget porno. Just a mess of theatrical thrusts. Heated groans, grating deep in his throat. Grabby hands. Somehow you know that he could fuck you so much better, though, if only he stopped trying to put on some kind of show. You doubt he even knows he can.

“Ugh, just—” you grit your teeth against each thrust. “What are you even doing, Stan...”

He groans out loud again. “Screwing you like a fucking man.”

That tasteless statement almost makes you want to laugh, but you bite back the urge. “No, that’s not how it works,” you mutter as his hips spastically jerk, massive dick splitting you in half. “You can’t—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he rasps, ravaging your ass with a rough series of slaps. Pulling your hair, making you arch your back, wrapping one hand around your neck until you choke. The sex is so damn close to being epic if this man would just stop acting like a joke. Like, really close, which honestly doesn’t seem fair. “You’re not supposed to talk when you’re taking my cock. Supposed to be too drunk to care.”

Oh God—he’s even dumber than you thought. He should’ve counted that you’d only had a couple shots. “Yeah, well, I’m not.”

“As fucking if,” he huffs, taking the hint that you’ve had quite enough. Reluctantly rolls off. Finally stops fucking you over. And that’s when you realize you miss it, although it feels strange to admit. He turns aside, tucking himself in tight under the covers like some kind of scorned lover. Spurned and burned so many times it makes him sick. “That’s bullshit and we both know it. Sober, a girl like you wouldn’t have touched me with a ten-foot stick.”

That gives you pause and breaks your heart a little bit. How is this man already getting at your heart, damn it? Mama would say he’s creeping in there with his crooked claws and all that shit. You can’t let yourself fall for his theatrics. Is that even what this is? Somehow, you sense the weight of more than just his body on the mattress; your heart feels heavy now, but not nearly as heavy as his.

“A girl like me? Seriously, what does that even mean?” you ask, reaching to run your hand across the faded scars and bruises on his back. Noticing how he flinches as if your soft touch is a savage attack. No doubt he wishes that you hadn’t seen. No wonder somebody so damaged really thought you wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot stick. “Stanley, you are honest to God hot. And plus you’ve got an almost-ten-inch dick.”

He reacts with a snort, and a shake of his head. Scooting out of the bed, shrugging into his hideous shirt. All the scars on his back and his heart safely hidden inside it. “Doesn’t matter if it’s big. Apparently I can’t use it for shit.”

Without bothering to put pants back on, he settles on the couch across the room. You move to follow him, unable to resist when he looks so cute sitting there. Raking your fingers through his ruffled golden hair. “That’s not a problem we can’t fix—come back to bed with that big dick. You just have to get out of your head. Just a bit.”

That’s a notion he’s quick to dismiss, though you notice he’s no longer flinching away from your touch—which means something, you’d bet. It must. Nevertheless, Stanley snickers at what you said, struggling to keep his facade firmly set. “Out of my head? Bitch, I live in it.”

You don’t doubt it. Just want him to try stepping out of it. “Just for a minute.”

Lucid blue eyes look up at you now like you’re seeking to push him past some lifelong limit.

“Damn, what’s it like in there...?” you wonder aloud as you comb through his hair. He’s a poem, a portrait of someone who doesn’t believe he’s a man. Soul has never known any true home. Heart has been locked away for so long that he thought it could never be freed. Head full of dreams, broken and bursting at the seams. His silence fucking screams. “What do you really want, Stan? Really need?”

And you can tell he’s scared, to dare believe you really care. “...Nobody ever asked.”

There’s a whole world behind his words. Woefully true. Yet a whole other world now opens up before the two of you, with yours. “Well, then I’m glad to be the first.”

Of course you asked. Of fucking course. You barely even know him now, but can already tell somehow... you want to love this man so hard it hurts. Truly glad that you were the first. Already want to be the last.

***************

Fucking months have gone by in the blink of an eye. And already you love him so much you could die.

He’s never fucked someone who ever gave a shit about him, so he gets a rush from knowing that you cannot live without him. And the feeling goes both ways, needless to say. He’s always looking at you like his first glimpse of the sacred light of day. And always seems afraid you’ll run away, no matter how wholeheartedly you reassure him that you’re here to stay. That he should never doubt it.

Still he’s just crippled with this unshakeable fear of fucking up and everything falling to shit, just as it always did. Of losing love now that he’s finally fucking found it. Stanley’s past is a ripple effect of the failures and losses that constantly kept him desperate and dishonest, and it’s fucking haunted. Can’t help but dread the day it’ll rear its monstrous head and make him pay for ever dreaming he could have the kind of life he’s always wanted.

The most that you can do is hold him close and fuck the pain away, and love him more than words can say. His dreams are beautiful, you tell him. They deserve to see the light of day. With you he never has to act like he’s some character straight off the page; he doesn’t have to be afraid to feel. To fear that all the demons in his soul are real, and full of rage, and fierce enough to kill him. ‘Cause now you’re finally here to hold him and to heal him.

All of his dreams once revolved around his intense bond with his brother. For so long, his heart never had room for another. He tells you often about Walter. The fighter. ‘Lion’ as it were. The whole life that they lived for no one but each other, till one day the champion boxer abandoned his gloves to vow love at the altar.

And Stanley is happy, that Lion has found a new family. A new life as boundless and bright as the sky. Such love as an overbearing older brother could never provide. Though Stan knows that the door’s always open for him, to be part of that family and part of that life... he won’t take Lion up on the invite. Tells himself that the home that his brother has built is too precious for someone so poisoned to set foot inside.

You fuck the poison and the pain out of his veins a little bit more every night. But you know it’s a big fight; you won’t try to push it or rush it. Just guide him and stay beside him as the shadow slowly turns to light.

So what’s left to dream now? Somehow your lover tells you his deepest secrets and desires without ever breathing a damn word aloud. Like the fire’s so fragile a whisper could blow it right out.

Tells you and shows you through passionate, powerful kisses, devouring you with the heat of his mouth. Through the touch of his tough calloused hands on your skin, softly treasuring every last inch, devoting his whole broken heart to the moment in such breathless silence... then driving inside you with vigor and violence, the lion inside him awoken and roaring out loud. Slow and gentle again, at the end. Once you’re both well and truly fucked out. The soft look on his face and his tender embrace expressing just how grateful he is that you taught him to fuck, and to love, without playing pretend.

Is it the best sex of your life? Hell fucking yes. Without a doubt. Every damn day, every damn night. Far and away the fucking best. The kind of sex starry-eyed poets strive and fail to write about.

Stanley Kaminski is a living, breathing, tragic, magic little poem. But he is also very real, thanks to the love that you’ve allowed his heart to feel. Beating so beautifully now that it’s finally healed. And he’s become your fucking home.

***************

“Babe, you up?”

You weren’t until he spoke. The sun is only barely just; as he so often does, Stan beat the day before it broke. But you don’t mind being awoken by the man you’ll always love. More so than ever now because... you have some news to share today, bound to blow him the fuck away. In the best way, you hope. And trust.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, shifting in bed, lifting your head to see him seated by the window far across the room. Gaze lingering upon his gorgeous features gilded by the glow of dawn. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing at all, for once, he wordlessly responds. Smiles at you before he glances back outside, watching the sun begin to rise, as if its light promises everything he wants.

“Today’s gonna be good, baby,” he states, blue gaze so wild and bright he looks a little crazy. “I mean, I can see it. I can see our future when I close my eyes.”

It’s almost like he knows what’s coming, in the next moment. Maybe he does? Your souls are intertwined so close you wouldn’t really be surprised. “Well, looks to me like they’re wide open. Why you even gotta close ‘em?” you reply, stretching your arms out with a peaceful sigh. All set to break the news you would’ve shared with him last night, if only he hadn’t come home and fucked you so epically hard that you just went out like a light. “Stanley, I...”

“Shouldn’t have woken you up, actually,” he interrupts, somewhat unnaturally. Crosses the room toward the bed, to hold your head up, kiss you slow and deep. Then turns to leave. “Love you—sorry. Go back to sleep.”

You pause and blink your bleary eyes. “What? Why...?”

“...‘cause it’s a special day and I’m cooking up a surprise.”

Although that’s super cute... you don’t exactly like the thought of Stanley making food, to tell the truth. You almost puked, first time he tried. He has a lot of skills and virtues, but his cooking isn’t one of them, unfortunately. “Babe, I told you there’s no need to make a big deal of our second anniversary...”

“Yeah, but why’s that for you to decide?” he playfully retorts as he heads out the bedroom door. Shouting back at you down the hallway as he hastens away. “Besides, you’re gonna need something to build your strength up after getting fucked so good and hard last night. Stay put and don’t even try sneaking into the kitchen, alright?”

“Fine,” you sigh, figuring that you might as well listen. No harm letting your man do his thing in the kitchen. You just hope that he won’t be offended if you can’t hold down what he’s serving... especially now that your body’s especially prone to hurling, for reasons that he just unwittingly stopped you from sharing with him.

You can picture him trying to cook, looking so adorably domestic as fuck. So damn cute it hurts. Standing there over the counter in his fugly turtleneck shirt, glancing up every few seconds, just to make sure his girl doesn’t walk in on him while he’s busy at work.

Absentmindedly scratching at his lower back with his wandering fingers, as he shuffles over the cracked tile floor in his raggedy slippers. The ones that he stole from some random hotel years ago. Why he chooses to wear a long-sleeved shirt and slippers, when he can’t be bothered to put on a damn pair of knickers, even in the middle of winter... you don’t even know. It’s such a fucking Stanley thing to do, though.

You can picture the low-hanging hem of his shirt getting stuck in the top of his briefs as he scratches his back. While he just carries on with his business, oblivious, focused on whipping up some sad excuse for a breakfast that will most likely make you gag. Your man can’t cook for crap, and you’re certain that he’s well aware of that fact. So what gives? Where’s he going with this...? You wonder as you wait in bed, enamored with the image of him in your head.

GIFs by uuuhshiny

When he finally returns to the bedroom he’s holding a steaming white mug in his hand, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from grinning like a madman, for reasons that you can’t even begin to understand.

“Okay, listen, Y/N—before you say anything...”

You can already smell the unholy concoction he’s got in his cup, and you’re struggling so hard not to throw the fuck up. “Stan, is that what I think—”

“Hear me out,” he begs, squatting down next to the bed. For some reason he looks all at once shy and proud. “I want you to remember our first time together. The morning after.”

You nervously swallow and nod your head. He can’t really expect you to put that ‘breakfast’ in your mouth—doesn’t he know you’ll spit it right out? You just try to focus on the heartwarming words he just said. “Babe, you know I won’t ever forget. But is that...”

“Yes, it is. Kaminski’s specialty hot shit. The mess I used to make for Lion every day for breakfast. The only family that I ever had, until the day we met.”

You pause at that; is it just a coincidence now that he’s talking about you as family? Surely he knows somehow, what you’re about to tell him now. You want to just tell him already, so badly. “Stanley...”

“Just let me say this. Please,” he murmurs, shifting where he’s squatting on the floor, repositioning his knees. “Tonight I was thinking of taking you out to some nice swanky place I can’t even afford... would’ve tipped the waiter off to drop a little something in the fancy French champagne we ordered...”

Your heart stops as it hangs on his words. Why is he suddenly... down on one knee...

“But I thought maybe this would mean a little more,” he continues. “Baby, I cooked this for you, the first morning I ever woke to the most beautiful view... because a part of me already knew. I wanted you more than I’d ever wanted anything before. I was already fucking yours. I never would’ve made this crap for anyone but family—that shit’s sacred to me. And now I know, deep down, that’s what I always wanted you to be.”

“Stanley...”

“You had to dig through so much shit, inside of me, and stole my fucking heart right out of it. Still can’t believe you did. Still can’t believe you think I’m worth it. Scared I’ll wake up any second just to see that this was all some crazy dream.”

Your heart is bursting at the seams. “Believe it, baby. You’re worth everything to me. I’ll dig through all that shit again, if it means being with you in the end.”

He holds the cup out toward you like the treasure that it is. “That’s what it means. That’s what I’m asking you with this. Dig, baby, dig.”

You love this man so much more than you can believe. So much for him thinking that you would never touch him with a ten-foot stick.

Your hand dives straight into the mess to find the ring and scream out yes. Stan smiles and wipes the excess stuff off on his sleeve, then slides it carefully onto your finger as you shower him with kisses. Honestly couldn’t be happier right now that someone else is here to witness.

And he needs to know it, right this fucking minute.

After he takes your newly bejeweled hand in his, blessing it with a kiss... you take his hand in yours and press it onto the surprise that you’ve been harboring inside. Your secret little Stanley. “So... you know I had something to tell you as well, right? I’m not the only one who’s so happy about this. Happy to be part of your family.”

His eyes go wide, the brightest light you’ve ever seen. “Y/N...! Y/N, does—does this mean...”

You answer with a smile as big as his, and seal the promise with a kiss. “Dream, baby, dream.”

***************

Hope you enjoyed this!! Would love to hear if you did! 🤗💖

Masterlist

Tag List – Join Here!*

*If you’re unable to use that link to join the tag list, just let me know and I’ll manually add you to it!

@itsme-autumn @rebelwrites @happyhenners @band--psycho @witching-hour @est11 @edonaspanca @ughdontbeboring @neverland14353 @starbooty @coffeequeenxx @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @justme2042 @awesomenatalia @auroraariza @rochyu @coffeebooksandfandom @inlovewithcharliehunnam @turner-cris @thesuicidalflower @chrmdnbeautiful @xladymacbethx @holl2712 @snow-white-74 @moonlight-fern

#charlie hunnam #stanley kaminski #stan kaminski #jungleland #charlie hunnam smut #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam fic #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you #jungleland imagine #jungleland fanfiction #stanley kaminski x reader #stanley kaminski x you #stan kaminski x reader #stan kaminski x you

147 notes · View notes

symphonyofthewrite · 4 years

Text

If These Walls Could Talk (Ch1)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary: “My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Notes:

This is a fic I’ve had up for a while, that people seem to really like!! Not sure why I took this long to post it over here XD I’ll post the next chapters I have over the next few days or so, but if you can’t wait they’re over on my fanfiction blog @antihero-writings, as well as in my fic masterlist over there!! (And technically in my masterlist here, but it's messed up right now XD)

I was writing a different Castlevania fic--(”Such Fragile Things”, if you’re curious)--when I started describing things as if from the castle’s perspective...and I thought that was a very interesting idea, so this happened. The idea was also inspired by Sypha’s “it’s fighting me!" I thought that was really interesting because she was speaking almost as if the castle were a living thing. I was originally planning on posting this as one long thing (and I may still do so after I finish), because the sections are very much connected and meant to flow into each other, and I think it’ll be easy to miss things if they’re separate. But I realized it would be easier, both for me to post, and for people to read, in bite size-pieces. Plus it has very clear-cut sections that are easy to split into chapters. So... here you go!!

If you enjoyed this, I’d really appreciate if you could leave me a comment and/or reblog!!

If you are a fan artist who is interested in making cover art for this fic PLEASE don’t hesitate to message me!! I have a very specific idea for cover art for the chapters but it would cost too much to commission so many pieces...So yeah, if you’re interested, I’d love it if you could reach out!!

Chapter 1: "Lisa"

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

39 notes · View notes

soda-drabbles · 4 years

Text

Three’s a Crowd |EgoFlapBang

Request : ‘I've seen your plea for asks. Gimme Ego-Flap-Bang where Suzy joins for an episode of Game Grumps. Its a late night episode where they're all giggly n shit and she joined just because she happened to be around’ made by @optional-adventure

Pairing : EgoFlapBang (Arin x Suzy x Dan)

Type : Fluff

A/N : WOWWEE ,, holy moly I finally got this done! So sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoy!! :”)

The episode was suddenly interrupted from its usual playful commentary when a familiar female voice came through from the doorway of the grumps room. Immediately the faint voice was identified by Arin, who had turned back around and said, “Oh, hey, Suzy.”

“Sorry to interrupt but you guys forgot lunch. I didn’t want you two to come home hungry so I thought I’d bring you something.” Behind the recording, Suzy held tupperware that held a nice warm beef stew inside. “One of the guys can edit this out, right?”

Dan chuckled and sweetly smiled to her, looking much more thankful. “Thanks, Suzy.” He turned to Arin with a shrug. “I’m sure they could, right?”

Speaking of editing out, an idea found its way into Arin’s head. Whether it was good or genius was up to interpretation. “Actually, you wanna join us?” He asked, controller resting in his lap and eyes on her.

Suzy blinked lightly, “Join you?”

Dan’s smile widened and he nodded, “That’s a great idea!” He then flipped his hair back to look at Suzy, who looked back at him with a slightly unsure expression. “This couch is big enough for the three of us. Play some games with the boys.” His next resort was a soft pouty face, something that Suzy couldn’t resist. “Suuuzzzzyyyy.“

“Okay, alright!” She laughed, top fingers tapping at the Tupperware bowl. “I gotta put this somewhere first though. I’ll be right back.”

Dan fistpumped in triumph, absolutely more than eager to have Suzy joined the episode. By how pumped he was, anyone could tell that it was something he had been wanting for a while. Arin was also eager, though he was less expressive about it than Dan was. Dan was probably the more expressive out of the three of them.

Suzy returned soon enough, now huddled in between a little sandwich of her two lovers. It honestly felt sort of weird, sitting on the grumps couch like this after so long of not doing an episode of Steam Train. She had been focusing more on Psychic Circle in the past months and hadn’t had a time to just sit down for herself. Just being squished between her two lovers made her feel a little more relaxed though.

“Welcome back to...Gam-..Date-...something grumps.” Arin stumbled to find a correct intro for this special episode and ended up blurting, “Suzy’s here! And Dan.”

Dan snorted out sarcastically, “Best intro into any Game Grumps episode ever. Did you come up with that yourself?”

With a stifled snicker, Arin grinned and his smile twitched a little. “You’d be surprised.” A comment that both brought chuckles and giggles from Dan and Suzy. He returned back to the episode at hand. “Suzy’s here! Say hi.”

Suzy smiled, “Hey guys! Thanks for having me.” Honestly, Arin couldn’t help but watch her and just smile. She was just so beautiful, as cheesy as it was, he could watch her all day if he could.

As soon as the new game they’d picked out loaded, Dan was instantly turned off. The loading screen booted up to reveal a grim dark menu screen. The ‘Amnesia : The Dark Descent’ menu specifically. “Oh no. Nononono.”

Arin’s cocky voice was evident, no matter how innocent he tried to sound. “What’s wrong, Dan?” He asked, biting down on his bottom lip as to try not to laugh. It was getting more difficult to as Dan’s face went changed through expressions; Disbelief, Fear, Annoyance and the look that said “I’m gonna kill Arin Hanson”. Dan’s reactions to scary games were enough to entertain Arin, Suzy too evidently. She wasn’t too good when it came to hiding her smile or her laughs for that matter.

“You know exactly what’s wrong, you little shit.” Dan chuckled through his seething fear and playful anger.

Suzy laughed more. “Come on, Dan! It can’t be that scary.”

“Suzy. I love you but,” He eyed Arin as he said this. “Some things you gotta just say no to.”

“Look! It’s just a little game. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll be right here with you, okay?” Suzy’s voice was soft and reassuring. A deep sigh left Dan as he was wondering what the hell he was getting himself into. He then sighed, defeated once again and being dragged into one of Arin’s specific ‘Dan Torture Episodes’. “Alright, but as soon as I see, like, anything, I’m leaving.”

Arin snickered beside them, his lip quivering from how he was holding it in. Dan noticed and shook his head.

“You cheeky bastard.”

Early in the game, Dan couldn’t help but get heavy goosebumps. His thumbs were fumbling with the controls and his breath hitched. He nearly had the attitude of a baby deer right now. Scared and cautious, yet ready to run for his life at any moment. Except, yknow, his life isn’t in danger really.

“I hope you feel this shit.” He mumbled meekly, “My balls are literally swallowed in my ass and my arms are as prickly as a cactus. I hope you feel that.”

“I felt it real good, dude. Felt it right in my soul dick.” Arin responded.

Suzy added, “Felt it in my soul tits too.”

“Please shut up, both of you.” Dan nervously laughed out.

The suspense was building up in the man handling the controller. His eyes were both glued to the screen and happened to be doing their best to avoid it as much as possible. With a latern that was barely lit now, Dan was pretty much walking through a certain corridor, one that looked too suspicious for its own good.

“I don’t like this. God, I don’t like this at all.” Dan groaned under his breath, realizing his mistake.

Arin, watching him with a sly smirk, chuckled. “It’s just a little corridor, man. Just keep going. You’ve been doing good so far.”

“I’m not listening to anything you say. Especially when you’re looking at me like that.” replied Dan, who was debating on actually listening to him. In moments like these, Arin was evil.

“Listen to me then.” Suzy intervened, “I’m sure it’s fine, Dan. Just a little creepy hallway down to a corridor. Nothing creepy.”

“Fuck, Suzy.” Dan sighed.

Eventually he went “fuck it” and took Arin’s advice of just heading down the totally-not-creepy-at-all corridor. He moved near and, when he did, the player’s perspective pulsed and a deep monstrous groan suddenly sounded through the screen. It was a deep gargly groan, a sound that Dan clearly did not like.

“Shitshitshitshit.” The quick cursing grew even quicker, as the hideous monster reared it’s ugly head from behind. A quick slash was all it took to startle him, what sounded like a fear ridden small shriek left him when he jumped. The controller was immediately tossed to the side and he hopped up to his feet. “Nope. I’m done. I’m done.”

Arin’s instantaneous laughter bellowed through the microphone. He held his stomach and threw his head back, unable to keep from laughing. “Wait- Dan!-” The laughing man coughed, shoulders still shaking from all the laughter he was trying to contain. “Come back!”

Suzy couldn’t help but laugh as well. Whether it was her husband’s contagious laughter or Dan’s impossibly hilarious response to a jump scare though was a different question. Dan eventually came back, “I’m not doing anymore of it man, I swear to god.”

Arin chuckled, practically wiping tears from his eyes. “It’s fine, I mean, we’ve been recording for like, twenty five minutes.”

“Twenty fi- excuse me? It felt like twenty five years in there!” Dan’s exclamation brought Arin to laugh again.

Suzy laughed, “It was kinda funny though.”

Dan scoffed playfully, “God, I can’t believe the two of you.”

“Aaaaannddd, next time on game grumps!” Arin finally concluded, his laughs dying down now.

Dan nodded, “Yep, I’m gonna beat the shit out of Arin.”

The three of them laughed again. Dan quickly added, “Thanks to the always lovely Suzy for joining us. We should do this kinda thing more often.”

Suzy chuckled softly, agreeing. “Yeah, it was really fun. I’m glad I could join you guys.”

The recording concluded afterwards and the three of them were now enjoying the newly heated beef stew. “God, this is good.” Dan said, enjoying the home cooked goodness.

Arin nodded, “Yeah, nothing beats getting scared shitless and having some good ol home cookin’.”

Dan rolled his eyes playfully, “I’m gonna get you back for that, just you wait man.”

Suzy laughed softly, shaking her head. “You both are ridiculous.”

Arin leaned back and sang with a grin, “but you love us though~”

She grinned softly to herself and walked over to the two, placing a soft kiss on each of their foreheads.

“I know.”

#shipgrumps #polygrumps #egobang #egoflapbang #fic #fanfic #drabble #fluff

32 notes · View notes

linkspooky · 5 years

Note

Pls... your top ten nisioisin characters... i love your lists...

I LOVE TO TALK ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE MY FAVES. IF YOU EVER ASK WANT TO ASK ME WHO MY FAVES ARE FOR A SERIES FEEL FREE TO SEND ME AN ASK.

My favorite thing about Niosisin’s characters is how genuinely subversive they are. Not in the sense that he’s deconstructing tropes, but rather these are characters who would never get their story told in most other books, because they are not good, or righteous. Nisioisin breathes life into them, and allows those who cannot be forgiven, those who are deviant, those who have dropped out of society to still remain human. He tells their stories the same as everybody else, because their lives are just as fun.

1. Even if I’m hated, Even if I’m Despised - Kumagawa Misogi

He’s only my favorite character of all time so I’ve talked about him on this blog before, but let me find something new to say. Oh Kumagawa, how do I love thee, let me count the ways. Or maybe it’s Oh Kumagawa, how do I despise thee let me count the ways.

Kumagawa’s character is so interesting because it’s written in antithesis of everything a shonen protagonist is. For Kumagawa, his determination just makes him fail worse and worse. His desire to be involved and help people always guarantees the worst result for the people he wants to call his friends. His empathy is extremely painful for him, and is a trait that drives him insane rather than making him a kind and loving person.

A lot of time in manga empathy is like, a magic fix-it-all bandaid that basically makes the main character a saint by being able to emotionally relate to anybody. Kumagawa is the reality of that situation. He is empathic, and by relating so much to the humans around him he shows how ugly, and messy human emotions can really be. Recovery and saving others isn’t necessarily a beautiful thing, it’s complicated and sloppy.

Kumagawa is a character where getting stronger won’t solve any of his problems. Which is what happens in a lot of shonen manga, rather than trying to emotionally mature the main character will just learn a new fighting technique and develop that way. Instead, Kumagawa winning fights means absolutely nothing. The only thing that can free him is to grow up as a person, and the fact that Kumagawa’s arc is given equal weight to both of the main characters shows how accepting of weirdoes and broken off beat characters Nisioisin is as an author.

What I like about him is how genuinely broken he is, but not for monstrous reasons but for entirely human ones. It’s his genuine care for others that breaks him the most. He’s a character written to be insane, but also geniunely human. Kumagawa is not able to live properly, or even act like the main character like Zenkichi and Medaka are but he’s still able to find his own way to live.

2. I don’t feel any reality from you people - Ajimu Najimi

“Genius who is super good at everything, but is secretly sad and lonely on the inside” is a pretty common Nisioisin trope. It tends to be pretty hit and miss with me, but it also resulted in one of my favorite characters of all time. I tend to like these types of characters more when they’re allowed to be… what’s the word… unlikable. When the story isn’t trying to go on about how cool they are.

The reason why I love Ajimu is because she is just like Kumagawa, a subversion of the character you expect her to be. The same way Kumagawa suverts Zenkichi in a way, Ajimu subverts Medaka. The same way that Medaka is all loving, Ajimu is indifferent to absolutely everything. The reason she’s able to be kind to everyone around her is because she genuinely doesn’t care about you. Her real personality when not being apathetic, is to just be downright nasty and look down on absolutely everything.

She’s completely self absorbed because according to Ajimu she’s the only one who exists in the universe. She’s the only one she knows for sure is real. The opposite of Kumagawa, a character entirely lacking in empathy, not even thinking of herself as human in any sense of the word. Ajimu acts like she knows everything in the story like she’s reading off of the script, but that’s because she literally thinks that everything in this world is fiction and she’s literally breaking the fourth wall.

And my favorite part about Ajimu is that the story doesn’t glorify her meta fourth wall shenanigans. She’s not treated as someone who sees through everything in the end. She’s just pathetic, and suicidal, and dragging everybody else along into her trillion year long self pity party. She’s more of a human failure than someone who can’t possibly empathize with humans, and that’s why I love her.

3. There ain’t no meaning, got it? - Ii (Boku)

Ii-chan is the narrator of Nisioisin’s first ever series, Zaregoto (Lit. Nonsense). It’s not really until the second book you get a grasp of his character, but Strangulation Romanticist does such an excellent job of setting up who he is as a person. This is another one of Nisioisin’s character types (narrator who feels ennui, and really, really doesn’t want to be a person).

What’s great about Iichan is that he is special in a way. Just like he’s described in the books, when he’s thrown into situations everything goes a little bit crazy. He always gets dragged into mysteries, and has people die around him even though he tries to stay as uninvolved with people as possible. He’s actually a great look at what a character constantly caught up in murder mysteries like the main character of a detective novel would actually act like. He has this deep rambling narration that sways between nihilism and existentialism that makes him a really unique character to read about.

But at the same time Iichan is also kind of a normal dude. And I don’t mean in the sense that he’s an everyman, or has no personality, but he kind of just feels like one. The great twist of No Longer Human is that Yozo isn’t some inhuman monster, he’s just kind of a normal guy who drowns out his misery by taking advantage of women. Like, it’s not all that uncommon. The same thing with Iichan, as poetic as he gets he’s kind of a very petty person and most of his flaws are very mundane ones.

It’s basically very hard to care about other people in this world. Ii-chan doesn’t want to at all, he just wants to have all of his emotional needs fulfilled by the friend he both infantilizes and puts on a pedestal. He’s just super clingy about the one relationship he has in life, because he’s afraid of losing it, but he’s also afraid of being close to her. Ii-chan is just kind of a normal person reacting badly to trauma, but he presents himself as such a mystery that most people lose sight of that (in story). He’s kind of just petty and annoying, and that’s why I love him.

4. No Longer Human - Hitoshiki Zerozaki

Zerozaki is Iichan’s greatest character foil. Basically the best way to describe it is Zerozaki is Mersault. The flip that is switched on for everyone that prevents them from killing someone when the idea crosses their mind is turned off for Zerozaki, and so he kills. He doesn’t enjoy it, he doesn’t have a particular reason to it, he just can’t overcome his impulse to kill. If Ii-chan is restrained, then Zerozaki never restrains any of his impulses at all and lives following only those.

Once again this is another common Nisioisin character archetype “A murder, but they’re sad and lonely.” What I like about Hitoshiki is how much of a deviant he is to that archetype.

He wants a friend and somebody who understands him, but at the same time he hates himself so he doesn’t want anybody too close. He lives in a family of murderers and he’s somehow the rebellious child of the family. He’s constantly running away and wandering from place to place. What makes Zerozaki interesting is how self aware he is about all of this too. He rambles his thoughts and will just be like “Yeah, so anyway that’s totally fucked up (LOL).”

5. Is your life dramatic - Kaiki Deishuu

Kaiki is a character who I admire for his philosophy above all else. He’s another one of those “deviant” characters like Kumagawa who would just be a villain to be defeated in any other narrative, but in this one he gets fully fleshed out as a character.

What’s interesting about Kaiki is that he chooses exactly the way he lives. He decides to be a villain. Kaiki at some point sees through most of the lies of the people around them, and for how meaningless the things that you are told have value can be. He hates holding onto ideas like those.

But that doesn’t mean that Kaiki rejects everything. He doesn’t claim to see above society, or that he’s not a part of society. Rather, Kaiki just uses that awareness to realize he can give meaning to whatever he personally finds meaningful. Because it’s all meaningless anyway, as a human being he can create his own meaning.

So his want of money is not just simple greed, it’s what he’s decided to live for. Kaiki is an adult who willingly chose to become a conman because he finds that’s his place in society. He just doesn’t trust himself enough to be kind despite feeling the same desire to save others, so he decided to lie to them and trick them instead.

6. “I don’t know anything, you’re the one who knows” Oshino Ougi

Ougi is just interesting conceptually. They are literally Araragi’s own shadow, running away from him and given form and consciousness of their own. While Ougi themselves works as a common Jungian shadow archetype calling characters out for what they are repressing and also revealing the bare faced truth to them, which is why they are so heavily associated with mirrors, lights, and shadows.

My favorite part about Ougi however is not their connection to Araragi. It’s when Ougi starts to become their own character. An oddity with consciousness that begins to deviate from what they were made for, because they were allowed to live on their own.

Ougi did not become a fave of mine until Zoku because that was when they started to self reflect and realize their own strange existence separate to Araragi. The conversation scene with Araragi is one of my favorite in the whole series because it shows how Ougi is just a genuine tease, and a very clever and insightful person. That’s who they are, outside of just being an oddity that exists to criticize others and call out flaws. They’re ridiculous, and a little strange, and they enjoy screwing with other’s heads and messing around a bit too much. But Ougi Oshino is Ougi Oshino.

It’s just an interesting concept, to have to define who you are as a person when you were created out of all of the unwanted qualities, and insecurities of another person.

7. Why are you touching me without permission, you weed - Yasuri Nanami

Nanami is another one of those “I’m a genius and I’m good at everything but I’m secretly sad” characters, and once again what I love about her is how unlikable she’s allowed to be. None of what Nanami is capable of comes off as cool for very long. She’s basically framed and treated as a horror movie monster, always speaking in the same monotone voice. The one story that shows her true nature in chapter four is literally, paced, framed, exactly like a slasher movie with characters being hunted down and killed one by one.

Nanami’s just this horrible wretched existence that doesn’t even want to be alive. She basically acts like frankenstein’s monster, ie, the one in the book. She’s just this corpse that is barely even alive in the first place, constantly sick and in pain, and she’s also at war with herself. The part of her that wants to die and the part of her that’s lonely and wants to find some reason to live, or some connection in life are constantly at war with each other.

And as horrifying as Nanami is she also feels like the most human of Niosisin’s, super-genius characters. She’s riddled with weaknesses and flaws. She lashes out when he’s in pain, she felt bad when her parents told her to die. You get the sense that Nanami’s super genius isn’t what drove her insane at all, it was just how everybody around her treated her as some thing that was not human. Isolation made her this way. She was conditioned to act this way not born inhuman. There are characters that Nisioisin writes that are genuine sociopaths (as in the trope of an unfeeling person unable to feel human emotions), but Nanami is not one of them and so when she starts acting with sociopathic-traits in her personality it makes her all the more painfully human because we see how she’s been driven slowly to act this way.

7. *Yawns* Nezumi

Juuni Taisen is one of those death game stories where every character is defined by their one gimmick and written around their concept. In the original novel each character really only gets one chapter to be fleshed out as a character. I half suspect Nisioisin wrote it as a dare to himself on how much he could accomplish with one chapter.

The interesting part about Nezumi is his concept again. He can redo anything 100 times. You think this would make him amazing at anything in life because of his time loop ability, but physically having to live through all of those time loops exhausts him to the point that he’s too tired to do anything. You would think he could get anything he wanted out of life, but there are times he can ask a girl out one hundred times and get rejected one hundred different ways.

Nezumi is interesting because of how quietly he lives. There’s nothing he really wants out of life, and nothing he wishes for, like a rat he just scurries and survives.

9. I am currently being accused by everyone - Kakushidate Yakusuke

The same as Iichan and Kumagawa, Yakusuke is a guy who is just cursed by constant bad luck. What I like about Yakusuke is that he’s a full fleshed out character, instead of just an unlucky every dude protagonist.

He’s a contract worker who is constantly shifting between jobs. Due to this fact he’s got like 1,000 skills that he gained on his various jobs. He’s not smart, but because he’s experienced so much of life he’s incredibly resourceful. Which is why he makes a perfect counterpart and foil to Okitegami.

Yakusuke’s everyday life is him constantly being accused and blamed, and falling from one bad situation to the next. But, he has so much experiences that it’s what draws Okitegami to him who can only ever experience one day at a time because her memories will reset at the end of the day. He’s exactly my type of man, a total failure at all walks of life.

10. This is your last chance, let me make you happy! - Kugi Kizutaka

He’s so low on the list because his story “Magical Girl Ritsuka” only has one chapter published in english, but he’s so interesting he instantly became a fave. He’s actually a concept i have been looking for for a long time, which is basically what I describe as “Reverse Junko Enoshima.”

Basically someone as smart and manipulative as Junko Enoshima, who can make anybody into their toy, and predict things years in advance and control everything, but instead of using that power to send the world to despair, they use that power to give the world hope instead. Not out of any genuine good will or because they’re a good person, but because they’re obsessed with the idea of giving people happiness the same way Junko is with sending people to despair.

Kugi is a lot like that. He’s a genius ten year old who sees everybody for their potential to be used, and looks down on absolutely everyone around him. He’s made contact with a magical girl, because he’s pretty clearly planning on using her to enslave the world to him, so he can force everybody to be happy. And it’s absolutely adorable. He’s just such a genuine terrible little person while at the same time wanting to make everyone happy.

208 notes · View notes

toomanystoriessolittletime · 5 years

Text

Funfair

Summary: You, John Wick and a Ferris Wheel on a funfair.

Pairing: John Wick / F!Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: Aparently all I’m able to write at the moment is fluff, so enjoy.

Hand in Hand you were walking together with John down the street. You had been living together only for a little while now. After meeting at the dry cleaners were you were arguing very passionate about the ruined dress they had returned to you, he offered to invite you for a coffee across the street. The ruined dress quickly forgotten, you both forgot the time and John had insisted on driving you home that day. He had kissed your hand as he left and you had given him your number.

Sure it had been hard at the beginning. When he told you who he was, and what he did for a living your were scared of course. Not of him, but for him. You had fallen for him so hard and quickly, like you never did before. You loved how strong he was. Not only physically, even if that was a very nice bonus. But what you loved even more was the side he showed only you. He had a wicked sense of humor he only showed a few people.

He loved to cook. More than once you found him humming along to a song on the radio, while he was preparing dinner for the two of you. He loved to read. Sometimes he even read to you. Mostly when you were in bed, laying in his arms.

He also enjoyed watching Downtown Abbey, but that would be a story for another day.

Walking through the entry of the funfair that made stop in your town for the week, you felt him kissing the top of your head. John wasn't keen on places with to many people. But he wouldn't let you go alone to the fair so he joined you.

“What to do first...” You said thinking, as you let your eyes wander. There was a Ferris wheel and some carousels. Endless lines of booths.

“What about something to eat first?” John asked.

“Will you be able to ride anything after you ate?” You teased him. A smile sneaked to his face.

“I guess we are going to find out.” He chuckled and guided you to the food court.

“This is heaven.” You sighed, leaning with your back against John's chest as you were sitting on a bench. The last pieces of the funnel cake John had bought for the two of you were just eaten. Johns fingers kept stroking the little piece of skin he reach on your stomach.

“It is.” John whispered.

“Now... what do you think about a ride on the Ferris wheel?” You asked, turning your head towards him.

“Anything you want, babe.” He smiled and pecked you on the lips, before he picked you up, making you laugh loudly.

Arm in Arm you were sitting in one of the cubicles of the Ferris wheel which slowly moved up.

“Have you ever been at a funfair?” You asked him.

“Yes. But not for fun.”

“So you say this is fun?” You grinned up at him. He chuckled.

“Everything that includes you is fun.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You have no idea how much I love you. It would kill me if something happens to you.” He said lowly. Tilting your head you reached your hand out to touch his cheek. He leaned into your touch.

“Nothing will happen to me.”

“You don't know that.”

“True. But I choose to believe it.” You smiled.

“You can't control what happens John. That's no way to live life. I will probably never understand how hard all of this must be for you. It's like you're living two lives. But I'll be here every step of the way. You won't get rid of me.” You felt his arms around you pulling you closer to him. He sighed before he bend down to kiss your forehead. Smiling you snuggled back into his arms and looked around you.

“I can see our house.” You laughed pointing.

After walking through the fair for an hour, it was getting cold, and you were slowly heading for the exit. You felt John stop and looked up at him. He was smirking down at you, before his eyes focused on something behind you. Turning your head you let out a laugh.

“Seriously?”

“Oh yes. What do you want? That monstrous snake?”

“What do I need a plush shake for?” You asked laughing, letting him pull you in the direction of the shooting booth he had spotted.

“I don't know.” He grinned.

“What about... the Voucher for the Spa Weekend?” You asked, pointing at it. It was the main price.

“Whatever the lady wants...” He kissed you and bought 6 shots.

“You know that all of this is rigged, right?” You stepped beside him, as he was grabbing for the gun.

“It can't be that rigged.”

“Said the man who literally works for the mafia...” You whispered smirking against his ear.

“Watch and learn.” He whispered back. You stepped away from him. You could see his whole posture change. His muscles tense, as he focused on the moving figures in front of him. He had to shoot 6 of them down for the main price. Which shouldn't be a problem for him. But you knew how things like that worked.

When he missed the first one, you saw him shake his head. Breathing in deep he focused again and also missed the second shot. You could see that he aimed right, the figures just didn't go down. He turned his head towards you next to him, an eyebrow raised.

“Told you.” You formed with your lips as he focused back on his task.

At the end he got 3 figures down and you got a very ugly pink plush teddy. You saw that he was close to calling out the guy who ran the booth, but you pulled him away from there. You weren't looking for trouble. At least not that kind of trouble.

“People like him shouldn't be allowed to continue like that. He's messing around with peoples hard earned money.” John growled next to you.

“I know it sucks. But it's widely known that all the gaming booths are rigged.”

Shaking his head John sighed, as he put his arm around your waist.

“You wanna go home?” He asked. You nodded.

“Just...” You pointed to the cotton candy. John shook his head laughing as you walked towards the booth.

“It's not that bad.” John said. You kept feeding him pieces of the pink cotton candy he had bought for you on your way home.

“Told you.”

“But only because you are feeding it to me.” He grinned.

#ff #fanfic #fanfiction #john wick #john wick ff #john wick x reader #john wick x you

116 notes · View notes

bosspigeon · 4 years

Note

How about one of those "I thought I lost you" moments (with hugs? kisses?) for Hawthorn and Ortega? Either one can be the hurt one but thorny boy letting himself reveal his worry for Ortega would be Very Nice.

Hellebore disappears with the sound of sirens.

He gives Ortega a long, long look where he lies half-conscious on the grey shore. His tattered cape drips on the algae-covered rocks, his eerie white eyes flickering over the Ranger’s battered body with… well, it’s impossible to tell even when you’re not waterlogged and rattled (not to mention broken in a few places) from falling a couple dozen stories into freezing water, but it almost feels like pity.

But he looks. And he looks. And he keeps looking until the sirens are too close to ignore, and he silently melts into the creeping shadows thrown by the lights of the bridge far above them, the blue and red of police responding to the chaos, and the city beyond. But the weight of that eerie gaze lingers until the medics find him and shuffle him off to the hospital for treatment.

And when Hellebore disappears, Hawthorn appears. There’s a significant amount of time between the two events, of course. He’s got to be treated for shock first, probably hypothermia as well, they’ve got to set two or three bones at least, and that’s not to mention the collection of lacerations and bruises that may not be just skin-deep. It’s almost two in the morning when he’s finally left to his own devices, as much as he can be while plugged into half a dozen monitoring machines and IV drips.

It takes him a while to even realize he’s not alone, but Hawthorn’s always been quiet. Subtle. Not like grandiose, theatrical Hellebore, with his monstrous mask and rumbling voice and wicked laugh.

He jerks out of his light doze suddenly, a few hours later. He’s not sure why. Hawthorn doesn’t make a sound when he enters the room, doesn’t so much as creak the door, and doesn’t say a word once he’s in. There’s just a moment of not being aware of him, and then he is, just like that. Ortega suspects there’s a part of him that’s just attuned to Hawthorn when he’s near.

But there he is, hiding his eerie black eyes behind dark sunglasses, looking at Ortega lying half-conscious in bed, beaten and exhausted. There’s a blotchy purple bruise along his jawbone. His lip is split but it’s scabbed over already. Ortega’s mind flashes back to the solid punch he landed when he’d managed to surprise Hellebore earlier, snapping his head around. There’s a matching bruise on his ribs where Hellebore got even, snarling in his face and ramming a fist into him with the force of a fucking truck.

Ortega sits up as much as he can (a few machines around him beeping in protest of his accelerated heart rate, the tug on his IVs) and Hawthorn still doesn’t say anything.

He just looks. And he looks. And he keeps looking until Ortega clears his throat and says, low and rough and just a little bit wry, “Saw the news, huh?” (Plausible deniability, for both of them, his traitorous brain whispers.)

Hawthorn looks away. He looks so small, like a shadow smeared against the stark white wall in his oversized sweater and dark jeans. For once, his hair looks carefully groomed, shiny slightly-damp curls clinging to his forehead. “Yeah,” he rasps. He swallows audibly and frowns. His hands are wedged into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. He’s always been fidgety, but he tries to hide it, like every other “sign of weakness” he’s ever forced down or choked back. “I thought… You were…” He makes a noise deep in his throat, and bites down on it before it can slip past his clenched teeth.“Didn’t expect Shadowfell to show up,” Ortega grunts. “Must have some serious beef with Hellebore.”

Hawthorn’s fingers curl tight, his scraped knuckles turning pale. “He’s a fucking animal that needs to be put down,” he snarls, and his voice goes low and rough with anger. No– anger is too gentle a word. That’s barely-restrained fury boiling under his skin. That’s a not-so-subtle promise that Ortega forces himself not to think about too hard, which is thankfully pretty easy with his head swimming from medication.

He tries to lighten the mood, because of course he does. Can’t help being who he is, even when he should keep his mouth shut. “I mean, to be fair, Hellebore’s pretty damned feral himself.”

He can’t see Hawthorn’s eyes, but the corners of his mouth tighten, plush lips pressing together. His clenched fists tremble. He doesn’t say anything, only looks towards the big window that faces out over the city. He can see the bridge from here, spirals of dark smoke still curling up from the smoldering cables and towards the sky. It’s got to be six or seven in the morning by this point, sunlight just barely breaking through the dense cloud cover.

“I thought he’d killed you,” Hawthorn rasps. He doesn’t look away from the window, staring out over the sprawl with an expression Ortega can’t even hope to read. “I saw you… I saw you go down. I saw you hit the water. And I was so sure you were…” He chokes and cuts off with a frustrated snarl that can barely be considered human, and for a moment (completely unprompted, he forces himself to think, really out of nowhere) he wonders how much of Hellebore’s beastly snarls and eerie howls are synthetic and how much come from the rage of the person inside the armor.

Hawthorn shoves his glasses up into his hair and rubs angrily at his eyes with his knuckles, clenching his teeth so hard his temple visibly throbs. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“Hey,” Ortega calls gently. “Come here.”

Hawthorn freezes like a startled animal, and slowly turns to look at Ortega again. His endless black eyes are shining, red-rimmed. He looks like he’s been crying for hours. Ortega wisely keeps that thought to himself.

Ortega shifts over, patting the bed at his side. “Come on. I don’t bite.” He grins, and he knows he probably looks like roadkill right now, but he still tries to look as charming as possible.

Slowly, Hawthorn crosses the room like a sullen ghost. His boots make almost no sound on the linoleum floor. He sits down gingerly, like his body aches under his thick, dark clothes. Ortega feels a throb of guilt in his gut, so he’s very, very gentle (for his sake as much as his friend’s) when he slips an arm around Hawthorn’s waist, settling his hand over the slightly concave curve of his belly. Hawthorn’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t shift away. He feels more corporeal now, like a person and not a specter, and Ortega can’t help but be relieved to touch him, like he needs reassurance even after so many months of (admittedly stilted) conversation and sporadic contact and frantic, clandestine kisses neither of them talk about that Hawthorn is really alive, and not just some cruel figment of his imagination.

The throb in his gut returns, but this time he thinks it’s just the ugly bruise there, rather than guilt. Other than the usual low-grade background guilt that he’s dealt with ever since the funeral, of course.

God, he’s tired. He rests his head against Hawthorn’s, smelling anise and black coffee. Hawthorn goes stiff for a split second before his body relaxes, and his hand slips over Ortega’s knee and clutches it through the blankets like a lifeline, audibly forcing himself to calm his breathing.

Ortega can practically hear him cursing himself, like he did back when he was Sidestep, furiously working over a heavy bag in the gym and muttering “weak, weak, weak” fiercely under his breath before he realized Ortega was watching him.

“Stop,” Hawthorn chokes out, snapping him out of the memory. His voice is strained, almost pleading. “Just stop. I’m not… He’s dead, and he’s going to stay dead.”

Ortega winces. Hawthorn always told him he thought entirely too loud, as he did literally everything else. Too loud. He supposes he always loved Hawthorn too loud too.

“Stop,” Hawthorn begs, his voice cracking. His glasses are still pushed up into his hair, and Ortega watches the tear slide down his cheek and drip off his chin in profile. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Ortega tells him, tightening his jaw and tilting up his chin. Challengingly honest, even broken down in a hospital bed and helpless as a newborn. “I don’t know how.”

Hawthorn make a noise, somewhere between a sob and a growl, and furiously rubs at his face with his sleeve. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck.”

“Not until I heal up a bit,” Ortega quips weakly. He can’t help himself, desperate to bring some levity back into a situation that is far too close to… something.

Hawthorn chokes, almost doubling over. The look he gives Ortega from the corner of his eye is scalding, but… he was always strangely addicted to that sort of burn. He only smiles crookedly in response, and eventually the glare fades into something softer, almost… considering?

He almost chokes on his tongue when Hawthorn straightens up, leans in, and kisses him. It’s only once, quick but firm, and before Ortega can do anything– grab him and kiss him back, or maybe just plead pathetically for more than a little peck– he’s pushing himself up off the bed and putting his glasses back over his eyes. The only hint of emotion left visible is the faint redness to his nose and cheeks, and the surprisingly soft quirk of his mouth.

“I have to go,” he says brusquely. He turns and heads to the door, but pauses with his hand on the knob, while Ortega is still stunned speechless. He glances over his shoulder, taking a deep, fortifying breath. “Try not to do anything stupid until you heal up a bit.”

And then he’s gone, silent as always, and for a dazed moment Ortega wonders if he was ever actually there at all. But his lips still tingle a bit, where Hawthorn’s pressed to them, and when his hand brushes the sheet where he was sitting, it’s still warm.

He’s still in the hospital, two days later, when he turns on the news just in time to see Hellebore holding Shadowfell by his neck and dangling him over the edge of a building. There’s no audio under the news achor’s voiceover, but Shadowfell is visibly struggling. His mask is cracked open, and the camera angle changes, showing one wide, frightened eye as he scrabbles at the clawed gauntlet wrapped around his throat.

And then Hellebore drops him.

Ortega’s breath hitches, and holds until the next segment assures the viewers that Shadowfell is alive, if badly injured, and will be transported to a maximum security hospital where he will be treated until he is recovered enough to be transferred to prison. The hunt for Hellebore and the investigation into what caused the altercation is still underway.

They discharge him that evening, with appointments for physical therapy and a warning not to do anything too strenuous for a few weeks, as well as paperwork to be signed by Steel. He’s more restless than he is sore, two days bedridden leaving him rattling with nervous energy that feels like sparks under his skin.

And almost the second his foot hits the curb, his phone chirps at him. He checks it distractedly, keeping one eye out for a cab to hail, and doesn’t recognize the number.

But he does recognize the name of the diner in the message preview window. His heart judders in his ribcage, and he almost trips into traffic.

He hails his cab, and instead of heading back to the Rangers headquarters, he gives the driver the name of the diner in the message, which has no signature, no indication of who it could possibly have come from. But Ortega knows. He knows, in spite of Steel’s sharp voice in his head telling him he could be walking into a trap, and immediately upon being discharged from the hospital to boot. He ignores the logical part of his brain, and instead, he heads straight for a rinky-dink nowhere diner with his heart pounding.

And Hawthorn is there, of course. A smudge of black he spots from the corner of his eye, tucked into the furthest booth from the door, staring at him silently, as if waiting to be noticed.

With a smile and a wave, Ortega heads right for him, sits down, and then all he can think to say is a breathless, inane little, “Hey.”

“You came straight here? After just getting out of the hospital?” Hawthorn asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Steel’s not going to be happy.”

“I know.” Ortega can’t stop smiling, and Hawthorn is looking more and more as if he thinks he’s completely lost his mind. “I missed you,” he adds helpfully, earnestly, as if Hawthorn can’t read his intentions easily enough.

Hawthorn’s cheeks redden just a bit, barely noticeable with his complexion, and his mouth does that little pinchy thing it does when he’s trying not to smile. Ortega hasn’t seen the pinchy thing in years.

“Shut up,” Hawthorn grumbles, ducking his head and sipping from his mug to hide his face.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ortega offers, still grinning like a loon. “Nothing at all.”

“You don’t have to,” Hawthorn sighs, tapping the mug with his fingers. Softer, looking up so that Ortega can just see the fan of his lashes above the black lenses of his glasses, he adds, “You never have to.”

This is a bad idea. A terrible idea, and he knows it. And he knows Hawthorn knows it, but neither of them seem able to care at this point. He doesn’t need to be a telepath to know that. But when Ortega reaches slowly across the table to peel one hand from the mug and lace their fingers together, he doesn’t pull away.

15 notes · View notes

fruit-teeth · 5 years

Text

Rainbow

Alternate title: The Day Pyro Fell in Love with Fire

(Yeah, Pyro is up next. I use they/them pronouns for Pyro during this, since that’s how I prefer to address them, but that’s just me. Just a warning, though, this one gets pretty messed up. Enjoy)

It was an August morning like any other for young Tamsin.

They woke up to the sound of the birds outside the window, and to the sunlight shining on the stuffed animals which sat beside them in bed. Tamsin smiled, sitting up, their long hair falling around their shoulders. They fiddled with it in their hands, before sliding off of the bed and onto the floor.

Tamsin padded to their mother's room, seeing she was still in bed, and they crawled up into bed with her and snuggled up beside her, kissing her cheek with a hum. She chuckled, rolling over to look up at her child.

“Good morning, Tamsin,” she smiled, and she stroked the long hair draping over their shoulders. “I think your hair needs brushing, little one,”

Tamsin just giggled, sliding out of the bed and bouncing away to the kitchen, their mother following just moments later.

Tamsin's mother made breakfast, and afterwards they sat in front of the television while Tamsin had their hair brushed out and then braided. It was then that the nanny showed up, ready to watch Tamsin for the day.

“Hello, again, Tamsin!” Miss Logan greeted when she walked through the door, and she paused to ruffle Tamsin's hair. “Your hair looks so pretty today. Did your mommy braid it?”

Tamsin just nodded, showing off the braid with a giggle. Their mother came down the stairs, wearing work clothes and fresh makeup, and she slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Good morning, Donna,” she smiled Miss Logan, slipping on a pair of heels. “How are you?”

“Oh, I'm all right, Helen,” Miss Logan assured. “How is work? Have you got more business trips coming up?”

Helen shook her head. “Not at the moment, no. Thank goodness,” she paused to stroke Tamsin's hair sweetly. “But Tamsin loves it when you're here,”

Tamsin grinned in response. This was true, they loved it when Miss Logan visited, but truth be told, they preferred their mother's presence more.

Helen knelt down, kissing Tamsin's forehead. “I will be back before dinner, my Tamsin. I promise,”

Tamsin kissed back, humming out a goodbye as their mother rose back up and gathered the rest of her things before leaving.

Once Helen had left, Miss Logan sat on the sofa to watch the television while knitting, and Tamsin went into the office to play. It was a tiny office, and it had once been their nursery when they were a baby, but ten years earlier it had been renovated once Helen decided she wanted Tamsin's room to be closer to hers. Tamsin did not ever remember sleeping in the office, but they liked spending time there. They laid down on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling, and then the shapes would appear.

This was part of their day: they would lay on the carpet and wait, and shapes and colors would begin to flow above their head. They saw rainbows, stars, animals running in circles, bright bursts of colors – such beautiful visions, yet when Tamsin would reach out to touch them they would vanish. They couldn't understand why, since the lovely images looked so beautiful to touch and they could almost smell them. Because they'd learned they were not able to feel the colors or the animals, they would just lay back and watch them spin over their head, getting lost in the waves and the feelings and the smells.

It was during this time, on this certain day, as Tamsin hallucinated vividly in their former nursery, that the darkness began to creep in. Tamsin did not notice it, but the darkness took the form of two men. They walked onto the front porch, dressed from head to toe in black, and looked in through the window.

Miss Logan paused her knitting when she saw their shapes, and she turned around to look, but one of the men shot through the window.

The glass shattered, the shot rang out, and Miss Logan barely had any time to cry out or make any sound before the bullet met her body, striking her and killing her instantly. She didn't even know what had hit her.

The sound yanked Tamsin out of their mind, and they sat up in a panic, looking towards the living room.

The door opened after a few minutes, and the men walked in, taking a look at Miss Logan's slumped-over body.

“Aw, shit,” growled one of the men. “We got the wrong lady!”

“Are you for real!?” the other man knelt down to get a closer look. “You mean that's not Helen?”

“Hell no, it's not Helen!” The first man groaned, huffing out a sigh. “I think that's her maid or something...shit, Tony, what the fuck?”

Tony put his hands up defensively. “Sorry, Ron! All older bitches look the same, I swear!”

Ron sighed again, standing up. “Well, I guess we'll have to get her out of here, and...” he trailed off, staring ahead and spotting Tamsin in the next room. “...Aw, fuck,”

“What?” Tony glanced up.

“Her kid is here!” Ron suddenly advanced towards Tamsin, and Tamsin let out a shriek of terror before darting under the desk.

Ron just reached beneath the desk and yanked Tamsin out, keeping a vice-like grip on their small arm. “Got 'em!”

Tony stepped over Miss Logan's body to get a better look. “Geez, that's Helen's kid? Ugly motherfucker...”

Tamsin whimpered, trying to squirm away, but Ron wouldn't allow it. “Yeah, you're tellin' me. Hey, kid,” he roughly turned Tamsin's face upwards. “Are you a boy or a girl? I can't tell,”

Tamsin began to sob, wriggling futilely, tears rolling down their cheeks, and Ron huffed. “We're gonna have to take out the little bastard. Here,” he pulled out his gun. “I can do that,”

“Wait,” Tony stopped him, getting an idea. “How about we use the kid as bait? We can call Helen, and get her to come here for her hellspawn, and then we'll shoot her!”

Ron rubbed his chin in thought, and he nodded after a moment. “Yeah, sure! You got the bitch's number? I think the boss gave it to us,”

“I do,” Tony replied. “Just tie the kid up and put them away, okay?”

Ron obeyed, using rope from his bag to bind Tamsin's wrists before dragging them to the upstairs bedroom, where he shut them inside.

“Remember, kid,” Ron snarked just before he left Tamsin alone. “If you call for help, or scream, or do anything, we'll kill you,”

The door slammed, and Tamsin began to sob, sitting on the edge of their mother's bed. They could feel their hands shaking with terror – were they really going to kill their mother? They'd already shot Miss Logan, that meant they could shoot anyone!

Tamsin curled up on the bed and wept bitterly, curling into a fetal position and wishing none of this had ever happened. The sheets smelled like Helen's perfume, and they wanted nothing more than to be held by her.

It was then that the colors returned. They crept in slowly, bit by bit, and Tamsin felt them wrap around their arms and body, holding them close. It was comforting, warm, and for the first time, Tamsin felt how soft they were.

They watched as the colors trickled away, yet they swept towards the dresser, where they lingered by something resting there. Tamsin stood up, sniffling as they went to see what the colors were showing them, and there they saw their mother's nail file.

Tamsin grabbed the file, trying to work with it the best they could with their hands bound, and little by little they managed to slice a bit of the rope. It was just enough to undo the knot, and Tamsin wriggled their hands out of the bounds, finally free.

The colors did not leave, though: next, they slid towards one of the drawers, remaining there but flashing even brighter, as if beckoning Tamsin. Still, Tamsin obeyed their call, opening the drawer.

There, among scarves and various pieces of clothing sat two items: a bottle of hairspray and one of their mother's lighters. Tamsin looked towards the door, realizing that Ron had never locked it, and they suddenly knew what they had to do.

Down in the kitchen, Tony had managed to call Helen at her office.

“I'm sorry, who are you?” Helen wanted to know over the other end of the phone. “How did you even get this number?”

“It doesn't matter who we are,” Tony tried to sound as menacing as possible. “Look, bitch: we have your kid, and if you don't come here right away, we're gonna shoot the little fucker. Got it?”

Helen's voice filled with fury, and it got an octave lower. “Don't you dare. You lay a hand on my child, and you will pay dearly for it,”

“How about you get over here, then?” Tony hung up, turning to Ron. “Oh, she is pissed! You should hear her,”

Before Ron could answer, he felt something splatter on his clothes. Confused, he turned around, seeing that Tamsin had escaped and appeared to be pouring olive oil all over the floors and on the men's' clothing.

Ron sprang into action, rushing at Tamsin. “Oh, you stupid little shit! I'm gonna fucking - !” he yelled, slipping on the olive oil as Tamsin grabbed something from the table.

Tony immediately noticed what Tamsin held in their hands, and he shouted out a warning. “Ron, the kid's got a - !”

Tamsin held up the homemade flamethrower, not blinking once as they pushed down on the nozzle and sprayed flames all over the kitchen. The oil attracted the fire and it spread rapidly and blossomed all over the house with a loud bang.

It was terrifying, monstrous, chaotic, and yet: it was the most beautiful thing Tamsin had ever seen. They stood there for a moment, feeling the heat, watching the flames billow, and they wanted to stand there and feel all of it for as long as they could. But, something in them said 'run', so they did.

They ran out of the front door and down the steps, the fire quickly engulfing the house behind them, and they soon collapsed onto the sidewalk. Obviously, the fire caught the attention of the neighborhood, and within moments the fire department showed up.

As Tamsin was placed within the fire truck, they watched the firemen smother the flames, and it hurt them to see. Silently, they thanked the fire for saving their mother, and for snuffing out the men who did great harm.

Helen's car came screeching up, and she leaped out, yelling out Tamsin's name only to be held back by a police officer.

Tamsin saw their mother through the window, and they ran out to meet her. “Mama!” they shouted, reaching up, and Helen snatched them up within seconds.

“Tamsin!” Helen almost sobbed, holding her child close, her whole body shaking. “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord...” she kissed their face all over, and she asked hastily, “What did those men do? Did they hurt you?”

Tamsin shook their head, and they pointed to the house as the last of the flames were extinguished. Helen blinked, realizing. “Tamsin...did you do this?”

Tamsin nodded, looking away. After a moment, they admitted softly, “I used fire to burn up bad men,”

What happened next was a blur, but Tamsin vaguely recalled being admitted to the hospital. They weren't quite sure why they were there, but they had a comfortable bed and the nurses gave them a little stuffed unicorn to play with.

As they lay in the bed, swinging around their new little friend, they could hear their mother talking to someone on the phone in the other room.

“It's my child, Tamsin,” Helen was saying. “Listen – something happened, and...and I need to meet with you to discuss it. I believe Tamsin may be what you're looking for,”

Tamsin hardly paid any attention: they just watched the rainbows swirl, and finally, they could reach out and touch them, and they didn't vanish.

#writing #my writing #this one isnt my best but i'm posting it anyway #hope you like #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 pyro #tf2 headcanons #origins #tf2 administrator #fire tw #death tw #guns tw

18 notes · View notes

thedyingmoon · 5 years

Text

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

XXII

***

"Hello?"

"Kyrie, it's me."

"Nero! Oh, thank God, you're alright!"

"How are things there?"

"I've heard Fortuna's in complete ruins now because of the Dreadnought and its horde. But, we're safe here. You don't have to worry about us."

"Glad to hear that."

"Yes."

...

"Nero?"

"Hmm?"

"Is,... something bothering you?"

"Ah,... nothing."

"Hmm,..."

"Haha. It's nothing. Really."

"Nero, I can tell something's wrong, even if we're thousands of miles apart. I love you, and you know you can always tell me anything. I'm here for you."

...

"Kyrie,..."

"I'm listening."

"What will you do if,..."

"Hmm?"

"Well, let's say you confessed your,... ah,... feelings for me."

"Yes. And?"

"And,... ah,... I rejected you. Like, badly. Like, not even friendzone. What will you do?"

"Hmm, to tell you the truth, I can't imagine you doing that to me. But, if that happens, well,..."

"Well?"

"Of course, I would definitely get hurt. A lot. Nothing hurts more than a special someone, a loved one, pushing you away from their life. My heart would be shattered to pieces, and I would feel like my existence won't matter anymore."

"Whoa! The existence part is too much!"

"Ah, you don't understand, Nero. Girls' feelings are delicate. They may act tough but, deep inside, their heart is dying. No matter how much they struggle against the sadness, eventually it will come back and haunt them. It's like a sickness, being heartbroken. And it's very hard to heal."

"Oh. How do they, uh, cope? They can't stay like that forever, right?"

"Hmm, let's see. With company. With friends who would never leave them. Who would stay for them, eat ice cream with them, and watch romantic movies with them. With honest people who would tell them that the right man would come for them in the right time and everything would be just fine."

"The right man? So, they're just gonna make her forget that she loved - "

" - a man who hurt and rejected her? Well, of course! He hurt her, so he doesn't deserve her."

"Listen, Kyrie: what if he's the one? The one who rejected her?"

"...

... if he's the one, then he shouldn't have rejected her in the first place. It's just,... wrong,... and,... stupid."

"I see."

"Oh, don't tell me you're courting someone while I'm on the other side of the globe?"

"WHAT?! NO! I would never do that to you!"

"Hahaha! Of course, Nero. I know you would never do that to me. So, who's the sad girl?"

"..."

"Nero? Tell me."

"It's (Y/N). Do you know her?"

"Yes. Nico's always telling me about her. She sounds like a great person. Why? Who rejected her?"

"Ah, it's,..."

"Who?"

"I - it's a long story. You know what? Prepare the ice cream and the movies. We'll end this battle quick, because she needs your company. (Y/N) needs you. Us."

"Okay, Nero."

"Wait for us, Kyrie."

"I will wait for you, for as long as I live."

"I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

Nero hung up the phone, sighing as he did so. Ever since hearing about your dire situation ( meaning, everything ) from Nico, herself, he couldn't help but be sad and angry.

Sad for you, and angry at V.

What man could ever stomach doing that to a girl who clearly loved him?! Enough to follow him at death's door?!

The young Devil Hunter shook his head in disbelief. He could still remember the Artisan's words to him a few minutes prior.

"Go after (Y/N)! She's reckless right now, and she needs someone who could stop her from killing herself!"

"Seriously, V." Nero said to himself as he scratched his head in confusion, unable to envision himself rejecting his beloved Kyrie. "You are one stupid son of a bitch for doing that to (Y/N),..."

"Winter, spring, summer or fall,

You know all you have to do is call.

And I'll be there, yeah! You've got a frieeennnddd!"

"You sound terrible."

"Are ya kiddin'?! I sound angelic!"

"Right,..."

"(Y/N) and,... Griffon?" Nero uttered upon hearing the conversation not far from where he was. He left the last good phonebooth of the city and went to his vehicle,...

"Now, you do it." Griffon challenged you as you two made your way towards the Dreadnought.

You cleared your throat and opened your mouth, belting the lines that the bird just sang.

"Winter, spring, summer or fall,

You know all you have to do is call.

And I'll be there, yeah! You've got a frieeennnddd!"

"UGH! AND YA CALL THAT SINGING?! YE SOUND LIKE A CAT IN HEAT FALLING FROM THE TOP OF THE EIFFEL TOWER!"

"I TOLD YOU! I'M TONE DEAF!"

"Yeah, ya better stick to dancin', sweet pea. Haha! Haha! Ah, haha! Well, ah,... no offense. You really sound terrible."

"I know but, you don't have to rub it in,..."

"(Y/N)!" The two of you suddenly heard a voice behind you.

"Is that?" Griffon questioned as you two looked behind you,...

... to see Nero going full speed towards you in a sleek and sick - looking motorcycle that seemed to glow both blue and purple. He stopped just a few steps from you and proudly revved his new vehicle.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Need a ride?" The young Devil Hunter asked you with his signature, charmingly boyish smile.

"I thought Eleison's destroyed?" You asked as you glanced at the amazing vehicle in awe.

"Yeah. I saw it with ma own eyes." Griffon added.

Nero chuckled. "She is. But, you see, a few hours ago, I defeated this knight - Demon thing who wields electricity. When I fought it, its broken parts kinda merged with some vehicle gears. Long story short, I now have Kyrie Eleison!"

"And it has a name now! Right,..." the demonic bird sarcastically replied.

"Anyway, I'm going straight to that ugly ship to make it sink! Wanna tag along?"

"I don't know, Nero!" You answered. "I mean, can it even fly?"

The boy may not have mentioned it but, he can clearly see your red puffy eyes. Like you have been crying a lot. He chose to ignore this, planning to bring this up for after the battle, and spoke. "We'll see about that. Hop on!"

You awkwardly took a seat behind the boy, feeling a bit weak in the legs, and held tightly unto his wide shoulders for support. Griffon automatically positioned himself behind you, grabbing unto your hoodie with his talons.

Seeing that you're prepared and ready for a wild ride, Nero revved Kyrie Eleison and sped fast. He laughed so hard upon hearing your and Griffon's screams and made the vehicle even faster.

"NERO! CAN WE SLOW DOWN?!" You hysterically begged the boy.

"No! We're gonna fly, remember?!"

"AAAHHH!"

Meanwhile, Trish and Lady were still fighting against the Demon horde below when they heard your screams.

"What's that?" Lady asked as she fired her Kalina Ann, making one Demon's face blast into bloody pieces.

"It sounds like,..." Trish said as she slowly looked up.

And there, right above that hill, the two women saw you, Nero, and Griffon, riding a weird - looking motorcycle and actually flying towards the entrance to the Dreadnought.

"How in the world - ?!" Trish exclaimed in utter awe of the reckless feat.

"They will never make it!" Lady yelled as she prepared for the worst.

"WE'LL NEVER MAKE IT!" You screamed, terrified for what will happen next.

"WE'LL CRASH!" Griffon, who seemed to have forgotten that he could easily fly away from all of this, hysterically added, still clinging unto your hoodie for dear life.

"NOT TODAY!" Nero answered, growling like hell as he revved the motorcycle, willing for it to land safely inside the demonic ship.

All of a sudden, Kyrie Eleison glowed even brighter than ever before with electric currents running all throughout its mechanical body. Its light blinded the Demons below, giving Trish and Lady enough time and opportunity to murder more of them.

"GGGYYYAAARRRGGGHHH!"

"SSSQQQUUUAAAWWWKKK!"

"I WON'T LET YOU DDDIIIEEE!" Nero howled as the motorcycle came into contact with the light barrier that guarded the entrance.

You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms tightly around Nero, not wanting to see yourself crash,...

But, everything seemed normal as you finally landed. You opened your eyes, seeing your uninjured body, and glanced at Nero.

"Is this it? Are we safe now?" You asked, unable to believe that you just flew a motorcycle towards the monstrous - looking ship

"Seems like it." Nero answered you with a bashful smile.

"Look at this!" Griffon exclaimed in both awe and fear as he looked all over the place.

From the outside, Shinano Musashi looked like a huge hunk of demonic - looking metal with strange horns and protrusions. An impossibly huge mechanism that could float on the sky.

However, inside it was a different story, altogether. The Dreadnought may look robotic and lifeless on the outside but, its insides surely looked like the innards of a monster. Huge veins of both purple and red crawled all over the fleshy, bloody walls, and there was a distinct scent of sulfur wafting about the place. The floors were entirely filled with pools of a crimson - colored liquid that felt sticky when stepped on. Strange green crystals that provided some form of light protruded on the walls of flesh, and different moans of both pain and suffering could be heard echoing all over the place.

It was as if you entered a floating hell.

"What a putrid smell!" The demonic bird complained as he finally let go of your hoodie.

"I actually agree with you, little chicken." Nero answered as he merely dodged a sticky yellow substance that dripped from the pulsating ceiling.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?! YOU UNGRATEFUL, SON OF A - !"

"It's calling me."

Both Nero and Griffon looked at you as you got off of Kyrie Eleison and started walking deeper towards the cavern of the Dreadnought.

"Who is calling you?" The bird questioned as he flew towards you.

"I,... don't know,..." You answered. You, then, turned and glanced back at your two companions, your eyes looking heavy and empty as if in a trance. "It's calling my name. Can't you hear it?"

"No!" The young Devil Hunter and the demonic familiar simultaneously answered.

"There it is. I'm,... coming,..." You said monotonously as you looked away from them and continued walking.

"(Y/N), don't go there alone!" The boy called after you, then clicked his tongue in annoyance. He dismounted and went after you together with the bird.

A few hours of endless walking and various turns deep inside the Dreadnought led you to a slightly different room with less wet flesh and pulsating veins.

You stopped walking as soon as you noticed the quiet and much darker atmosphere. You looked up, wondering who called you there and noticed a subtle glow of light right in front of you in the form of a floating orb.

As soon as Nero saw this orb, he protectively pulled you away as he took out his Blue Rose and pointed at it.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, (Y/N) but, I don't trust this fairy dust." The boy said as he faced the suspicious - looking orb.

"I don't think it wants a conversation with you right now, kid." Griffon told him as he perched at your right arm.

All of a sudden, the orb grew bigger, casting numerous malicious - looking shadows on the walls. Nero took a step away from it, shielding his eyes from the blinding light until it imploded, leaving the whole room in darkness.

"What happened?!" Griffon squawked as he looked around for potential danger.

"I don't know but, I have a bad feeling about this,..." the boy answered as he drew The Red Queen in preparation for a battle.

A few moments later, all three of you heard a noise coming from the far end of the room. Your heart suddenly became heavier as a black mass went towards you.

Nero revved his Red Queen, ready to attack the enemy, when, suddenly,...

"Kyrie?" Nero uttered, bewildered to find the woman he loved standing in front of him. "Sweetheart, what are you doing here?"

Your eyes widened as you noticed the sinister smile on Kyrie's face.

Something was off!

"Nero! Wait - !"

When he was about to reach out to his lover, a strange kind of light in the form of multiple dark whips emanated from her, throwing the boy towards the other end of the room.

"Griffon, please!" You asked the familiar as you took out your rapier and shield.

"No need to tell me!" The bird answered as it gathered its power for an attack -

"Don't you dare hurt her!" Nero screamed as he finally stood up.

"Can't ya see, kid?! This chick's not yer fling! She - SSSQQQUUUAAAWWWKKK!"

"GRIFFON!" You yelled as one of the whips of dark light coming from the creature impersonating Kyrie grabbed one of the demonic avian's talons and practically threw him away with much force. The bird landed on the ground beside Nero, which left you as the last fighter standing.

You drew your weapon and carefully walked towards the enemy when it suddenly looked at you with its sinister eyes and evil smile. It engulfed itself with its dark light once more, and when it subsided, you saw, in horror, the poet standing before you.

"WHAT IN THE SCHTICK?!" Griffon swore, his golden eyes wide with both humor and fear.

"V?!" Nero muttered in confusion. "(Y/N), look out!"

Before you could even attack, the man strode towards you, raised his hand with the metal cane, and brought it swiftly down on your face, wounding you and making you stumble to the ground.

Your hand automatically went up your cheek and felt something moist from it. You looked at your fingers - blood.

"GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU CHEAP V RIP - OFF FROM HELL!" Griffon shrieked as he flew towards the creature. He released a strong electric attack with the full intention of killing the enemy.

However, the "cheap V rip - off" simply dodged it, flawlessly jumping in mid - air and hitting Griffon with his cane with unbelievable strength. The bird landed on the ground with an ugly thud.

"Nobody told me he's not sissy like his real counterpart!" Griffon quipped as he tried to get up from the ground. But then, the enemy stepped on him and drove his cane deep into his flesh, instantly making him enter his stalemate state.

"Griffon!" You quickly stood up and ran towards the familiar but the enemy whacked you with his cane once more, this time, straight on your back.

"FUCK YOU!" Nero swore as he charged towards the fake V. The enemy noticed this and changed back to Kyrie. The boy did a mistake of stopping in his tracks, making the enemy attack him once more with its dark whips. He came flying towards the other end of the room, feeling fresh wounds and multiple injuries all over his body.

"TAKE THIS!" You screamed at the top of your lungs as you whacked your shield on Kyrie's back, making it stumble. Then, you hastily went to Nero's side, helping him on his feet.

"We can't attack it like this!" Nero thundered as he stood up, giving the enemy an angry look for taking the form of a person as pure and as angelic as Kyrie.

You looked at him, knowing exactly what the enemy's weakness was. "Nero, listen to me. That is not Kyrie - "

"I know! You don't have to tell me!"

"But, just now, you hesitated to attack her!"

Nero punched the ground in frustration. You grabbed his arm and made him look up at you.

"We'll attack it together! Come on, Nero! We have to do this!"

A few minutes later of quick strategizing, the two of you came charging towards the enemy. You took turns attacking it, Nero with his Red Queen and you with your rapier. However, the enemy also switched from Kyrie to V, confusing you and unintentionally opening yourselves for its deadly attacks.

Nero, on the other hand, had enough and slashed the enemy's torso the moment it turned back to V. It drew back in shock, clutching its wounded stomach, then turned to you two with murder and malice in its now red eyes. It dropped its cane on the ground and changed back to Kyrie, extending one of its whips and pinned Nero to the wall, fatally wounding him.

Just when you were about to attack it, it rapidly went back to V, waved its arms, and summoned mulitple blades of blue light that rapidly went down on you like bullets.

Nero watched helplessly as the enemy rained its blades of light down upon you, wounding you to the point that you could no longer get up. He wanted to retaliate but, when he tried to even move a muscle, the shape - shifting creature only pinned him to the wall again with its dark whip of light, injuring him even more.

You looked up at Nero, feeling the endless lashes on your battered body. You reached a single hand towards him, wanting to help him despite your torture. Bloody and torn, he also reached out to you,...

That's when you saw it.

His Breaker suddenly disintegrated and turned into ashes. The boy was engulfed in a warm kind of blue light that instantly healed all of his wounds and injuries. Slowly and like a true miracle, the blue light that engulfed his right arm took form, morphing into something more solid,...

... turning into real flesh,...

His eyes widened at the sight. He forcefully grabbed the dark whip that imprisoned him using his newly formed right arm and almost melted it with the sheer light and warmth it radiated.

The enemy took notice of this and abruptly halted its attack on you, turning into Kyrie once more but, this time, more evil and seductive - looking than ever. And with more dark whips that surrounded its whole body like numerous tails.

"Your tricks are getting too old, you bitch." Nero quipped as he motioned for the enemy to come closer. "I'll make you pay for this!"

With wide eyes filled with wonder, you watched as the youth fought the enemy with ease, wounding it, tearing it apart with his bare hands, and exposing it for what it really was. The beating went on for three unbearable minutes, and when it finally went down to the ground helpless and dying, he went towards you to help you stand.

Grabbing his warm right arm, you spoke, "This is a miracle!"

"I know." Nero answered as he supported you.

You turned towards the dark, beaten, writhing mass on the ground that was the remnants of Kyrie and limped your way to it with Nero still on your heel.

"Who called me here?" You asked it, foolishly believing that it could somehow shed light to the mystery of the Dreadnought and the voice that was calling you.

However, it made one last dying effort to morph once more into V to confuse you. But, the V this time never had the chance to even lay its fingers on you as it remained on the ground beaten and broken.

You felt a pang of guilt as you looked at it and realized that it was only making you feel that way to defeat you.

With one last sigh of apathy towards the enemy, you took Nero's Red Queen from him, held it above your head, and plunged it to V's heart, making it writhe and wriggle even more with pain. Feeling your tears pour out of your tired eyes for this unspeakable creature for exposing your true emotions, you plunged the hot sword even deeper, skewering its heart and reducing the enemy down to its true form - a short and wrinkled creature, about four feet in height, with long twisted claws, sharp red eyes, green skin, and skinny legs. You took the sword out of its body and slashed its head, decapitating it and finally putting an end to it once and for all. The remains of the despicable creature caught on fire and slowly turned into ashes.

You gave the sword back to Nero as you collapsed on the ground.

"So, that's how Mina felt when she decapitated Dracula." You sighed as you settled on the ground to make yourself comfortable. "Oh, that's wrong. That's no Dracula,..."

"Why Kyrie? Why not somebody else?" The youth asked as he watched the creature's ashes get flown by the wind.

You sighed, feeling the massive weight on your heart and shoulders. "It only reflects how much you love a person. The enemy used it against you because it knew it would be your biggest weakness."

Nero looked at you in dismay. "So, you still love him,... V?"

You blinked twice, not sure if your heart could take any more pain. You, then, let out a long sigh of depression. "After all this time. Yes." You answered, wincing in pain as you touched one bloody wound on your arm.

"Hey, you should fall back now, you can't fight like this!" The boy pleaded as you let him support you.

However, the moment your skin made contact with his new arm once again, a new set of visions flashed through your mind about him. It was rapid, and yet,...

You only shook your head in disagreement. "Don't mind me. I'll be fine."

"You'll be fine?! What are you - ?"

Nero's sentence was cut off as he saw, with his own two eyes, how the wounds on your body miraculously healed. He watched the phenomenon in total shock, and when your last wound closed, he could only laugh in disbelief.

"Don't tell me you're immortal?!" Nero questioned you.

"And what does that make you?" You asked him as you gave a knowing look on his new right arm.

"Come on, (Y/N). I'm serious here! How did you - ?"

"You never asked how Griffon came to be my familiar." You cut him off. "And you never asked why my eyes are red. I know Nico told you everything. But, the question is,..." You said, giving him a questioning look as you raised an eyebrow. "... how much do you know?"

The youth could only gulp down in nervousness, his sweat running cold in the process. "Everything."

"Oh."

"FUCK YEAH! What? Hey, what did I miss?" Griffon, who was just fully healed and revived, asked as he flew down towards the two of you.

"Nero pulled a rabbit out of his sleeve." You answered without so much as a fuss.

"Really? Oh, wait. You're being sarcastic - !"

"Which brings me to my next agenda." You said as you held up a hand to silence Griffon. "Nero,..."

"What is it, (Y/N)?"

You looked into the youth's sincere eyes, deciding whether to tell him what you just saw or not, then shook your head.

"Forget I said anything." You quietly answered as you stood up.

"I know you saw something about me. Tell me!"

You narrowed your eyes at the boy.

Well,...

He had the right to know!

"Listen: do you know Luke Skywalker? The Jedi?" You asked him as you removed your shredded parka, letting Nero take a glimpse of the contract markings on your right arm.

"Luke,... Skywalker? I'm not sure I could follow,..."

"Yeah, the woman likes movies, ya know?" Griffon added as he perched on your arm.

"So, what does this Luke have to do with me?" Nero inquired as he followed you out of the dark and depressing room.

"Hmm, I don't know. Could you say, that's impossible!"

"That's impossible! There, I said it."

"You'll say that again later."

"What do you mean by that? Hey, (Y/N)!"

You turned to glance at the boy. Taking pity on him, you spoke, "You know, you are very fortunate."

"Uh, thank you, I guess?" Nero replied, scratching his temple in confusion.

"Thank you for everything, Nero."

"Nah, it's nothing."

"Tell Kyrie I said hi."

"Sure thing."

"This will be the last time. You'll never see me again."

"Okay. WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"

But, you were already gone before he could even ask you that last bit that Nico never told him,...

***

~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe where cheap rip - offs are way stronger than the originals. 🤔

~ This chapter is dedicated to @micaelagua , @vergils-daughter , @yepps and @sofia-micaela . 🖤

~ Tagging @heaven-on-a-landslide , @lessy86 , @krazy06 , @simmy-ships , @boundbysoul , @ehrzeth , @ceruleanworld , @gxthghoulfriend , and @diabeticsugarush . 🖤

***

In silence and total darkness, V waited for you to arrive. And during those tense moments, he could only think of Fleminger's words to him.

"I know it is power you seek, my Lord. She has that power you're searching for - the power to make yourself invulnerable. The power - to put you back to your former self. Deep within the Dreadnought lies her true heart. But, piercing it would do you no good. Pierce,...

... her body first, then make her power mine. Only then can I defeat the Dreadnought." V uttered as Shadow morphed into an indistinguishable form before him. "Only then,... can I truly become,...

... whole. Once more."

At those final words, something huge behind him pulsated, splashing the suffocating room with its sickly crimson glow and casting unearthly shadows before the poet.

V looked down on his hands. His crumbling flesh. His time,... was coming to an end.

And so, he shall soon receive the power,...

"Come to me, my love." He called for the third time, knowing that you would come to him right away without hesitation,...

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

~ 15 ~

***

#devil may cry 5 #v #i see my future before me #v x reader #v x you #devil may cry nero #devil may cry kyrie #devil may cry nico #devil may cry trish #devil may cry lady #devil may cry griffon #devil may cry shadow #you've got a friend #carole king #chapter 22

28 notes · View notes

etlunainmorte · 5 years

Text

💙 I See My Future Before Me 💙

***

“Hello?”

“Kyrie, it’s me.”

“Nero! Oh, thank God, you’re alright!”

“How are things there?”

“I’ve heard Fortuna’s in complete ruins now because of the Dreadnought and its horde. But, we’re safe here. You don’t have to worry about us.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“Yes.”

…

“Nero?”

“Hmm?”

“Is,… something bothering you?”

“Ah,… nothing.”

“Hmm,…”

“Haha. It’s nothing. Really.”

“Nero, I can tell something’s wrong, even if we’re thousands of miles apart. I love you, and you know you can always tell me anything. I’m here for you.”

…

“Kyrie,…”

“I’m listening.”

“What will you do if,…”

“Hmm?”

“Well, let’s say you confessed your,… ah,… feelings for me.”

“Yes. And?”

“And,… ah,… I rejected you. Like, badly. Like, not even friend zone. What will you do?”

“Hmm, to tell you the truth, I can’t imagine you doing that to me. But, if that happens, well,…”

“Well?”

“Of course, I would definitely get hurt. A lot. Nothing hurts more than a special someone, a loved one, pushing you away from their life. My heart would be shattered to pieces, and I would feel like my existence won’t matter anymore.”

“Whoa! The existence part is too much!”

“Ah, you don’t understand, Nero. Girls’ feelings are delicate. They may act tough but, deep inside, their heart is dying. No matter how much they struggle against the sadness, eventually it will come back and haunt them. It’s like a sickness, being heartbroken. And it’s very hard to heal.”

“Oh. How do they, uh, cope? They can’t stay like that forever, right?”

“Hmm, let’s see. With company. With friends who would never leave them. Who would stay for them, eat ice cream with them, and watch romantic movies with them. With honest people who would tell them that the right man would come for them in the right time and everything would be just fine.”

“The right man? So, they’re just gonna make her forget that she loved - ”

“ - a man who hurt and rejected her? Well, of course! He hurt her, so he doesn’t deserve her.”

“Listen, Kyrie: what if he’s the one? The one who rejected her?”

“…

… if he’s the one, then he shouldn’t have rejected her in the first place. It’s just,… wrong,… and,… stupid.”

“I see.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re courting someone while I’m on the other side of the globe?”

“WHAT?! NO! I would never do that to you!”

“Hahaha! Of course, Nero. I know you would never do that to me. So, who’s the sad girl?”

“…”

“Nero? Tell me.”

“It’s (Y/N). Do you know her?”

“Yes. Nico’s always telling me about her. She sounds like a great person. Why? Who rejected her?”

“Ah, it’s,…”

“Who?”

“I - it’s a long story. You know what? Prepare the ice cream and the movies. We’ll end this battle quick, because she needs your company. (Y/N) needs you. Us.”

“Okay, Nero.”

“Wait for us, Kyrie.”

“I will wait for you, for as long as I live.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Nero hung up the phone, sighing as he did so. Ever since hearing about your dire situation ( meaning, everything ) from Nico, herself, he couldn’t help but be sad and angry.

Sad for you, and angry at V.

What man could ever stomach doing that to a girl who clearly loved him?! Enough to follow him at death’s door?!

The young Devil Hunter shook his head in disbelief. He could still remember the Artisan’s words to him a few minutes prior.

“Go after (Y/N)! She’s reckless right now, and she needs someone who could stop her from killing herself!”

“Seriously, V.” Nero said to himself as he scratched his head in confusion, unable to envision himself rejecting his beloved Kyrie. “You are one stupid son of a bitch for doing that to (Y/N),…”

“Winter, spring, summer or fall,

You know all you have to do is call.

And I’ll be there, yeah! You’ve got a frieeennnddd!”

“You sound terrible.”

“Are ya kiddin’?! I sound angelic!”

“Right,…”

“(Y/N) and,… Griffon?” Nero uttered upon hearing the conversation not far from where he was. He left the last good phone booth of the city and went to his vehicle,…

“Now, you do it.” Griffon challenged you as you two made your way towards the Dreadnought.

You cleared your throat and opened your mouth, belting the lines that the bird just sang.

“Winter, spring, summer or fall,

You know all you have to do is call.

And I’ll be there, yeah! You’ve got a frieeennnddd!”

“UGH! AND YA CALL THAT SINGING?! YE SOUND LIKE A CAT IN HEAT FALLING FROM THE TOP OF THE EIFFEL TOWER!”

“I TOLD YOU! I’M TONE DEAF!”

“Yeah, ya better stick to dancin’, sweet pea. Haha! Haha! Ah, haha! Well, ah,… no offense. You really sound terrible.”

“I know but, you don’t have to rub it in,…”

“(Y/N)!” The two of you suddenly heard a voice behind you.

“Is that?” Griffon questioned as you two looked behind you,…

… to see Nero going full speed towards you in a sleek and sick - looking motorcycle that seemed to glow both blue and purple. He stopped just a few steps from you and proudly revved his new vehicle.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Need a ride?” The young Devil Hunter asked you with his signature, charmingly boyish smile.

“I thought Eleison’s destroyed?” You asked as you glanced at the amazing vehicle in awe.

“Yeah. I saw it with ma own eyes.” Griffon added.

Nero chuckled. “She is. But, you see, a few hours ago, I defeated this knight - Demon thing who wields electricity. When I fought it, its broken parts kinda merged with some vehicle gears. Long story short, I now have Kyrie Eleison!”

“And it has a name now! Right,…” the demonic bird sarcastically replied.

“Anyway, I’m going straight to that ugly ship to make it sink! Wanna tag along?”

“I don’t know, Nero!” You answered. “I mean, can it even fly?”

Seeing that you’re prepared and ready for a wild ride, Nero revved Kyrie Eleison and sped fast. He laughed so hard upon hearing your and Griffon’s screams and made the vehicle even faster.

“NERO! CAN WE SLOW DOWN?!” You hysterically begged the boy.

“No! We’re gonna fly, remember?!”

“AAAHHH!”

Meanwhile, Trish and Lady were still fighting against the Demon horde below when they heard your screams.

“What’s that?” Lady asked as she fired her Kalina Ann, making one Demon’s face blast into bloody pieces.

“It sounds like,…” Trish said as she slowly looked up.

And there, right above that hill, the two women saw you, Nero, and Griffon, riding a weird - looking motorcycle and actually flying towards the entrance to the Dreadnought.

“How in the world - ?!” Trish exclaimed in utter awe of the reckless feat.

“They will never make it!” Lady yelled as she prepared for the worst.

“WE’LL NEVER MAKE IT!” You screamed, terrified for what will happen next.

“WE’LL CRASH!” Griffon, who seemed to have forgotten that he could easily fly away from all of this, hysterically added, still clinging unto your hoodie for dear life.

“NOT TODAY!” Nero answered, growling like hell as he revved the motorcycle, willing for it to land safely inside the demonic ship.

“GGGYYYAAARRRGGGHHH!”

“SSSQQQUUUAAAWWWKKK!”

“I WON’T LET YOU DDDIIIEEE!” Nero howled as the motorcycle came into contact with the light barrier that guarded the entrance.

You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms tightly around Nero, not wanting to see yourself crash,…

But, everything seemed normal as you finally landed. You opened your eyes, seeing your uninjured body, and glanced at Nero.

“Is this it? Are we safe now?” You asked, unable to believe that you just flew a motorcycle towards the monstrous - looking ship

“Seems like it.” Nero answered you with a bashful smile.

“Look at this!” Griffon exclaimed in both awe and fear as he looked all over the place.

From the outside, Shinano Musashi looked like a huge hunk of demonic - looking metal with strange horns and protrusions. An impossibly huge mechanism that could float on the sky.

It was as if you entered a floating hell.

“What a putrid smell!” The demonic bird complained as he finally let go of your hoodie.

“I actually agree with you, little chicken.” Nero answered as he merely dodged a sticky yellow substance that dripped from the pulsating ceiling.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?! YOU UNGRATEFUL, SON OF A - !”

“It’s calling me.”

Both Nero and Griffon looked at you as you got off of Kyrie Eleison and started walking deeper towards the cavern of the Dreadnought.

“Who is calling you?” The bird questioned as he flew towards you.

“I,… don’t know,…” You answered. You, then, turned and glanced back at your two companions, your eyes looking heavy and empty as if in a trance. “It’s calling my name. Can’t you hear it?”

“No!” The young Devil Hunter and the demonic familiar simultaneously answered.

“There it is. I’m,… coming,…” You said monotonously as you looked away from them and continued walking.

“(Y/N), don’t go there alone!” The boy called after you, then clicked his tongue in annoyance. He dismounted and went after you together with the bird.

A few hours of endless walking and various turns deep inside the Dreadnought led you to a slightly different room with less wet flesh and pulsating veins.

As soon as Nero saw this orb, he protectively pulled you away as he took out his Blue Rose and pointed at it.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, (Y/N) but, I don’t trust this fairy dust.” The boy said as he faced the suspicious - looking orb.

“I don’t think it wants a conversation with you right now, kid.” Griffon told him as he perched at your right arm.

“What happened?!” Griffon squawked as he looked around for potential danger.

“I don’t know but, I have a bad feeling about this,…” the boy answered as he drew The Red Queen in preparation for a battle.

A few moments later, all three of you heard a noise coming from the far end of the room. Your heart suddenly became heavier as a black mass went towards you.

Nero revved his Red Queen, ready to attack the enemy, when, suddenly,…

“Kyrie?” Nero uttered, bewildered to find the woman he loved standing in front of him. “Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

Your eyes widened as you noticed the sinister smile on Kyrie’s face.

Something was off!

“Nero! Wait - !”

When he was about to reach out to his lover, a strange kind of light in the form of multiple dark whips emanated from her, throwing the boy towards the other end of the room.

“Griffon, please!” You asked the familiar as you took out your rapier and shield.

“No need to tell me!” The bird answered as it gathered its power for an attack -

“Don’t you dare hurt her!” Nero screamed as he finally stood up.

“Can’t ya see, kid?! This chick’s not yer fling! She - SSSQQQUUUAAAWWWKKK!”

“GRIFFON!” You yelled as one of the whips of dark light coming from the creature impersonating Kyrie grabbed one of the demonic avian’s talons and practically threw him away with much force. The bird landed on the ground beside Nero, which left you as the last fighter standing.

“WHAT IN THE SCHTICK?!” Griffon swore, his golden eyes wide with both humor and fear.

“V?!” Nero muttered in confusion. “(Y/N), look out!”

Before you could even attack, the man strode towards you, raised his hand with the metal cane, and brought it swiftly down on your face, wounding you and making you stumble to the ground.

Your hand automatically went up your cheek and felt something moist from it. You looked at your fingers - blood.

“GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU CHEAP V RIP - OFF FROM HELL!” Griffon shrieked as he flew towards the creature. He released a strong electric attack with the full intention of killing the enemy.

However, the “cheap V rip - off” simply dodged it, flawlessly jumping in mid - air and hitting Griffon with his cane with unbelievable strength. The bird landed on the ground with an ugly thud.

“Nobody told me he’s not sissy like his real counterpart!” Griffon quipped as he tried to get up from the ground. But then, the enemy stepped on him and drove his cane deep into his flesh, instantly making him enter his stalemate state.

“Griffon!” You quickly stood up and ran towards the familiar but the enemy whacked you with his cane once more, this time, straight on your back.

“FUCK YOU!” Nero swore as he charged towards the fake V. The enemy noticed this and changed back to Kyrie. The boy did a mistake of stopping in his tracks, making the enemy attack him once more with its dark whips. He came flying towards the other end of the room, feeling fresh wounds and multiple injuries all over his body.

“TAKE THIS!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as you whacked your shield on Kyrie’s back, making it stumble. Then, you hastily went to Nero’s side, helping him on his feet.

“We can’t attack it like this!” Nero thundered as he stood up, giving the enemy an angry look for taking the form of a person as pure and as angelic as Kyrie.

You looked at him, knowing exactly what the enemy’s weakness was. “Nero, listen to me. That is not Kyrie - ”

“I know! You don’t have to tell me!”

“But, just now, you hesitated to attack her!”

Nero punched the ground in frustration. You grabbed his arm and made him look up at you.

“We’ll attack it together! Come on, Nero! We have to do this!”

Nero, on the other hand, had enough and slashed the enemy’s torso the moment it turned back to V. It drew back in shock, clutching its wounded stomach, then turned to you two with murder and malice in its now red eyes. It dropped its cane on the ground and changed back to Kyrie, extending one of its whips and pinned Nero to the wall, fatally wounding him.

Just when you were about to attack it, it rapidly went back to V, waved its arms, and summoned multiple blades of blue light that rapidly went down on you like bullets.

That’s when you saw it.

… turning into real flesh,…

His eyes widened at the sight. He forcefully grabbed the dark whip that imprisoned him using his newly formed right arm and almost melted it with the sheer light and warmth it radiated.

“Your tricks are getting too old, you bitch.” Nero quipped as he motioned for the enemy to come closer. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

Grabbing his warm right arm, you spoke, “This is a miracle!”

“I know.” Nero answered as he supported you.

You turned towards the dark, beaten, writhing mass on the ground that was the remnants of Kyrie and limped your way to it with Nero still on your heel.

“Who called me here?” You asked it, foolishly believing that it could somehow shed light to the mystery of the Dreadnought and the voice that was calling you.

You felt a pang of guilt as you looked at it and realized that it was only making you feel that way to defeat you.

With one last sigh of apathy towards the enemy, you took Nero’s Red Queen from him, held it above your head, and plunged it to V’s heart, making it writhe and wriggle even more with pain. Feeling your tears pour out of your tired eyes for this unspeakable creature for exposing your true emotions, you plunged the hot sword even deeper, skewering its heart and reducing the enemy down to its true form - a short and wrinkled creature, about four feet in height, with long twisted claws, sharp red eyes, green skin, and skinny legs. You took the sword out of its body and slashed its head, decapitating it and finally putting an end to it once and for all. The remains of the despicable creature caught on fire and slowly turned into ashes.

You gave the sword back to Nero as you collapsed on the ground.

“So, that’s how Mina felt when she decapitated Dracula.” You sighed as you settled on the ground to make yourself comfortable. “Oh, that’s wrong. That’s no Dracula,…”

“Why Kyrie? Why not somebody else?” The youth asked as he watched the creature’s ashes get flown by the wind.

You sighed, feeling the massive weight on your heart and shoulders. “It only reflects how much you love a person. The enemy used it against you because it knew it would be your biggest weakness.”

Nero looked at you in dismay. “So, you still love him,… V?”

You blinked twice, not sure if your heart could take any more pain. You, then, let out a long sigh of depression. “After all this time. Yes.” You answered, wincing in pain as you touched one bloody wound on your arm.

“Hey, you should fall back now, you can’t fight like this!” The boy pleaded as you let him support you.

However, the moment your skin made contact with his new arm once again, a new set of visions flashed through your mind about him. It was rapid, and yet,…

You only shook your head in disagreement. “Don’t mind me. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine?! What are you - ?”

Nero’s sentence was cut off as he saw, with his own two eyes, how the wounds on your body miraculously healed. He watched the phenomenon in total shock, and when your last wound closed, he could only laugh in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you’re immortal?!” Nero questioned you.

“And what does that make you?” You asked him as you gave a knowing look on his new right arm.

“Come on, (Y/N). I’m serious here! How did you - ?”

“You never asked how Griffon came to be my familiar.” You cut him off. “And you never asked why my eyes are red. I know Nico told you everything. But, the question is,…” You said, giving him a questioning look as you raised an eyebrow. “… how much do you know?”

The youth could only gulp down in nervousness, his sweat running cold in the process. “Everything.”

“Oh.”

“FUCK YEAH! What? Hey, what did I miss?” Griffon, who was just fully healed and revived, asked as he flew down towards the two of you.

“Nero pulled a rabbit out of his sleeve.” You answered without so much as a fuss.

“Really? Oh, wait. You’re being sarcastic - !”

“Which brings me to my next agenda.” You said as you held up a hand to silence Griffon. “Nero,…”

“What is it, (Y/N)?”

You looked into the youth’s sincere eyes, deciding whether to tell him what you just saw or not, then shook your head.

“Forget I said anything.” You quietly answered as you stood up.

“I know you saw something about me. Tell me!”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy.

Well,…

He had the right to know!

“Listen: do you know Luke Skywalker? The Jedi?” You asked him as you removed your shredded parka, letting Nero take a glimpse of the contract markings on your right arm.

“Luke,… Skywalker? I’m not sure I could follow,…”

“Yeah, the woman likes movies, ya know?” Griffon added as he perched on your arm.

“So, what does this Luke have to do with me?” Nero inquired as he followed you out of the dark and depressing room.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Could you say, that’s impossible!”

“That’s impossible! There, I said it.”

“You’ll say that again later.”

“What do you mean by that? Hey, (Y/N)!”

You turned to glance at the boy. Taking pity on him, you spoke, “You know, you are very fortunate.”

“Uh, thank you, I guess?” Nero replied, scratching his temple in confusion.

“Thank you for everything, Nero.”

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

“Tell Kyrie I said hi.”

“Sure thing.”

“This will be the last time. You’ll never see me again.”

“Okay. WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!”

But, you were already gone before he could even ask you that last bit that Nico never told him,…

***

XXII

***

In silence and total darkness, V waited for you to arrive. And during those tense moments, he could only think of Fleminger’s words to him.

“I know it is power you seek, my Lord. She has that power you’re searching for - the power to make yourself invulnerable. The power - to put you back to your former self. Deep within the Dreadnought lies her true heart. But, piercing it would do you no good. Pierce,…

… her body first, then make her power mine. Only then can I defeat the Dreadnought.” V uttered as Shadow morphed into an indistinguishable form before him. “Only then,… can I truly become,…

… whole. Once more.”

At those final words, something huge behind him pulsated, splashing the suffocating room with its sickly crimson glow and casting unearthly shadows before the poet.

V looked down on his hands. His crumbling flesh. His time,… was coming to an end.

And so, he shall soon receive the power,…

“Come to me, my love.” He called for the third time, knowing that you would come to him right away without hesitation,…

***

💙💙💙

***

#devil may cry 5 #nero sparda #i see my future before me #v x reader #v x you #chapter 22 #he who fights #revised

8 notes · View notes

qvestchen · 5 years

Text

Lockscreen // Yuwin NCT : Chapter Three

Summary: There’s a thin line between reality and playacting, and Dong Sicheng tripped hard over it when he fell head over heels in love with Nakamoto Yuta.

Author: qvestchen

Status: Ongoing

Chapters: Home, Previous, Next.

Lockscreen // Yuwin NCT

Chapter 3: Was it my aegyo?

Winwin stole a glance at his roommates. Their room was eerily quiet. He had been trying to ignore the silence, playing his game trying to upgrade his league in SM Superstar but he had been failing miserably.

Truth was he had had a wonderful day. Everything was now ready for WayV’s debut. The group had moderated everything to the minutest of details and he was buzzing with the anticipation and excitement he felt for the music’s release. So much so that the fight in the morning had totally slipped from his mind but it hung over him now, like a heavy, wet blanket. In the forty minutes he had spent in this room, he was overcome by something akin to uneasiness even though he very well knew that all he could be blamed for was being short of patience.

Taeil was working out in his corner, doing a plank but with questionable posture, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible in his wait for one of his roommates to say something. Right now even a Dad joke from him was preferable for Winwin than this uncomfortable silence.

Yuta had earphones in and was lying on his bed with eyes closed. He had been that way ever since Winwin had caught him staring at him, chewing his lip in deep thought. He had quickly averted his gaze and then proceeded to sleep but with the way he was fidgeting, Winwin knew he was awake.

He sighed. He really didn’t know what to do. Usually they just slipped back into normalcy after their arguments but today felt colder and maybe there was a time when Winwin would have appreciated the quiet but it felt suffocating today.

He got up and cleared his throat.

“So, uh…”

Taeil fell mid-plank.

Yuta’s eyes opened so quick that it was impossible he had been listening to music.

Winwin coughed. “About…you know…”

Yuta sat up slowly. “Winwin-ah.”

He looked at him quickly, searching his face earnestly to understand what he was thinking but Yuta seemed to be doing the exact same and it was in surprising moments like these that Winwin caught a glimpse of a vulnerability in Yuta’s eyes.

Yuta nodded to himself as if understanding something slowly. A small smile spread over his face. “We aren’t waiting for you to apologize. We thought you might be upset so we didn’t know what to do but wait until we could apologize.”

Winwin turned red. He realized that maybe him getting rooted to his bed silently playing his game had been as uncomfortable to them as their attempts to give him space had been.

“So, you don’t need to apologize. If anything, we—”

Winwin rubbed the back of his head. “I wasn’t going to apologize. I had forgotten about the morning totally. You guys…pfft.”

Taeil giggled knowingly. “Yeah, right. Yuta, you shouldn’t have stopped him. He was finally going to start the conversation on his own.” He jumped onto Winwin’s bed. “Go on. Say whatever you were trying to say. Hyung will forgive you.”

Winwin rolled his eyes and pushed him playfully. “If you’re apologizing then fine I forgive you.”

Taeil threw him a finger-heart. “Was it my aegyo?”

“No, it was your fourth fail at planking.”

“So, you were looking at me. Winwinnie, have you seen my muscles?”

“I have spared myself the horror.”

They were all laughing now and when Winwin caught Yuta’s eye, he felt his heart skip a beat because—and he realized it only then—it had been a while since he had seen Yuta smile like that.

“Let’s order some chicken,” Winwin said. “Give me your phone.”

“Why my phone?” Yuta said, handing him his phone.

“I’m saving the charge for my games, of course.” Well, that wasn’t totally false but okay, maybe he had an ulterior motive as he took Yuta’s phone. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Yuta’s lockscreen was still a picture of him. It was the one Yuta had taken when they had gone to LA for promotions. Just Winwin smiling at the beach, the sun in his eyes, a fading rainbow behind him.

He didn’t let the relief show on his face as he dialled the restaurant’s number but he was happy that Yuta hadn’t changed it.

By the time, the chicken was delivered the other members were in their room too, as if the tension easing had spread across the dorm. Soon they were all laughing and cheering as Winwin told them about his day, his excitement infectious.

In midst of the small gathering, he caught sight of Taeyong sending a comforting glance at Yuta. He would have mulled over it further but Taeil and Mark were on either of his sides, one telling him a joke and the other stealing a drumstick from him. They ended up playing an intense series of Uno and someone opened a box of beer. It was probably Johnny who asked, “Since everything is okay now, when can we expect you two to go out on a date?”

Winwin gasped so fast that the beer nearly went up his nose. “What!?” He looked at Yuta who was staring at him so intensely that if looks could burn, Winwin would be crisp. He slapped Johnny’s arm. “You seriously…We aren’t like that. That—that’s preposterous. I mean, Yuta and I? Haha, Johnny hyung. That’s like Minnie Mouse marrying Doraemon. Ahahaha.”

Johnny grinned. “I didn’t even say who I was talking about. For all you know, I could be talking about Taeyong and Jaehyun.”

Winwin narrowed his eyes at him. “Yeah, right.”

When he was washing dishes with Jaehyun at night, his friend whispered to him. “So, did you tell him yet?”

Winwin paused, staring at the plate in his hand. “Can you tell him?”

“If me telling him about that would work, I might as well tell him that you have the biggest crush on him.”

Winwin glared at him. “I will kill you.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever. Just tell him. Preferably both of the things.”

“What are you scared of?”

“You know he’s going to be really upset.”

“Isn’t he always very understanding?”

Winwin stacked the plates. “Even if he doesn’t say anything, I know when he is upset, okay?” He looked at his friend. “I know what you mean though. I have to tell him some time. I’d just prefer later.”

“Did you talk to Ten about this fantastic plan of yours?”

“Yes, I did.”

Jaehyun asked, “And what did he say?”

“That I am an idiot.”

“Glad Ten and I agree.”

The next day, Winwin was leaving early when he tip-toed to where Yuta’s phone was charging. It was just a harmless habit of his. To check his lockscreen now and then.

He frowned.

The lockscreen had changed. It was Winwin still but post-show, Limitless-era Winwin looking petulantly at the camera. Winwin remembered when Yuta had clicked this picture. He was looking ghastly. It had been after a show when Winwin had smudged his make-up angrily, irritated by his outfit and the monstrous belt and the botched up dance move.

He shoved the phone back, looking at Yuta’s sleeping form.

When he returned that evening, he made a point to discreetly show his lockscreen to Yuta. It was a picture of Yuta covered in mud from when the time he had fallen face first into a rainy muddle during a rare walk together.

Yuta laughed when he saw it. “You still have this? Isn’t this pre-debut? Wow, I look ugly. Taeyongie, look at this.”

Winwin huffed

for our lockscreen readers:

we are so sorry it took ages to update this but we were so busy with our studies and work :(

aren't yuwin super complex? but also, super adorable like they have these little things and as the chapters progress, you will understand what the bigger picture looks like. can't wait for you all to read more!! with time you all will understand the whole lockscreen thingy also hehe, kind of excited for that too

please let us know what you thought of this chapter and what you think could happen next.

thank you so much for reading and supporting lockscreen!

love, positive vibes and successful planks~~

#nct #yuta #winwin #yuwin #taeil #doyoung #kun #nct fanfic #nct imagines #taeyong #jaehyun #nct ten #nct johnny #wayv

46 notes · View notes

stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 5 years

Text

Finished s2 ep3 again.

Some random thoughts as the episode progressed:

I’ve decided to call that moth Beauford.

Bye, Beauford.

“Everything come out all right girls?”

Troy, can you not ask weird questions two seconds into the episode? And please stop sounding so excited to tie us up, yeah?

“Regardless of intent, there are consequences to rash actions.” Carlos out here spitting good quotes that can apply to the final choice of this episode.

Kenny, what happened to being chill??

Regarding Kenny, I’m still liking him, but I have a feeling that’ll change come next episode since I actually forget how he responds when you don’t cut Sarita’s hand off. I think he’s still pissed at Clementine for some reason? I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, I guess.

Oh God Reggie

I feel like Reggie could’ve been a good little comic relief character but there’s just something about his voice acting that’s off. It’s not even the accent, it’s the delivery of his lines that just don’t sound convincing. He has some entertaining lines that, if said by someone else, would’ve gotten a genuine chuckle out of me, but I just find myself cringing more than laughing.

Carver’s such a bastard. Y’know, he could’ve been a great season-long antagonist and I’m disappointed that he dies at the end of this episode only for Arvo and his people to become the antagonists for two seconds. I just feel that they did a great job making me hate the man’s guts, why not let him survive to ep4 or ep5 and then get his comeuppances?

Oh hai Shel and.... kid? Can’t wait to see what purpose you have later...

That is the ugliest fucking jacket.

Clementine probably has nightmares about that fucking jacket.

She wakes up in the middle of the night, sweat glistening on her forehead and struggling to breathe, and when Louis tries to comfort her and asks “what wrong?” she merely shakes her head.

We don’t talk about that ugly fucking jacket.

Reggie god dammit keep your hand off the hat-!

Welp. Reggie’s dead and I can’t say I’m in tears about, which is unfortunate. You had an opportunity to give us a character who could’ve been funny and sweet with some hope, but Reggie falls flat. I should be so damn upset about his death and I should be horrified at how cruel and monstrous Carver is, but it’s hard when Reggie doesn’t have that likable charm.

I love the little detail about Mike having the bullet scar across his cheek and through his ear. It’s a character detail that makes me want to know how and why it happened, but I also like that they never tell us. Leaves it to the imagination, right?

BIG BROTHER LUKE! ❤️

Oh hai Wyatt... great talk. So much development. Wow.

See, the way I feel about Alvin and knowing that Carver did that to him makes me furious and glad that he’ll be dead by the end of the episode. Alvin’s a great example of the type of character Reggie could’ve been like.

I’m laughing at how pointless Vince’s cameo is haha

“Clementine should do it.”

This game in a nutshell.

Wow, Russell’s cameo is ever more pointless 😂😂😂

So, when you go to meet Luke, if you go in and leave after a few seconds rather than looking for him, Troy doesn’t hit Clementine, he just grabs and shoves her at Kenny. Just a fun little detail, I guess?

Also, I don’t try and help Kenny when Carver’s beating him because it’s useless and just ends up with Clementine hurt. Also, even Troy is watching like, “Oh fuck-” when Bonnie comes in.

Kenny, you tough bastard I love ya-

“Clem, make sure you bring Alvin.”

Oh, okay, I’ll just give him a piggyback ride and-

Alvin’s dead and I hate everything.

I may not be a huge fan of Jane or anything, but her best moment by far is shooting Troy in the dick.

Aaaaaaand Carlos is down and Sarah’s flipping her shit. This is literally the beginning of the game picking off the cabin members one by one leading up to the dumb climax and pay off in ep5. Ugh.

I hate that Carlos is dead. He’s always a character who intrigues me every time I play and now I never get to learn any more about him. Sigh.

Also, wow! Don’t you just love how not pointless all the other 400 Days characters were?? Seriously though, I still giggle at how dumb their little scenes are. I’m not asking for a lot of screen time but a little something would’ve been great. I dunno. I ask too much of this game, I guess.

Okay, game. You’re not fooling me. I know exactly what happens if I cut Sarita’s hand off. I’ll happily kill that walker, thank you. Lesser of two evils, I suppose. Kenny’ll still have his freak out, but at least I can say I didn’t directly cause her death.

So, yeah, I’m still not thrilled about Carver being axed off so quickly, but I also can’t say I’m sad he’s dead. This is still a fairly good episode, but I already know that it’s just a steady fall downhill from here, especially with characters like Luke, Nick, and Sarah.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg kenny #twdg luke #twdg carver #twdg sarah #twdg nick #twdg mike #twdg louis #twdg carlos #twdg bonnie #twdg reggie

32 notes · View notes

scripted-dalliances · 5 years

Text

Rest In Peace: Chapter Four

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 4

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“What is a ghost? Something dead that seems to be alive. Something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead.” -Richard Siken

What of it indeed.

Truth be told she had no real explanation when she followed him. Only that she couldn't help herself. That sitting alone, in that big room had made her feel empty.

That without him, and his stupidly big presence, she was back in a coffin. Clawing upwards, towards nothing and everything because where else could she go? What else could she do?

Stay down, stay dead like all the other good dead boys and girls.

Laura tracked him easily enough. If he thinks she makes no noise it's only because he makes too much. Stomping around like a drunk elephant with steel boots. Slamming doors, cursing rabbits (she has zero clues on why) and eventually shouting at Shadow.

She expects them to fight, to be honest. Never have two men in her world been so different. Sweeney is loud, rough and course where Shadow is silent, smooth and refined. Both are prone to throwing their weight around, but Shadow has always attempted to shy away from conflict. Hating that just because he was a big guy that they assumed he was a big violent idiot.

Sweeney is a big violent idiot and would probably stand under a neon sign supporting such claims.

They have nothing in common except her and Odin, and both have majorly fucked up their lives. A twisted parody that mirrors the other. Odin basically traded one for the other, and neither was pleased by the deal. Hell, Laura isn't exactly jumping with joy either.

(The dead bastard least happy of all, but fuck him)

She expects them to be at each others throats. She expects at least a sharp insult or two. Instead Shadow laughs and acts like Sweeney is a disgruntled friend.

At least Sweeney seems confused by this reaction as much as she is. Laura might have accepted the end of their marriage but it will take longer for her to understand that the Shadow she knows is just as dead. That the man she was once married to hasn't just changed because of years spent in jail, but because of intimate close calls with lynching and deals with Gods of old and new.

Truth is, Shadow has been through hell and his journey is no where near done. Before, Laura could read him like a book, from beginning to end, she knew each line and yes, she's a horrible person for getting bored of it. For finding fault in both the predictable nature of Shadow Moon and the sweetness, but now he's shiny and new. All the familiar pages have been rewritten to better suit his new exciting and violent world, in a different pose and language, and somewhere between death and this zombie state, she has lost the ability to read him.

She'll always love him, in a way, but now that she intimately knows death, what its like to feel yourself fall apart and kill a god; she can say with certainty that she does not have the ability to love Shadow as he should be loved. To look at him and not see the man she called puppy, to see beyond his godlike glow and supernova of a light within, to fall back in love with a man she no longer knows.

Oh, the good parts are still, mixed in with the new. His kindness, honesty and unwavering heart, but his everything wasn't enough then and she knows it would not be now. With Shadow there will always be a part missing, a thirst he can't quench.

Truth is, maybe she was losing that ability to read him before her death.

“Can I have a moment alone with him.” She says to her ex-husband, and she can feel the air buzz with tension. Shadow graciously leaves the hallway but Sweeney tenses like she is a about to punch his dick off.

“I'm not going to hit you.” She finds herself snapping at him, his tension bleeding over to her. “I said I wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, and what a way with words you have.”

He lifts his shirt up a bit, just enough to show her the ghastly bruise her punch made. It makes her feel just a little guilty, because she really doesn't have control of her monstrous strength and had only wanted him to stop calling her a cunt.

“I've done worse to you.”

He tilts his head and drops the shirt, “Fair enough. What you want Dead Wife, I thought even you'd understand that I am done ‘experimenting’ today.”

“I am not…” She starts, suddenly awkward admitting this to him. “You were…right. About the death do you part shit you said back in that bar with Salim. Shadow and I talked. Turns out he isn't into the freshly lemon scented me. So you can stop calling me Dead Wife, it no longer applies. There are worse ways a divorce can go, right?” Laura attempts to smile, but her bones are brittle and her smile cracks. She's tired, and its showing more than ever.

Sweeney for his part, looks just as done. Blinking owlishly down at her like he doesn't even know English. It goes on for a solid minute before she frowns.

“You could at least say something.” Laura prods.

He chuckles at her and it holds a nasty tone, “What the fuck do you want me to say? Congratulations? I'm not bloody Oprah. Fuck, my ears are still ringing from you saying I was right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“First you want me to say something, when I do, you tell me to shut up. I've known mad monks that make more sense than you!”

“I am trying to share, asshole!” She raises her voice to match his. “That was what you basically said downstairs, right?” She is, at her very best, grasping at straws. “You don't think I trust you enough to believe anything you say and let's be real you aren't exactly wrong on that…”

“…would you say I'm right?”

Laura frowns, “I'd say we have to start from ground zero and fucking get over ourselves if we both want to get what is ours back. I have a plan, but it only works if we do it together.”

The mulish pout is back in full force and Sweeney glares down at her like she's just asked him to do something impossible. Like not swear for a week or wear something not ugly as sin.

“Look. I am not a good person. I never was, and that…has always made it difficult to connect with other people. Mostly because I never cared to try. Because I know who I am. I'm an asshole. Deep down I can't pretend to give a fuck about other people's shit lives. I was born feeling disconnected, and never cared to learn how to reconnect. So instead it was either learn to hide that fact or become a serial killer.”

“You ain't got the upper body strength.” Them he tilts his head in a wary expression of after thought. “Though I suppose that ain't a problem now.”

Laura almost smirks, “Back then it was. So I kept to myself, I learned to shut up and smile, cause that is what the world expects from a pretty little girl. Any time I tried to get more or be more, the world would shit on that and eventually I just gave up. I accepted my fate, and coasted through what was a clearly a shit but long ride to death. Or at least I thought it was,” She eyes him, and he manages not to glare back. “Terrible thing? No one fucking noticed. Not my parents, siblings or friends. To them, fake me and always been real me, and the one person I thought could change that was Shadow. And Shadow…he just sort of fell into my lap. I wasn't kind or grateful, fuck I wasn’t even happy about it and for whatever reason that made him try twice as hard.”

“That sounds annoying.”

“It was, at first,” She admits, “-but he stuck around. I thought…I thought it would be different. That I could be different. I know that's foolish now, that it was cruel to put that weight on him but I was young, dumb and in love.” She paused, remembering what it was like. To come home after long hours at work, find Shadow cooking or sleeping. To curl around his warmth and simply be, soaking up the affection he rained down on her. It was enough to drown out the rest of the world, the rest of her darkness until it wasn't. Until she started to feel empty with him even in the room. Until her greedy little dark heart wanted more.

Now in retrospect she isn't sure it was love as so much co-dependence. Shadow wanted the space and a reason to go straight, and she needed someone to come home to so she wouldn't kill herself.

In the end, Shadow didn't know the woman she was.

“He loved what I gave him, and I loved him for it. Clearly though, that wasn't enough.” She decides, “Point is, I am shit at this, at being open and trusting just for the sake of it. And frankly, you aren't winning any awards either. So. No, I don't want to make friendship bracelets or braid your hair but I do want to be able to trust you. Believe in what you say…and when you tell me your story, believe in that too.”

#mad wife #madwife #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x laura moon #laura moon #mad wife fic #laura x sweeney

15 notes · View notes

positivelyamazonian · 6 years

Text

10 Favorite Game/Anime/Movie Characters

Tagged by: @a-super-evil-cat-who-murders (thanks!!! It was fun!)

The Rules: Name your top 10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 different people.

Well I’ve already done a tag for FEMALE CHARACTERS so I’ll leave this in case you wanna check it. For not repeating myself, I’ll do this time just male characters.

I’ll tag: @luluvonv @luthienamell @adayka @hydraballista @anyathebloodshell @anentireamazon @jar-cup @kim-v-croft @autumn-star93 @lady-trent

Of course don’t feel obliged to do this. And yes my characters come in not a particular order!

1. Haplo the Patryn - The Death Gate Cycle (book series)

Posting an amazing fanart by Melusaaste because there’s not an official art that shows him so close-up, and honestly, this is the most accurate depiction of him I’ve ever seen.

Haplo is the anti-hero and main character of The Death Gate Cycle series written by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. Personal childhood hero (despite being an antihero himself), husbando and whatnot, until today he’s one of my fav characters ever, because through him I learnt the most perfect character development, from a cruel, merciless and amoral villain, to... well, not a hero if you think so, but to redeemed human being.

“A 'why' is a dangerous thing... It challenges old, comfortable ways, forces people to think about that they do instead of just mindlessly doing it.” - Haplo in Dragon Wing, the first volume of the series.

2. Johan Liebheart - Monster

You don’t know what’s a villain until you meet this bastard. I am not an otaku or very enthusiastic of anime series, but Monster by Naoki Urasawa are probably the best manga/anime series ever written. And his villain, Johan Liberheart, one of the most twisted fucks ever written by an author.

Tortured, mentally ill, twisted, cruel, amoral, there’s no way to explain Johan. He experiences no character development and he has not a single redeeming quality, yet you just can’t let him go. An unforgettable character, not recommended for the weak and vulnerable.

There's nothing special about being born. Not a thing. Most of the universe is just death, nothing more. In this universe of ours, the birth of a new life on some corner of our planet is nothing but a tiny, insignificant flash. Death is a normal thing. So why live?

3. Geralt of Rivia - The Witcher (book/videogame series)

youtube

I’m so sorry I met this amazing character through The Witcher videogame series, because he existed already in the book series of the same name written by Andrzej Sapkowski, and I really feel like posting this video because it perfectly sums up the spirit of the character.

Geralt is a witcher, a mutant specialist in killing demons and monsters for coin. He’s shaped like an anti-hero and despised by his society because of his nature and his mercenary job, but despite having everything for being just a rogue scoundrel, he manages to become a very rich character. Full of redeeming qualities despite his grey morals, Geralt struggles in a cruel Middle-Ages world to keep something human for himself, when everyone surrounding him tries to turn him in the heartless freak he was trained to be.

“People," Geralt turned his head, "like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.” ― Andrzej Sapkowski, The Last Wish

4. Raistlin Majere - The Dragonlace (book series)

Again, I’ve to go back to a character created by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman (man, this people CAN write characters I tell you), this time for the Dragonlance series. These books are less original and brilliant than The Death Gate Cycle, but more popular and beloved because they are easier to read. And Raistlin Majere is probably the best character written for these series, being saved among them because of being, probably, the less cliché and the more complex of them all.

And again, anti-hero at times, redeemed hero at other times, tortured, twisted, cynic and cruel, but also able to show kindness and a human heart at times. Raistlin was born weak and sick and sacrificed everything (including his own health) for one sake: magic. And power. His only life desire is what will lead him to his own destruction.

"Of course this means a lot to me, Caramon. It means everything! I have worked and studied almost my entire life for this chance. What would you have me do - cast it aside because it is dangerous? Life is dangerous, Caramon. Just stepping out that door is dangerous! You cannot hide me from danger. Death floats in the air, creeps through the window, comes in with the hand-shake of a stranger. If we stop living because we fear death we have already died."

5. Tyrion Lannister (A Song of Ice and Ice/Game of Thrones series)

This little amazing piece of awesomeness needs no presentation. I am again sorry I met through the Game Of Thrones TV series and not A Song Of Ice And Fire books, but it was totally worth it because it’s one of the most well-written characters I’ve had the pleasure to meet, and I must say Peter Dinklage was born to play him.

What can I say? Tyrion is one of those characters who are worth living. A dwarf, deformed, ugly, with no physical or war skills, relying only in his extreme intelligence and wisdom and his political talent to survive, he’s one of the most strong inspirations one can find. Definitely go check him.

6. Kurtis Trent (Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness videogame)

I included Lara Croft in my female characters list, it would be absolutely unfair to forget Kurtis as he’s the other character that got my heart in TR series. Not gonna rant long about him here, because you already know my opinion. He was amazing. He deserved better. Ex-legionnaire, demon hunter and Lux Veritatis warrior, I’ve devoted all my fanfics to develop him as there was no chance for Core Design to do it so.

Fitting more in the role of a hero, I think he was also the perfect partner for Lara. His background is very well written and he had a lot of potential. The fact I will never see it doesn’t change anything. He deserves his place here.

"And I thought this would be one of my easy days." - Kurtis, The Sanitarium.

7. L Lawliet - Death Note (manga/anime series)

Again, I reinforce the statement that I’m not a fan of manga/anime series, but definitely Death Note is, together with Monster, one of those you should watch. And yes for everyone who loves Death Note, I’m a L fan. You always choose between L or Kira sides, and despite I’ve to recognize that Kira is a very complex, well written character, it’s L who gets my heart.

Supertalented, amoral, brilliant, extremely unpredictable and surprising, L is the first one of the agents that will try to catch Kira, the murderer who uses a Death Note to implant his particular justice world. L deserves your attention more than Kira, I presume. Or at least, it’s what I think.

“There are... many types of monsters in this world: Monsters who will not show themselves and who cause trouble; monsters who abduct children; monsters who devour dreams; monsters who suck blood, and... monsters who always tell lies. Lying monsters are a real nuisance. They are much more cunning than other monsters. They pose as humans even though they have no understanding of the human heart. They eat even though they've never experienced hunger. They study even though they have no interest in academics. They seek friendship even though they do not know how to love. If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by it. Because in truth, I am that monster.”

8. V - V for Vendetta (graphic novel/movie)

I know, easy to love him, right? Again I’m sad that I met this character through the movie and not the original graphic novel, though you can’t say a thing against Hugo Weaving’s magnificent delivery. I wish I could get my hands on the graphic novel, so I can know him better.

Anarchist, terrorist, idealist, V is the incarnation of the protest against dictatorship and opression in a dystopian England that has supressed all the rights and human freedom. If you don’tknow him, I strongly recommend at least the movie, for the inspiration this character delivers goes beyond that the mask that has trascended the movie itself to become a symbol of citizen fight.

9. Roger - American Dad (TV series)

Well technically he’s not a he, he’s rather an it, but whatever. Also he’s it’s a different trend in this post since I love him particularly because he’s funny and incarnates all the non-political correct you can expect from someone.

He also gives me, kinda, TR vibes. Roger is an alien who landed in Earth during Cold War and was rescued and sheltered at his home by Stan, a CIA agent who’s the main character of the series. Honestly I think Roger is the best of American Dad - a TV show which basically and mercilessly mocks every American value - because despite being an alien is absolutely, indecently human. I prefer him and this show much more than the overrated Family Guy.

10. Dwight Schrute - The Office (TV series)

Last but not the least, the efficient, clever and adorable bastard hillbilly from The Office. I loved him from the very first moment he appeared. Yeah I know many people hate him or prefer the goofy boss of the handsome Jim but Dwight is really my spirit animal and speaks to me in so many levels. No more comment needed. He’s the best of the show to me.

Well this took forever, right? Sorry for the length of this post but now I’m free I wanted to give it some thought. I see again that I’ve a soft spot for grey morals, redeeming qualities, bad boys and complex characters. This is how it goes! ;)

#lol i'm so sorry this took ages to go #i went too deep insight i'm afraid #also now i did this i regret not having done the same with the female characters #but it was too busy back then to do this #thanks for tagging me #top 10 favourite male characters #tag #challenge #not tr related #personal #positively amazonian

4 notes · View notes