#resisting the urge to do horror animal transformation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilikemesometaetaes · 3 years

Text

Set Me Free (M)

Min Yoongi Oneshot

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes

•••> Summary: You are just an ordinary woman with a strange aura about you that Yoongi can’t seem to resist- even past the compulsion of his mentor. The question is: why?

•••> Pairing(s): Yoongi/Reader

•••> Requested by @itsgottabeyoo-ngs : “Hi daddy, One shot request with vampire Yoongi x brat reader. Bonus points for adding in choking or spitting idk make it filthy k thanks love you byeeeee xoxoxoxox”

•••> Word Count: 10.95k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, murder, attempted murder, slight choking/strangulation, dirty talk, biting, blood drinking, spitting, violence, horror, vampire/human relationship, cursing, mental attachment, thirsty Yoongi, Yoongi thinks he’s scary, but he’s totally not

Thank you for the request, babe! This one is a bit to unpack, as you can see. I hope you enjoy :)

~#~

Yoongi never claimed to have his thirst under complete control.

He stands before his brothers once every week for the feed, snarling as he consumes his share of blood, while the others bear witness so as to provide him ceremonial protection- a vampire is very vulnerable while he consumes blood. The polydipsia made one lose all form of reason and sense of mind, driven to the brink of animalistic insanity when it was in the process of mildly quenching the eternal hunger.

Polydipsia, used to describe his level of thirst, was the word made just for him in his own little world.

It wasn’t normal thirst, like a human, but the savage-like impulse to drink and drown until he could swim in a river of blood and take deep lungfuls of the crimson fluid. The impossible desire to consume and be completely consumed by blood until he became it himself always loomed over his mind in his early days as a Deadblood- a vampire youngling- causing him to search for a word that could completely describe his affliction.

Then the Greeks begun transforming their language, perfecting the word that he could use to chronicle his need. He had mulled over the thought throughout the few centuries that the word came into existence, truly connecting with it on a level that was deprived of him when his soul was taken from his body.

But the word was not only used to describe normal thirst; it described the abnormal desire to drink as a symptom of disease- and a disease is what Min Yoongi had.

From the days he explored the lands of Goryeo as a young teenage boy, he knew that disease racked every inch of the world. Street beggars, riddled with sicknesses and incurable illnesses, asked him for coin, food, clothing, and any necessities that could potentially carry them through the night into another sunrise. But the one thing that they begged for the most was water.

Liquid life. Yoongi thinks back on the ironic turn of events and how, even as a privileged boy of nobles, he understood just how desperate a person got when they were deprived of the one, singular fluid that supported life as he knew it.

As Yoongi approached adulthood, he was promoted and bestowed larger honors in the name of the Min clan, allowing him to provide more for the beggars and lower-class individuals that he came across on the streets every day- not that his father would find out.

Until he did.

Yoongi recalls the moment he knew that his father figured out that his son was spoiling the family riches on the lower class. They weren’t sitting down for dinner and having a conversation nor taking a stroll along the river like the two of them normally would- it was quite surprising, really. Yoongi had to applaud his father for the creativity of the circumstance.

He knew that his father figured out his whereabouts when he found himself bleeding out in the middle of the woods with three arrows, adorned with the Min clan crest carved into the wood, sticking out of his chest. He was sent to look for his supposedly lost little sister under the direction that she was probably at a watering hole- which Yoongi had never heard about- about forty-five minutes from the edge of Goryeo’s walls.

Many people ventured outside of the city to fend for food and necessities, or to find civilization elsewhere, so it wasn’t surprising to him that his curious baby sister wanted to see for herself what life was like outside of the city’s limits.

As Yoongi lay dying on the soil of the earth, staring up at the greenery of the trees above while they lightly swayed in the breeze, he realized that everyone, regardless of social-class or physical health, was fighting the same, universal disease: death. No one could escape it and no one was safe. At least, that’s the epiphany he had in an effort to comfort himself while he felt his heart painfully struggle to beat with an arrowhead lodged into it. Copious amounts of blood spurt out with each pulse of his damaged organ.

And then the universe decided to set him free from death with a cure worse than the disease itself.

Yoongi doesn’t remember who his creator was. He doesn’t remember how long he spent on the forest floor with the arrows still in his chest. He doesn’t remember waking up.

His memory of his new life started from the moment his consciousness returned, in the exact second that he found a set of vocal cords clutched in the palm of his hand, dripping with crimson, after apparently ripping them out of a young boy who was actively collapsing in front of him. The boy, who Yoongi immediately recognized from the streets of Goryeo, was choking on his own gore as he clutched at his now nonexistent throat, staring up at his killer with a jumbled expression that silently begged for help yet withdrew from terror.

It took Yoongi five years of trekking everywhere and no where while attempting to control his thirst before he found new meaning. He mostly had a hold on the scorch in his throat by staying away from the city and surrounding villages before he met another and figured out what he became.

The woman- no, girl?- appeared young yet spoke as if she had seen countless winters, the wisdom of a million middays glowing behind her carmine eyes. She was the first person he had met who did not end up dead within the first two minutes of scenting them on the wind.

“You are a vampire. You survive purely on the life essence of others. You are still a young Deadblood. Judging by your age, you should become a Redblood soon.” She sat with her back to him, overlooking the valley below the then-unnamed Odaesan mountain that they sat perched upon. “Do you know who created you?”

“Created me?” He asked. “What do you mean? My parents?”

She turned, her vibrant red eyes continuing to shock him. Did his own orbs look like this?

“I mean, who turned you?” She seemed to look at him incredulously, shocked by his lack of knowledge. “Who gave you their venom- their shi?”

“I…” Yoongi tried very hard to remember anything before the burning sensation that scraped like rocks against the insides of his bones and flesh, but all he could see and feel was fire and agony- and then blood. He couldn’t help but think with a grain of salt, disbelieving of the method in which he was born into his new life. “I don’t know. I just remember from my first kill.”

“Strange.” The other vampire muttered, returning her gaze to the valley. “Strange, indeed.”

Yoongi was always the silent type, only interacting when he needed to as a habit formed to avoid the questioning glare of his father when he returned home late on certain occasions.

But he couldn’t help the burning desire of curiosity within him, a welcome distraction from the need to feed within him. He had so many questions.

“You may ask your questions, Min Yoongi.” The woman sighed, not even bothering to spare him a glance whilst she spoke. The man was shocked to find that she knew his name without him telling her.

“How do you know my name?” The new revelation took precedent in his mind, hoping that she was not an enemy of his clan.

“A valid question.” She mused. “Anticipated, but valid. I suppose I’ll answer your question to the best of my ability.”

Yoongi shifted his position in preparation, a new habit that he formed in his new life. He learned from the first time he moved to stretch that his body did not need to be stretched as it usually did. He never ached, never cramped, never tired, and never lost energy. Despite the lack of his emotions in their usual form, he knew that it should have been unsettling to find such a new change within him, so he did the sensible thing of pretending that he needed to.

He pretended he needed to breathe- after two hours at the bottom of a lake he stumbled upon in his aimless journey, he was amazed to find that he required no oxygen to continue existing- and that he didn’t need to sleep nor use the bathroom. He would practice taking breaths, trying to inhale and exhale evenly without becoming allured to the pungent yet undeniably attractive scent of animal blood so that he could finally smell the forest again. He pretended to go to sleep and wake up with the urge to relieve himself of the noneixstent pressure in his bladder despite not having any of the instincts he once had.

The woman spoke, answering his first question.

“I can hear your thoughts. They’re not necessarily specific, but I can hear when you are wistful- like you are now- or when you are curious or sad or angry. I can hear the causes of these emotions.” She paused. “It comes with the gift of my second life. A form of protection, if you will.”

“Why would I need protection when I am invincible? I’ve seen the things I can do and what my body can endure.” He briefly recalled repeatedly jumping from a cliff, automatically landing on his feet no matter how hard he tried not to. Before, he had a will to survive with a choice of dying, but now? There was no comprehensible choice. “There is nothing that can hurt me.”

Yoongi couldn’t help cocking his head to the side like a confused dog when the woman let out a breathless laugh.

“Because, young one,” She looked at him with her eyes again, a look of mock endearment filling them. “You are not invincible.”

For a moment, Yoongi did not believe her. He believed that the liquid running through his veins was pure ichor, an essence of the gods, but when he returned her look of sincere truth, he understood that dying was still very much possible.

Thanking the gods, Yoongi looked to the ground and began toying with his fingers at his revelation. He could stop murdering people, willing to die in order to do so.

The woman shook her head. “No, Min Yoongi. You do not have to die to stop killing humans. In fact, it is the reason I have not killed you yet. You are unaware of the possibilities.”

His head perked up at the comment, suddenly eager to learn.

“How? How can I live without killing?” All he could see was the young boy that he had murdered in cold blood; the boy’s warm brown eyes staring up at him as he watched the life drain from them burned into his memory- he didn’t even know the boy’s name. The boy could not have been older than his own sister.

“I never told you that you could continue to live without killing. Of course, you have to kill. But you do not have to kill people.” The woman nodded her head down the mount. “Do you smell that? Do you smell the life that lives throughout this mountain?”

Yoongi attempted to focus on his senses but could only feel the thirst once again tormenting his throat. As soon as the woman shifted his attention back to the aroma of life, he salivated. Of course, he smelled the animal’s scents, but he could also detect traces of human life upwind that completely took away his desire for anything but humans.

“Push the thirst aside to open your senses. Embrace them. Embrace your power and your abilities. Focus on those.”

Again, he tried to push the scorch in his throat to the side, only to find that it was an impossible feat seeing as he had not fed in several months. He wanted human blood so badly.

“Poor child. I did not realize how weak you were.” She let a grimace morph her features, the first true expression of genuine emotion that Yoongi had seen on her. “Come sit in front of me. I will help you.”

For a moment, Yoongi hesitated. Was she going to kill him? He was not sure, but after a few more thoughts to himself, he realized that he had nothing to lose. Following her direction obediently, he moved to sit with his legs crossed in front of the woman.

“Now, close your eyes and listen to my voice.” She raised her hands to his head, placing her fingertips on his temples, and began whispering while he let his eyes flutter closed.

He felt as if he was mentally hit by a charging bear.

The woman’s words echoed in his mind, seating themselves amongst every corner and crevice that they could touch before Yoongi could understand what was happening. Shocked by the feeling of being intruded upon, he tried to push back against the mind-numbing force of her words, uncomfortable and feeling violated by the sensation. Instead of stopping them, her voice just broke down his amateur attempt at a mental barrier and pushed its way further into his brain. He was helpless to her superior mental awareness and gift.

“You will not focus on the thirst. You will focus on your abilities. Focus on the blood of animals and the blood of those already dead.”

And Min Yoongi had no option but to obey for he was forced into a dieted life.

But as he stands, thousands of years later, in the middle of your kitchen whilst watching you silently with the inferno of the blazing sun in his esophagus, he couldn’t help the need that overcame him. He could not obey his mentor; miraculously and horrifyingly, the gift of his mentor did not work with you.

He was impelled by his mentor’s gift, effectively removing most of the bloodlust he had for humans. In his lifetime, after the unavoidable command was bestowed upon him, he had only killed a handful of humans when he was consumed by the thirst after living in self-induced exile for so long. But standing before you, he may have needed to add a finger to that handful depending on what you did next.

Yoongi first clocked you on his radar the moment you walked into the small coffee shop he was occupying for the later part of the morning.

Building a friendship with you was quite easy.

You were bright and warm and everything wonderful upon meeting him. Your smile was just shy of naive, yet he couldn’t help the alien tugs on his heart when watching you giggle.

“How old are you, Yoongi?” You asked while circling the straw in your caramel macchiato.

“Old enough.” He chuckled, looking down with what you perceived as shyness.

“Oh?” You laughed with him. “And how old is enough for you?”

“I could ask you the same question. How old do you think I am?” He met your eyes, once again shocking you with their beautifully vibrant shade of brown.

“Well…” You trailed off, studying his facial features closely- the hint of a permanent smile line, fresh haircut, and no wrinkles alluded that he couldn’t be over thirty. “I’m gonna say… twenty-five?”

The man across from you smiled. “Very close. I’m twenty-seven.”

So he wasn’t that much older than you. You could totally do him.

Yoongi noticed the flash of lust that ghosted through your pupils for a split second, recognizing the dilation of them as you glanced at him. He watched you stick your chest out a bit more, begin fiddling with your hair more often, and part your lips while you let the thoughts of sexual satisfaction run across your mind.

“Twenty-seven, huh? That’s not bad at all.” You smiled, letting your tongue lightly swipe along your bottom lip unconsciously.

Yoongi zeroed in on the action with a piercing gaze, watching as the muscle seemed to move in slow motion tauntingly, daring him to dig his fangs into it savagely before tearing it from your mouth to feel the blood pouring from your lips onto his face.

His body reacted sensibly, blood rushing like fake adrenaline to awaken his better instincts- rushing everywhere- and making his jeans become uncomfortably tight as they restrained his filling manhood.

Blood drinking was as exciting as it was satisfying for a vampire. An extremely personal and holy moment, consuming lifeblood was the most raw and sexual moment to experience. A vampire could not experience real sexual desire without it.

He dug his fingers into the faux leather of his side of the booth until they broke through the material to restrain himself from attempting to attack you in the middle of the day.

Quickly, gaining his sense of mind once again, he tore more holes into the leather to round out the punctures so that it could appear as if the holes were from wear and tear.

The scent of your blood transpierced by the hormones and adrenaline beginning to flow through your veins made it just that much more implausibly alluring. Yoongi admitted that you were a beautiful and kind woman from the conversation throughout the morning. He also knew that you had a deviant side due to the surprisingly quick appearance of your lust-filled gaze.

Yet he couldn’t help the urge to murder you on the spot.

He knew that he couldn’t touch you. The supernatural safety of the sun that shone on your body prevented him from laying a finger on your skin without his own lighting aflame. He learned the protection of sun rays on humans the hard way.

His fifth human victim, a monk who travelled the heights of Mount Odaesan- Yoongi’s sanctuary and home- for a religious trial, travelled early in the morning as the sun was rising. Yoongi smelt the sweat dripping from the man’s skin instantly. In the small cove he called home, he tried to resist the urge to kill the man for he hadn’t smelt human blood in several years.

His mentor’s words were ever present. ‘Focus on the blood of animals and the blood of those already dead.’

Despite having those words affecting his instincts, Yoongi had managed to convince himself that the monk was a dead man standing once he smelled remnants of a virus tainting his scent, effectively bypassing the impulsion of the woman’s mind control.

Yoongi found himself rushing at the man without a second thought, fangs bared and fingers curled in preparation to tear the man’s limbs from his body. However, before he could get within two feet of the vulnerable monk, he was thrown back by an invisible and boiling hot force that left him screaming in agony and flying through the air.

The monk quickly ran back down the mountain in terror, yet Yoongi could pay no mind as he lay on the forest floor, ready to die once again as his skin singed and fell from his flesh like swamp sludge.

As his throat tore itself raw from his wails of misery, his body writhed in and out on itself in complete and utter anguish. The smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed his nostrils, pungent and nauseating in every possible way. How he was able to focus on something other than the pain was beyond him.

Despite the burning, Yoongi could feel his aflame skin beginning to heal itself. Clawing through the dirt, he felt the blood stored in his stomach rushing through his veins to the broken and severed ones, rebuilding them and recreating the network of arteries necessary to begin restoring his expanse of skin.

Before long, the pain subsided and Yoongi was no longer screaming. The entire ordeal lasted approximately twenty minutes- long enough that Yoongi no longer heard the footsteps of the monk and long enough for him to process the events that had just happened.

He was thankful that he became a Redblood with the ability to use consumed blood throughout his body, unsure of what would have happened to him if he had been a Deadblood at the time. Deadbloods burned through consumed blood quicker than a spark from a flint could ignite kindling into a flame.

He definitely needed to ask the woman, Zizi, about it. And he definitely needed to track that monk until sundown so that he could get rid of any loose ends.

Yoongi grimaced slightly, remembering the occurrence like it was yesterday, as he sat across from you.

You were still looking down at your cup in blissful unawareness of his inner turmoil and life that he’s lived thus far. You definitely were not dense enough to not notice his gaze on your skin, but you were definitely ignorant of the fact that he was thinking about what would happen if he could just get you to move a few feet to the right to gain cover from the direct line of the sun. He just needed to get you into the shadows.

“Y/N,” He called your name. You instantly looked up in response. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” You teased him back with his own words. He let a small smile thin his lips before he looked down to hide it. When you followed his gaze and noticed that he didn’t have a drink, you jumped to the opportunity.

“Can I buy you a drink, Min Yoongi?” You asked him.

“Oh, I’m not particularly craving coffee at the moment.” He paused and held his breath, as if trying to find the words to say. “I just like to sit here sometimes and enjoy watching the street.”

“Well,” Ask him! Ask him out! Yes! Do it! Your head screamed at you to be confident. You knew he was the shy type; you would be waiting all day for him to make a move and you just didn’t have the time nor patience for that. “Let me get you a drink at my bar?”

The man looked mildly impressed for a moment. “You own a bar?”

“A small one.” You swiftly added. “It’s not a big popular one or anything but I didn’t want a place too big. I like the smaller things.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile. You were a kind and beautiful woman living a simple life. He dreaded the moment that he was going to have to kill you.

“I take it you’re pretty well off then?” He asks. “And please don’t take this as me digging around. I’m just curious.”

“Don’t worry about it. Yeah, actually.” You laughed and sat back in your chair, looking out the window onto the street as people and cars passed by. “I’ve always been pretty lucky for some reason. The gods always seem to be in my favor and give me what I want.”

Yoongi smirked for a moment. If she wants me, she can have me. Then, I’ll have her.

When Yoongi found himself in the prime position to attack you in your kitchen, several weeks later, he knew. He finally had you where he wanted you.

A handful of dates that he found quite pleasant were all it took.

You turned out to be just what he thought- a strangely attractive and alluring woman, the scent of your blood aside. You exhumed an odd magnetism about you that Yoongi had never felt from a human. He regretted the decision of waiting so long to kill you seeing as he was considering letting you live. But he knew that he couldn’t do that.

With your back turned to him, busying yourself with dinner, he could easily snap your neck so that you wouldn’t scream and struggle- and you would be dead almost instantly. A quick and nearly painless death was what you deserved. He didn’t want you to suffer at all.

However, just as he crouched in preparation to lunge at you, you spoke.

“Are you ready for dinner, babe?” You asked him.

He smiled devilishly, venom filling his mouth as he salivated. “Yes, I am. I’m starving.”

You chuckled. “Okay.”

“Go and sit down at the table.”

It was the most simple of commands. Telling Yoongi to sit down wasn’t an order. You weren’t demanding him to do it. You never demanded anything of him. It was a mere suggestion in your eyes.

Yet Yoongi felt his body moving to the dinner table without a second thought, unable to resist obeying your words.

What in the everliving fuck.

He sat quickly, impotent to move from his spot while he waited for you to bring the food from the counter. His thirst obliterated his throat, causing it to seize up and restrict any air that he could previously breathe, but he sat in wonder as you seemed to hold power over him that he had never felt before.

You turned with both of your dinner plates in hand and he quickly smothered the panic on his face, wondering what in the world had just happened.

“I’m not at all a chef, but you better eat everything.” Yoongi tested your words, seeing if the inclination to finish your food was present, only to find a slight mental nudge- as he expected. You didn’t tell him to do anything; you merely made an ‘or else’ statement.

No longer desperate to kill you for the time being, Yoongi sat still and waited for your next words. Once you sat the plate in front of him, you uttered a joke.

“Dig in.”

And dig in Yoongi did. He picked up his fork and scooped into the pasta you made without any willingness to deny you.

The pasta wasn’t fantastic in any sort of the word- It was plain, although it could be due to the fact that it wasn’t at all what he truly craved and needed. It was like eating a piece of stale bread while he was offered a perfectly cooked and outright juicy steak on a silver platter. The food that he ate wouldn’t be consumed by his body and used for nutrients; the shi in his stomach would burn it to nothingness within the next few hours.

Uncontrollably, Yoongi shoved mouthful after mouthful into his mouth- he couldn’t stop. Once he finished chewing one bite, his hand was immediately bringing him another, and then another. Despite lacking the need to breathe, Yoongi felt himself suffocating with each bite as the realization that he could do nothing except eat his food settled in his mind.

“I see you were hungry.” You laughed, unaware of his predicament. Yoongi’s eyes shot up to yours and silently hoped you would give him another command so that he could stop the foolishness.

You, however, just sat there feeling sort of proud of yourself- not only for making an edible meal, but for making one Yoongi seemed to enjoy. Even though it was slightly shocking to see him out of his usually cool character, acting like a man suffering from hunger, you couldn’t help but find it undeniably cute.

Eating slowly while watching him, you let your feelings for him come to the surface.

Yoongi was utterly beautiful. His black hair that fell over his face while he was cleaning up the last bits of his plate was just long enough to cover his eyes, yet as he looked at you without reservation, you felt he had a clear line of sight straight into your soul.

His skin was nearly flawless save for the light and narrow scar that cut into his right eye. Others found the scar intimidating and ugly, but you found it rather attractive. Yoongi, with his uncanny physical allure, was undeniably the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

Your body was alight with joy and content. In the few weeks that you got to know him, liking him was incredibly easy and having him in your home, in a domestic setting, lit your heart on fire with the possibility of falling in love with him.

He was incredibly easy to love, you discovered. Everything about him begged you to fall for him. As if the universe created him just for you, Min Yoongi was the epitome of perfection- in your eyes, anyway.

Briefly, you had shown a photo of him to your mother. She became unsettled instantly by his appearance.

“He’s so pale. And a little scary-looking.” She squinted at the photo you took of him when he wasn’t looking. You never brought him up again to your mother, disliking the fact that she didn’t like your potential boyfriend and found him scary.

The picture just happened to be your favorite- being because he didn’t like pictures and it was the only one you had of him.

He kindly asked you to not take photos of him. When you prompted him as to why during one of your more intimate moments at your bar, he only answered playfully as he held you close to him, lips begging for you to kiss them.

“Because I don’t want to leave evidence.” He whispered, breath tickling your nose. His body was warm and sturdy, muscles rippling under your touch as you clung to his shoulders.

“Evidence from what?” You asked breathily. The heat in your panties had increased tenfold over the last few minutes as his eyes grew hungrier with want. Yoongi’s fingers dug into your waist painfully, pulling you so close that you barely had room to expand your lungs to breathe, yet you couldn’t help the edgy feeling of how rough he could be with you.

“From when I eat you up.”

Thinking back on the memory, you shivered involuntarily, hoping that tonight might be the night you actually get to have him. He’d made you wait for a little over a month and you had no idea why. You definitely felt him straining through his pants a few times. But no kisses or anything further than the pressing of your bodies was accomplished.

Yoongi finished his plate and sat upright briskly, pulling you from your wishful thinking with a jump.

“Y/N,” He nearly growled, shocking you. “What else do you want me to do?”

The fork you were holding clattered to your plate instantly. Wow. He’s sizzling hot.

“I-“ You stuttered a bit. “I- uh.”

“Spit it out.” He hissed. You jumped again, trying to find the words to say with the heat growing in your panties.

Quickly, you answered him. “I want you to take me to my bedroom.”

“Thank god.” He groaned, getting up slowly with a smirk on his face. “Is that just a request? Because I can walk out now if you don’t actually want this.”

“Take me to my bedroom, Yoongi.” You stood slowly, carefully, as if you were afraid to trigger him.

Yoongi pushed in his chair and moved towards you at a speed that was almost inhuman. You yelped in astonishment as Yoongi attempted to control himself- he couldn’t bring you to your bedroom at his natural speed or else he would have a very motion-sick human to worry about. Instead, he trembled with the effort to resist your command at full force, knowing that the only way it was possible was due to the fact that he was still, in fact, taking you to your bedroom.

Picking you up was easier than breathing. You weighed absolutely nothing in his arms because of his advanced strength, so when he felt you trying to assist him in carrying you by holding your body stiffly, he huffed out a laugh whilst he walked.

“Relax, woman. You are as light as a feather.”

You blushed under his words, leaning into his chest to hide your cheeks.

“Stop that.” He growled, entering your bedroom. You looked up at him and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the blood that rushed to your cheeks. “I can’t resist if you do that.”

“Then don’t.” You whispered. Your heart pounded in your chest, begging him to hear it. “Don’t resist.”

His fangs came forth immediately, for he could not resist your command while he flew to your bed to throw you down. Despite your unknowing of what you were telling him to do, he fostered no opposition to what he was about to do.

The roughness of his throw startled you for a moment as you looked up at his vastly approaching figure, only to grow terrified when you caught sight of his face.

The veins protruding out of his temples and cheeks pumped blood straight into the whites of his eyes, turning them completely bloodshot, as they framed the now-crimson irises. Long incisors protruded from his mouth as he opened it with a hiss, revealing the way his human teeth shifted apart to allow his inhuman ones to break through the gums. Instantly, you parted your lips to scream.

Yoongi was upon you instantly, hand covering your mouth and silencing your cry while he snarled menacingly, yet he couldn’t help but feel remorse for killing you.

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered through his animalistic demeanor. “I can’t stop.”

You were screaming below his hand and, instantaneously, he had an idea.

He was leaning forward slowly, able to slow himself in the process of not resisting you. “Y/N,” He strained, changing the frequency of his talent, and waited for you to silence yourself in order to listen to him. He took his hand off of your mouth slowly after he heard your heart calm itself past your weeping. “Tell me to stop.”

“Stop!” You sobbed whilst clawing at his chest and kicking at his legs. “Don’t kill me!”

Not a second passed before Yoongi flew off of you, throwing his back to your wall with a loud thud while he cursed lowly.

You scrambled to the headboard of your bed, pressing your back against it in an attempt to gain some distance between the two of you. Your eyes were wide, chest heaving with your breath short, as you looked at the man in front of you.

“I-“ Yoongi stuttered for the first time in decades. “I’m sorry.”

“Your eyes!” Your burst out. You were unable to contain your fear and shock, so you displaced it into your curiosity. “Y-your- Your face! Your teeth!”

Yoongi stood against the wall, breathing just as hard as you, with his eyes cast to the floor in the process of trying to control his facial features. He could no longer kill you. The thought revolted him- every time he considered drinking your blood, the idea was banished from his mind with a sense of nausea following. Good god. She is unaware of her ability yet I am completely at her mercy.

“I apologize. I couldn’t help myself.” He breathed. What Yoongi forgot to take into account was the fact that he began implementing the gift of his second life on you the moment he stepped foot through your threshold, so your mind was completely scrambled by this point.

It was nighttime now; he could not leave your house no matter how hard he tried. He knew of the fallacy that vampires needed to be invited in and he found himself giggling from time to time at how close humans got to the actual lore of his kind.

He could enter your house, uninvited, during the day. He could lurk every corner of your abode without a bother, yet when night fell and the sun finally set, he would be stuck inside until morning. He knew he would be staying the night in your house the moment he agreed to have dinner with you. If he attempted to enter through your door during the night, however, he would have no luck- the night’s protection would convince his brain to walk away from your home without any further reconsideration until he was a good distance from it.

He was in the first position now.

He wished that he could leave you and disappear from your life without a trace so that you could live a peaceful and happy life without him, but he was afraid that it was impossible now with sundown a mere two hours prior. Your powers were no match for the natural protection of the earth. The both of you had a long night ahead of yourselves.

So he used his ability. Yoongi gave you control- rational thought, rather. His gift allowed him to grant organization of the mind and precise focus to others, but he could also take it away.

Upon entering your home, he began the process of slowly but surely ebbing away your barriers and logical thought- he couldn’t do it too fast or else you would panic like you were now. With a presently impossible-to-kill human whose heart was beating out of her chest and a command to not kill you forcing him into submission, he was obligated to prevent you from having a heart attack that was caused by him.

With laser-like focus, he channeled his gift straight into your open mind. Yoongi rebuilt the walls he had previously broken down over the past few hours, restocked your jumbled thoughts into their proper spaces, and flowed his energy through each corridor of judicious conception so that you could continue to develop your focus into that of supernatural proportion. He hoped that you, with a new mind, would tell him to get away from you and to kill himself. Dying by the hands of such a robust ability wouldn’t be too bad of a way to go.

You, however, never had such a decisive mind. Your mind was never clearer and you had never felt such clarity in your thoughts before. It allowed you to feel the magnetism that he radiated.

You knew he was a vampire. You don’t remember how you knew or how you recognized it, but you knew that he was not the first of his kind you had come across. Maybe it was the obvious fangs that gave it away.

“Yoongi,” You whispered. “You’re a vampire.”

His eyes, now back to their normal gorgeously coffee-bean shade, flicked up to yours in surprise.

“You know what I am?” He spluttered, flabbergasted. “You don’t think I’m a demon? Or the devil?”

“I’m not stupid. I know a vampire when I see one.” Your tone did not waver nor shake despite being a potential victim to a vampire. Was it the adrenaline?

“Then you know that I am a danger to you.” He said lowly, shock still evident on his face, while he began gravitating towards your bedroom door to leave.

“No. Stay.” You found yourself pining for his presence while he froze up in his spot. You eyed the action analytically. “If you were a danger to me, I wouldn’t be alive right now. You had plenty opportunity to kill me.”

“That’s the thing,” His hands pressed to the wall and scratched into it with the effort to move further from you. “I don’t have much of a choice anymore.”

“And why is that?” You relaxed your body and slowly slid your way across the bed towards him.

“Because I can’t.” Yoongi actually gasped for air as you stood from your bed to slowly approach him. “Y/N. Don’t come near me.”

“Why don’t you have a choice?” You ignored his warning, fully aware of the risk you were taking yet uncaring of the consequences. You were too focused on the fact that you actually wanted him.

Yoongi could not move from his spot, a side effect of your command to stay, but he refused to meet your eyes. The irresistible scent of your blood clashing with the order to not kill you fucked with his mind in ways he never experienced, creating an excruciatingly splitting headache between his temples. He wanted to drink from you so bad yet he could not move a single muscle.

“You can tell me to do anything. You can tell me to stay away from you. You can tell me to leave you alone. Hell, you can tell me to kill myself and I’d do it.” He ground out, attempting to press his back further into the wall as he felt your body heat against his skin. You came too close. He could smell your hormones lacing through your blood, triggering a wash of his shi over his dry tongue and a yearning to tear you apart overriding his senses.

He wanted to sink his fangs into your flesh so badly that he was beginning to scare himself. Allowing his venom to seep into your system would undoubtedly send you into ecstasy; you would only feel a pinch of pain as his saliva instantly burned through your nerves and set them alight. He could kill you while you were in pleasure; you wouldn’t feel anything but bliss as he drained the life from you.

“And why do you, a powerful creature such as yourself, allow me to have this power over you?” You asked. Was he in love with you? You definitely could love the man with how much you felt drawn to him but, for crying out loud, it had only been a few weeks.

“I don’t allow it. You are a gifted human. You possess this power over me.” Although Yoongi enjoyed having a calm conversation with you, he couldn’t help but feel bad that he used his gift on you. It was almost an unfair playing card- a “get-out-of-jail” card.

Because you should be running, terrified and screaming, even with his ability active in your mind. Maybe he had used it too much? Yoongi recalled the one time he went overboard with his gift, driving a man to suicide as he focused too much on the meaning of life and the regretful things he had done. Immediately concerned, Yoongi reached out a mental tether- a rare talent amongst his kind- to gauge your stability.

What he found, instead, was a dark and curling line attaching to his, pulling it in as quickly as Yoongi offered it. Before he could reel back away from it, it was fully intertwined and pulling his line to attach to you, only to rear back and completely obliterate his senses when it entered his head.

No. No no no. It’s impossible.

Yoongi was moving forward and caging you against the bed at full speed before he could stop himself, nestling his body between your eagerly opening legs as a hiss escaped his lips. Immediately, he realized that he broke through your command unwavered. The thirst came back at full force when you moaned from the friction on your heat.

“You’re-“ He tested the sensation of true, sexual arousal with a slow grind of himself into you, gasping with a jerk of his dick when his action squeezed his member between his body and yours. “You’re my-“

You moaned again, sitting up slightly to try and capture his lips with your own, unable to control the desire that surmounted in your heart. When he resumed his look of shock, backing away from your advance so that he could look at where your bodies touched, you spoke through the heady emotion. “I’m your what?”

“It can’t be.” He whispered. After a single beat, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours with a crushing pressure that split your lip instantly.

The pain seared across your bottom lip and distracted you for a moment, emitting a groan deep in your throat that he matched when the taste of your blood exploded onto his tastebuds. Instead of swallowing it like he wanted to, he brought a hand to your chin and opened your lips to spit your blood, along with his venom, back into your mouth so that it would take your pain away.

For a moment, you held the mix of liquids on your tongue, unsure of what to do as no one had ever spit in your mouth before. You looked up to him with confusion extremely evident in your arched brows.

“Swallow it.” He growled.

The taste of iron and an almost sugary sweet tang of saliva was too strong for you to keep sitting on your tongue, so you did as he told you to before he kissed you again to repeat the same action. Slowly, you got into the rhythm of swallowing what he gave you.

Before long, he simply gave you his tongue, allowing you to suck the saliva from his mouth greedily. You didn’t understand why, but the taste was addicting and adding to the pulsing feeling that radiated between your legs. Were you getting lightheaded? No. This sensation was much more blissful and exciting.

He pulled away after sucking on your wounded lip once more, spitting the mixture into your awaiting mouth for a final time before sitting up to look down at your body.

His venom was already taking effect. He could smell it on your skin as it flowed through your veins and filled your system just like a virus would. It would be simple to turn you at this point. You would be his for eternity, bonded to him in ways only the Fated One of a vampire would. Yoongi shook the thought from his head as he wasn’t even sure that you were, indeed, his.

“What am I to you?” You asked genuinely, swollen lip slightly obstructing your speech.

“Don’t worry about that right now, Y/N. Right now, I am going to fuck you, okay?” He met your gaze with his dark eyes filled with confidence, knowing that you would be unable to deny him if his belief was true.

“Yes. Yes, please Yoongi.” You breathed, begging him almost drunkenly. “Please. I’m yours.”

His mind was nudged forward by a different force this time, warranting unknown instincts to play into action.

He felt his center of gravity shift. His skin grew tight and uncomfortable around his body from the emotion that wished to burst through the surface. He breathed with you. Perfectly aligned were your rhythms; his heart soared alongside your own galloping one, desperate to match you in every aspect. The sensations in his body were difficult to ignore as he felt the ancient and sacred pull of a bond lacing itself through his limbs.

Instead of pondering over the reality of it any further, he slid his hand from your chin to your shirt and pinched the fabric between his fingers. You nodded in reassurance.

Your clothes tore form your body like paper. Wrapping his fingers around your arm to keep your body in place, Yoongi ripped your thin blouse from you easily. Your breasts, made plump by the bra you wore, caught his attention the moment they were revealed. Perfect.

Instead of looking like a moron seeing exquisite breasts for the first time, he moved his hand to your dress pants so that he could rid your body of them. In under ten seconds, Yoongi had you almost bare below him. Perfect.

Not even realizing it until you brought your thumb to his lips to swipe his shi from the corner of his mouth, Yoongi shook his head at the fact that the sight of you wriggling and bare-skinned beneath him made him literally drool, but his instincts went haywire when he watched you place your thumb in your mouth to suck his venom off yourself with a low moan of appreciation at the taste.

Yoongi’s hands couldn’t move faster as he tore the clothes from his body, stripping himself bare to reveal himself to you. He wanted to give you everything. To open his mind and spread everything out for you to see- he hoped you could handle it.

You, on the other hand, were laying below him with the desperate need to have him inside you.

You wanted him everywhere. You wanted him to sink himself into you- it seemed to be the only fathomable option. You wanted him to hold you and kiss you and surround you with everything him.

As you stared up at him with a needy look in your eyes, you couldn’t help but want him in every facet possible.

You saw yourself making love to him, holding him, kissing him- loving him. The new sensation brought on you by the psychic connection- that was all you could call it when you felt the mental attachment- brung passionate emotions through your body in an onslaught that you could barely handle. It was too much to deal with without him inside you to be with you through it yet you didn’t know if you could handle what would follow.

Yoongi could smell you through your panties; a delicious scent of the most raw tease he had ever allowed himself to indulge in. Unable to help himself, he moved down your body quickly, throwing your legs open- rather roughly- to give himself room to press his nose straight into your heat. Your aroma filled his nose as he expanded his lungs, triggering his natural instincts to push out his fangs and load his vision with blood to enhance it despite his eyes being closed. Fuck, he wanted to consume you.

You keened at the contact, closing your thighs around his head to trap him there. You felt his groan vibrate on you, driving you closer to the brink of insanity.

Without any further time wasted, he grabbed onto your panties and ripped them from you to expose your pulsating pussy to his mouth without moving his nose away from your intoxicating scent. Not a beat passed before he dug his tongue into you to scoop up your DNA-laced juices. Fuck.

Yoongi lost himself in you immediately. You whined out a small cry, unable to keep yourself from grabbing onto his hair and yanking when all you felt were his lips and tongue laving over your opening relentlessly. There was no skill nor technique in his movements; he was simply devouring you without a mind to pay attention to your bundle, yet you couldn’t stop the sensitivity from boggling your mind and driving you to an instant orgasm.

His hands squeezed your thighs around his head and, for a brief moment, he opened his eyes to look at you. The color of his eyes staring back at you was unexpected- a solid, snow white color filled his orbs and contrasted starkly with the red hue of his engorged veins and bloodshot scleras.

“Yoongi,” You whimpered from another swipe of his tongue and suck from his lips. “Y-Your eyes.”

He pulled away from you instantly at the comment, eyes widening and wet mouth hanging agape, while you let out a groan of relief- or sadness- at the lack of attention to your incredibly sensitive core.

“What color are they?” He asked.

“White.” You struggled to speak, voice cracking under the post-orgasm glow.

He took a moment to look down at your heaving body and messy pussy, jerking forward slightly at the sight of your delicious juice smeared all over your thighs. Once he had a handle on his thirst again, Yoongi met your eyes as the white faded from his irises. “Then you are her.”

“I’m who?” You reached for him, needing to hold him anywhere you could get your hands on. Yoongi caught this action immediately, the same desire to grasp you evident in his hand rushing to meet yours. It was natural to intertwine your fingers while he leaned over you to press his lips to yours in a short, uncharacteristically loving kiss.

“You are my Fated One- my mate. You hold my soul in the palm of your hand, as I do yours.” He murmured, feathering his lips over yours as he spoke.

Under normal circumstances, you don’t think you’d be able to comprehend his words with your current position with him. You were exposed to him and he was exposed to you, making you feel vulnerable and turned on beyond belief. Yoongi was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra while you took in what he had said. His thumb was brushing over your bare nipple before your bra even hit the floor.

“So-” You had to clear your throat again. “So you’re mine? Like, completely?”

He chuckled warmly at your question and you couldn’t stop yourself from reciprocating the smile.

“Yes, Y/N, I am yours.” He brought his hand down to grip your thigh and move it to the side. “I belong to you.”

Yoongi placed his dick against your folds and you watched him so do. You felt his tip capture onto your clit several times as he lathered it with your arousal languidly, preparing himself so that he could slide into you easier. “However,”

“However?” You looked up at him with a questioning look accentuated by your eyebrows.

“You are also mine.” Yoongi stopped his movement so that the head of his cock finally caught onto your opening, kickstarting your heart into a pace that you were afraid would kill you. “Do you understand that?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

Torturously, he began to push inside you. You widened your legs to accompany his approaching hips. As you warbled out a cry when he decided to drop his control and fill you completely in the next second, Yoongi began speaking again.

“Do you understand that everything about you,” He reared back and pushed inside you again, forcing your legs open to take him while he did so. “-is mine?”

You couldn’t respond. Your emotions were running rampant with your mind overflowing from too much stimuli while he fucked you. He spoke again without your reply and you could only pull him closer to you and take the feeling of his cock caressing your insides.

“Your lips,” Thrust. “your eyes,” Thrust. “your hair, your hands, your skin;” He punctuated each part of your body with a ram of his dick into you. “Everything, Y/N.”

Yoongi took a moment to look down at your joining bodies, smirking softly at the sight of how easily he slid inside. “-Especially this greedy little cunt of yours.”

You watched his smirk drop while he bit his lip and ground himself into you, lips parting again with a low moan whilst keeping his gaze transfixed on the sinful sight. You watched him in awe as his cock plunged so deep that it felt like it was in your throat.

He snapped his eyes to yours quickly, repeating his prior question. “Do you understand?”

Expecting to be interrupted by a thrust, you sucked your bottom lip in your mouth and braced yourself, only to be grabbed by the neck while he leaned down to bring you face-to-face. You could no longer breathe as he pulled his lips back to reveal his fangs. “I asked you if you understood, Y/N.”

With your airway restricted, you could only nod with your lip still stuck between your teeth. Did you taste blood? Promptly, you remembered that Yoongi busted your lip, yet you were confused as to why you hadn’t felt the pain of it since he first kissed you.

“And are you okay with that?” Yoongi began to nose his way down your neck once he turned your head to the side and slowed the rhythm of his hips. Right before you could answer, he released your neck to look at your face, allowing a large rush of air to enter your lungs just as you were attempting to give him an answer.

“Yes!” You released your lip to scream out at the welcome sensation of oxygen and the feel of his dick pushing it right back out of you. “I’m yours! Everything is yours!”

“Good, my love. Good.” He whispered, smiling down at you. His smile was wiped clean off his face in a heartbeat, his thrusts into you completely ceased, as he zeroed in on your lips. You licked them subconsciously, immediately tasting blood and internally cringing at the flavor of iron coating your tongue.

Yoongi attached his lips around your bottom one quickly and you felt him suck it into his mouth. Your walls squeezed tightly around his at the sensation of his tongue swiping over the spli in your engorged lip again and again. You knew that your lip would be swollen yet you couldn’t find yourself to care because it, surprisingly, didn’t hurt at all. The small bits of Yoongi’s saliva that slipped into your mouth were enough to keep you on edge, tasting like raw sugar at that point.

He began moving inside you again, starting a slow and steady pace. You whimpered into his mouth as he began taking his fill of your blood and you mirrored his thirst with the need to taste his mouth again. Your lips pressed closer to his in order to, hopefully, get a bit more of his spit.

You felt your orgasm building laggardly. It was creeping in at a speed that you were able to prepare yourself for your ascent towards ecstasy. You tightened your legs around his waist and dug your heels into the globes of his ass, pulling him in.

It wasn’t until you were bordering on your climax that Yoongi pulled away from your lip with your pop and sat up to focus on fucking you, his peace of mind obviously waning.

You saw it in his face; you saw the way he couldn’t control his veins from darkening his face; you saw the way his eyes burned white and the way he was attempting to hold himself back from attacking you.

So you did him a favor.

“Yoongi.” You mumbled past your swollen lip. “Bite me.”

Min Yoongi had no option but to obey your command.

He surged forward, pressing himself against your clit deliciously and bottoming out as he lunged for your neck with his fangs fully protruded and a warbled hiss scratching its way out of his throat. With barely enough time to prepare, you bared your neck to him once more and clutched onto his arms for dear life, hoping it wouldn’t hurt too bad.

What you weren’t expecting was for it to feel unreservedly good.

The sensation took you by surprise, warranting a loud moan to escape from your lips before you could stop it. Why did his fangs feel so good in your flesh? It should definitely be hurting. But all you could do was moan and whine like a madwoman as you felt his lips close over the puncture wounds and begin to drink your blood straight from your flesh. His tongue continuously swiped over the teeth marks in your neck, keeping them clear from your body’s natural ability to scar itself and begin blocking the escaping blood. Every lick he delivered sent a pulse straight to your clit and an automatic instinct to tighten yourself around him.

Your pussy quivered around him uncontrollably. You were so close to cumming that you could practically taste the release on your tongue. In the few moments that Yoongi took his sips from your body, his slow propulsions forward into you had become more rough and insistent- as if he was trying to split you in two. Even as you felt your life essence leave your body, you were being filled time and time again by his cock at a deep and passionate rhythm.

At the first sign of getting lightheaded from blood loss, you came- hard.

Your juices squirted around him every time he reared himself back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you craned your neck back into your very-bloody pillow. With no where to go, unable to still him with his supernatural strength, you were only able scream out his name.

His speed increased through your orgasm and your sweet exclamations of pure bliss drove Yoongi into a lunatic, freeing himself of control and using his uncanny speed to fuck into you. Your extremely drenched pussy, still convulsing around him was battered and raw, yet he could not find it in himself to care as he desperately surged into you over and over again so that he could fill you with the cum of several centuries. Picturing the image of your cunt spewing his release from it had him closing his jaws and pulling on your wounds harder to get more blood from you.

He knew that he couldn’t drain you. Hearing the pulse of your heart weaken slightly was enough to make him detach his teeth and lick over your wound so that his shi could assist it in healing- it would be completely sealed and unblemished in the next few hours. Instead of worrying too much about your neck, he reared back to look down at you again while he grabbed onto your hips with fervor.

You saw the drops of blood running down from Yoongi’s mouth and chin drip onto your breasts and stomach, creating an erotic and utterly unwholesome image of carnage and horror on your body, but you were unable to help yourself in feeling unsettlingly drawn to the wicked image. With a new flash of desire exploding through your body and reawakening your lust, you reached up and grabbed his neck, pulling him back down to trap him in your embrace.

The oversensitivity of your last orgasm was enough to send you hurtling to the edge of another orgasm- You just needed his fangs in you one more time. Silently begging for it, you kept your grip on his nape and softly nudged him back in the direction of your neck.

Yoongi was close. You could tell. But even past his stupor, he spoke.

“Y/N. I can’t. I took too much.” He almost whined with need, struggling to form words past his fangs.

“Just-“ Your body jolted wildly as he desperately tried to cum. “Just do it!”

Yoongi was able to deny your command, which he figured was due to not being a specific one, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave it unanswered as his body built in preparation to release.

“I fucking can’t!” He was close to roaring at this point, gums aching to meet your flesh as he pressed his fangs into you and filled you with his essence. He wanted to so badly.

“Drink from me, dammit!” Your eyes were welling with tears of frustration, needing that small push from him to make you orgasm again- his dick hammering your cervix was too much to handle without that small bit of pain to ground you. And without hesitation nor the choice to deny you, he did.

Your orgasms were perfectly in sync as he placed his fangs back into your wounds, delicious blood spilling across his tongue once again. Liquid life. It was the perfect few words for how you tasted.

Your pussy ached with the force of how tight you squeezed around him and Yoongi groaned lowly against your neck as he pressed himself so tightly to you that you knew his hands would be leaving bruises on your hips and ass.

“Yoongi.” You sobbed as his cum filled you, pulsing spurt after warm spurt of the hot liquid onto your abused cervix. The thought of him taking your blood while he gave you his cum was too sinful for you to bear, an outburst of emotion causing you to chant his name over and over again. Never before in your life had you felt so complete and free.

You could feel your blood levels draining as you slowly came down from your climax, knowing that you would not be awake for much longer if he kept drinking.

“That’s enough.” You whispered tiredly, head becoming truly lightheaded. Yoongi, unable to rescind his teeth from your neck, kept drinking from you as the thirst and aggression of the first mating actuated his movements. “Yoongi.”

He tried to pull away- he really did- but the feeling of your blood coating his tastebuds was like finding a quarry in the middle of the Sahara Desert. He lacked the true thirst for humans for thousands of years- and now he was suffering the polydipsia for blood all over again.

“Yoongi, stop.” You commanded, testing your supposed ‘power.’

Yoongi ceased to drink from you yet his fangs were still embedded in your skin, vibrating with pleasure and need. As he stopped, he couldn’t help but whine and then growl savagely with want. The vibration of of his throaty sound in your flesh did things to your body. Unable to resist the temptation, your body clenched involuntarily around his softening cock.

Yoongi groaned again, retracting his fangs and face from your neck, and sat up once more to look at your body. With a slow hand, he stuck out his index and middle finger to smear the droplets of blood on your stomach in small circles aimlessly, picturing you as a canvas made just for him to ruin. “You’re quite the minx, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” You giggled deliriously, needing sleep as soon as possible.

“I mean,” Yoongi reached down to smear a droplet of blood across your hip before digging his thumb and fingers into the bone and the flesh of your ass harshly. “Your cunt is playing games with me right now.”

“How so?” You tilted your head to the side in mock confusion.

The vampire pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed almost disdainfully. You gasped as you felt his dick jerk within you, filling to stiffness once more and awakening a new cloud of lust despite the exhaustion you felt. “Well, if you want to play clueless, you can play clueless. We have eternity to teach you how to not play games with me, my mate.”

For eternity? You kind of liked the sound of that.

~#~

If you’d like to read more of my work, feel free to check out my Series Masterlist! If you’d like to read my first fic, check out the DHYB Masterlist!

985 notes · View notes

babyybitchhh · 4 years

Note

Oh! You are taking requests! That’s awesome! ✨💫 I’d like to request a scenery where the reader lost her sister to Douma (she lacks proof... it’s an strong gut feeling?... she’s right tho) so, she get on his “good side” working in his cult to get a chance to avenge her sibling... her acting convincing and the “betrayal” amuses him to no end, so he decides to play with her before... eating/transforming her? Your choice! I’m a sucker for horror so it could be as dark as your heart allow it! 💜💃

Sorry this took so long cxnvldsnvoen and even though I tweaked the storyline just a wittle bit, I hope you like it! <3

Words: 2639

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Warnings: Cunnilingus, involuntary urination, cannibalism (sort of, you know the drill with Douma), body horror? Sexual gore? Yandere?? I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure how to tag this one.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362824/chapters/66015442#workskin

♥♥♥♥

You were easily the most insincere person he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.

The lie itself was written all across your face in bold, slashing brushstrokes for the whole world to see if only they’d look close enough but so few ever did. He alone was privy to your deceit. Only he saw that dishonest smile for what it was, always so placid and warm even though it just barely concealed the hissing viper within. The unwavering mask of false loyalty you greet him with and the rage waging war behind your eyes every time you look into his face. Everything was right there, completely out in the open as if you couldn’t be bothered with trying to hide it, and Douma loved that aspect of you perhaps most of all.

Just as any good figurehead should, he’d nurtured the darkness within you until it sprouted roots and festered, growing ever larger as your hate for him also grew. Welcomed you and your heavy burden with open arms. Encouraged it even. You were simply too fun to play with and he was ever so curious to see how far into depravity you would ultimately spiral because of him. In some ways it was sad. Pathetic even that you would devote what was left of your miserable life to being a duplicitous little bitch when there were so many alternatives that were far, far more pleasant. But it was also undeniably thrilling at the same time, almost intoxicatingly so.

To think that he had angered you to the point of not only chasing after him like a pitiable stray but to also go so far as joining his congregation just to get close … this was a uniquely exquisite indulgence he wouldn’t soon rush to squander. Particularly not when keeping you around afforded him so many plushy benefits.

“You’re trembling.” A dangerously sharp nail traces its path down the length of your twitching stomach. He pauses at your belly button, toys with the notion of jamming his finger right through it and into your guts, but ultimately decides to save it for another day. Humming faintly, Douma resumes his tauntingly slow descent south. “Are you cold?”

You refuse to look at him and instead push the side of your face deeper into the pillow. It was always like this no matter how often he opened up his chamber doors in welcome. You simply refused to stop playing your part even when he had you spread out like some shameless whore on his bed of silk and that would never cease to amuse him for as long as he allowed you to live. You’d have been quite the accomplished actress if only you hadn’t been going up against the head performer himself. That you were out of your league was, to him at least, painfully obvious but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that just yet.

No, not yet. There was still more of you to savor.

Bending close, Douma presses a lingering kiss to the center of your stomach. He can taste you on his tongue, blooming notes of stale meat poisoned with bitter fury, and it elicits a quiet groan out of him. You were the finest decadence he’d had in his bed in a very long while.

“Poor thing, that just won’t do. Let me warm you up.”

You squirm against the sheets as he pecks his way lower, issuing expertly timed sighs at the appropriate intervals. He appreciates just how committed you are to the act. Wonders if you found some pathetic young sod to practice with before presenting yourself to him or if you were simply a brazen slut by nature. It’s hard to say which prospect delighted him more, though Douma hardly cares to know the answer, particularly when he presses two fingers to your outer labia and carefully spreads them open.

So soft and fleshy, the petal-like folds make his mouth water. He could imagine no greater joy than nibbling on those puffy little lips and taking nipping bites at the swollen pearl bud that peaks up at him even now until you were bordering on hysterics, fighting him tooth and nail to get away. Only then, only when you were a frenzied animal trying to escape his taloned clutches, would Douma allow himself to sink his teeth in at long last. He was certain your sweet cunt would give way under his jaw without much resistance, if any at all. It would be just like biting into a peach.

But you weren’t quite ripe enough yet. You were almost there -- so, so very close he could just about feel the meat of your womanhood being rendered and chewed between his molars -- but still not there. He would satiate his abominable hunger only when you were blackened, mind, body and soul with your hate.

Eagerly licking his lips, Douma leans down and swipes the tip of his tongue across your clit. The way the meaty nub clings to his taste buds, dragging against the salivating muscle until it pops back into place with a plump jiggle, delights him to no end. It was so swollen that even it’s protective hood did very little in the way of concealing your arousal. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think you’d had to go months on end without release. Evidently, though, your cunt just enjoyed being on the receiving end of his attention that much even when your brain was most assuredly in total disagreement with that sentiment.

He moans, very faintly, at the thought of your brain. The day of feast couldn’t come quick enough.

“Oh, sweet dove …” Douma coos, nuzzling into your clenching pussy as if he were a cat marking its territory. “Are you really so neglected? I’m not sure how you’ll ever forgive me for making you suffer like this.”

You choke down an unintelligible sound that’s half sob, half moan and bring your hand up to coquettishly hide your mouth from his line of sight. “Douma-sama … please …”

He can hear it in your voice. The lie. The obvious, blatant, belligerent lie and it goes straight to his cock.

Undeniably, you sold the performance with every aspect of your body language right down to the way you shyly spread your legs further apart for him but the lie was still there. It was simply too big to hide. Not the small, pardonable white lie a god could be swayed to forgive with the right offering but a massive, all encompassing falsehood that had long since swallowed up your ego like a gluttonous black hole. You weren’t a person any longer but a container merely housing the selfish urge for vengeance.

You were so damn close.

Nails digging into the plush swell of your thigh, Douma lays himself out flat between your legs and presses his mouth to your slit. For as brief as the gesture is, he still comes away with glistening wet lips and he greedily licks up the evidence just as a carnivore might lick its bloodied chops. Delicious.

“Don’t fret, my dear. I know exactly what you need.” A pause. Another playful kiss to your gushing cunt. The savory smacking of his lips is quickly followed by a dreamy, almost wistful sigh that makes you shudder, though it's impossible to say if that reaction was one of pleasure or abject disgust. Not that it really mattered either way to him. “Just relax. Let me take care of you and then you’ll be free to scurry off back to bed like a good little girl.”

You visibly tense under him and, smothering the cruel laughter that tries to claw its way up his throat, Douma glances at your face.

Still partially obscured by your clenched fist, you continue to hide from him as if you were an untouched maiden being ravaged against your will even though you’d spent countless nights with him in his room like this. Always, always playing your role. The tension in your neck, however, told a different story. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you were biting your tongue and he derived a great deal of joy in the knowledge that you despised being talked down to so much. It just made him want to do it even more.

“Do you have any idea how good you taste? You’re like the sweetest forbidden fruit to me.” Tilting his head, Douma seals his lips around your pulsing clit and mouths at you. You arch, shoving your bare tits into the air with a quiet hiss but, still, you won’t look down at him. That suits him just fine though and he comes up off you a moment later with an obscenely loud, attention grabbing slurp that makes you twitch. “I could just eat you up, you know that?”

“D - Douma-sama --”

His tongue abruptly darts out, mercilessly lashing your clit.

You outright squeal, jolting at the sudden onslaught of stimulation before catching yourself and forcibly choking back any other sounds you may have been inclined to make. Douma is not so easily deterred though and he laps at you hungrily, attacking the engorged pleasure button from every possible angle until you’re a quaking mess underneath him. He could help himself to your sopping little cunt for hours if given the chance, high as a kite off the very real urge to consume you in the most literal sense, but it doesn’t take long at all to have you writhing uncontrollably. Although unfortunate, it was expected given just how needy and swollen you were -- and just for him at that. Who could have ever guessed?

“Oh, darling,” He pants, groans into the meat of your pussy. His eyes start to roll back in doped out bliss when your wild twisting drags those petal soft folds across his mouth as if you were intentionally teasing him now. Begging him to just take the plunge and take a bite out of you already.

It was almost enough to break his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to gorge himself on your delectably tainted body until he was too stuffed to move but the part of him that knows precisely how satisfying the payoff will be keeps him in check. It’s too soon -- still too soon to indulge -- and he has to make do with simply drooling all over your poor defenseless cunt while it creams around nothing except your hatred of him. Of all the meals Douma has enjoyed in his lifetime, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would be the one he’d relish the most.

So caught up in the ecstasy inducing thought of finally eating you, truly eating you, he doesn’t notice you withdrawing a razor sharp pin from your hair until it’s right in his face. Blinking incandescent eyes at the foreign object, Douma allows himself another lazy lick at your still palpitating cunt and you seeth through gritted teeth, the glinting metal trembling in your hand.

“Get. Off.”

He acquiesces without a fuss.

You don’t even try to hide your surprise as you warily watch him sit up so that he’s kneeling on the futon between your spread legs. Clearly you’d expected a different reaction out of him and that makes Douma smile. You don’t seem to appreciate that though and you jerkily sit up straighter, jabbing the pin at him in warning.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, demon!”

“Or what?” He asks sweetly. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Yes! I’m going to kill you and take revenge for my sister!”

Brows drawing up in affected pity, Douma pins you with a withering leer. “If you’re going to kill me anyway then I don’t see any reason why I should stop smiling.”

Balking, you sputter indignantly. “You - you horrid fiend --”

He moves too quick for you to react. His arm swings, slamming into your wrist with enough force to send the pin flying. You reel back with a haggard gasp but he grabs your forearm in a pinching grip and yanks you close again. Bringing his opposite hand up, Douma rams his palm into the underside of your outstretched limb. The resulting crack is instantaneous and horrible. Your face crumples in agony.

You scream.

“Now, now,” He purrs, letting your arm fall limp at your side. In a shell shocked panic, you try to reach for it as if to reset the bone yourself but he all too easily catches your shaking hand in his. Cradling it close to his chest just as one might do with a lover, Douma smiles at you as he effortlessly snaps your other arm just as he’d done the first. “Calm down. Everything will be alright.”

He can barely hear himself over your frenzied shrieking. It’s hard not to take pity on you when you’re like this, looking for all the world like nothing more than a wounded animal. Confused and so incredibly scared. Almost out of your mind with pain even as regret and terror flash at him through wide, glossy eyes.

It really was a shame too. You’d been so close to reaching full maturity but, well … this would probably do the trick just as well. Not right away, of course, because the only thing currently running through your mind were baser instincts that served no real purpose other than keeping you alive. You were in no mindset to humor your feelings of resentment and hate for him, or the loss of your sister for that matter.

Was that really what had prompted you to seek him out like this? Douma couldn’t exactly recall but it was a believable explanation. He was certainly willing to accept it, at least.

Deciding that the details didn’t really matter, he reaches out to grab your shoulders and shoves you back down on the bed. You wordlessly stare up at him in wild eyed terror as he rises above you like some sort of beautifully horrific wraith, preternaturally sharp teeth glinting in the low light when he grins at you. The shock must be starting to set in because your mouth moves but nothing comes out. Not so much as a peep, as though your voice box had been stolen.

He can’t help the deranged titter that bursts out of him. You were so damn cute .

“Don’t worry, darling. I won’t kill you. Not yet, anyway.” Contently sighing, Douma leans close to nuzzle his nose against yours in a mockingly affectionate gesture that only makes you shake harder. “You’ll stay here with me until you’re rotting from the inside out. I want you to despise me with every fiber of your being first and then, when you can’t even look at me without being consumed by rage, then I’ll finally eat you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

You don’t respond - maybe you can’t - but he does feel the moment your bladder finally gives out and seeping wet warmth spreads across the front of his pants. A shudder of revulsion works its way down his spine and he clucks at you, letting his mouth tug into a disappointed frown.

“Such a high maintenance little girl … what should I do with you until then, hmm?” Douma thoughtfully puts his head to one side but quickly perks up at a sudden thought that has him smiling from ear to ear with nothing short of manic glee. “Oh, I know! Maybe I should break your legs too. Then you won’t be able to do anything at all without my help.”

An insignificant, fraying part of your conscience that had managed to cling to its humanity must register what he’d said because you begin shaking your head, still as silent as any mute, and that just makes his grin widen.

“I bet you’ll really start to hate me then, won’t you?”

#kimetsu no yaiba #KnY #douma x reader #Douma #kny douma #self insert bullshit #my writing

101 notes · View notes

iheartchv · 3 years

Note

Hello! Passing here to request a matchup! (It's the first time I've done this! Hehe) So come on !! I am a girl with a variety of personalities! I love Rock, I only wear cropped tops, dark clothes and I love horror movies! And besides, I have my princess days that make me wear pink and watch Barbie, really! I'm a fan of Hello Kitty and The conjuring! I'm also a geek too! Oh boy! Transformers card fan, I'm undecided between DC and Marvel !! I am a very fun person, I love meeting new people! But I have my mega explosive days, I get stressed easily!

Hobbies? Hmm ...

I love drawing! I'm in the performing arts business! I'm a pet mom! I read many suspense books! I play many horror games! FNAF is my life! Any Nick Minaj fans around here?

My appearance!

I have medium and straight brown hair, light skin, full lips, big brown eyes, I'm not fat or thin, I'm average! I am 5 "5 in height! Fan of pasta mainly pizza and lasagna! I love animals, especially canids!

It is!

😘😘🐢💙❤💜🧡

I see you with both Michaelangelo and Leonardo, but I pick... Leonardo💙

I think everyone was shocked to find out that Leo was serious having a crush on you

But opposites attract, right?

You're both opposites of each other, like Yin and Yang, the sun and moon, etc.

Your fun personality goes together with his more serious one and balances it out

When he needs to relax, or let lose, you come around and help him do just that

If you're stressed, he'll help you through it

He'll even let you sit on his lap while you both meditate

But he has to resist the urge to wrap his arms around you and leave open mouthed kisses on the back of your neck

When you're reading a book, he'll ask if it's good, and if so he might give it a chance

If he's not doing anything he'll watch you play a game, but will be a little startled at the jump scares at first

He's not an artist, but he knows and appreciates good art

He thinks you're talented... well, better talented than himself in that area

He loves plays/the performing arts so he'll definately be interested in watching any with you

He wishes he could be there for you to see your performances without having to worry about showing himself to people

But if there's a way, he will come watch and support you

He loves pizza, too, and will eat lasagna or any pasta dish

Leo does like animals, it's just that Master Splinter always told him and his brothers that they couldn't have a pet

If he ever met your pet, he'd treat it like his own

He loves your big brown eyes because they reflect you

He'll try to make time for you and be there for you

He's a gentleman, and he'll treat you like a lady, a queen

He'll do what he can to make you happy

He promises to keep you safe from danger, too

"I'll never stop loving you, even in the next life"🐢💙💕👧

Hope it's alright and got who you wanted😆😅

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt bayverse #bayverse #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2007 #tmnt 2012 #leo #leonardo #ask #request #matchup #match up

34 notes · View notes

panlight · 4 years

Text

Epiphany (TWBD Pt 3)

The last two were pretty bleak, so here’s a more hopeful snippet from the Newborn Carlisle Cullen Experience. Or, well, it ends on a hopeful note, anyway!

Pt 1 and Pt 2

The irony of the situation was not lost on Carlisle, but he was in no mood to find it the least bit amusing.

He had acted to save his life, and because of that he found himself trying desperately to end it. If he had been thinking clearly, if the pain hadn't blocked out everything except basic survival instincts, he liked to think he would have known better. He would have realized why his father would have wanted to burn him, and he would have let him.

He tried it himself, but his attempts to produce a fire came to naught. The forest was too damp, the kindling too green. As desperate as he was to die, a part of him was relieved that he would not meet his end in flames after all.

He tried drowning, but he only emerged sopping wet, sputtering and coughing but not aching for air. He tried leaping from great heights, but always landed in an effortless crouch, utterly unharmed. He even tried a stake to the heart, but the wood shattered into splinters when he tried to push it through his chest. He didn't dare go back into the city for silver or garlic or holy water--he couldn't let himself near people, he couldn't be sure of what he would do--but he knew they would have been useless; they hadn't deterred the monster that did this to him.

If the demon had just killed him outright, if the monster had just finished what he started, Carlisle’s ashes would be resting beside his mother in his father’s churchyard and he would be at peace. He wondered bitterly what his father thought. He must have guessed what had happened to him when they didn't find his body and he never returned home. If only he had been more thorough in his research, if he had been more careful. At least three men were dead because of him, and the monsters were still on the loose--with one more amongst their unholy ranks.

It was the better part of a week before he realized he had not slept, could not sleep. The realization only increased his dread; with no periods of unconsciousness, he couldn't escape his horrific reality, not even in dreams. Ever alert, ever aware, ever thirsting.

When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the monster killing his companions. It was his most vivid human memory, and he clung to it as a reminder. A reminder that he needed to be better than that, to be stronger than that, to never let himself become that thing that killed without a second thought, without remorse. He would not allow himself to become like the creature that had condemned him.

Which is not to say that he did not want to hunt, to drink, to relieve the fiery thirst. He did, and the intensity of that monstrous urge, of that violent instinct, was the most terrifying part of the whole ordeal. It took every ounce of will-power he possessed to keep himself secluded in the forest, far away from the friends and family and innocent strangers his new nature demanded he kill. He saw it as a battle for his very soul; instinct vs. intellect, compulsion vs. compassion, hunger vs. humanity.

It was a battle he was determined to win.

And so, he resigned to starve himself to death. He didn't know if it were possible, but it seemed the only option left. He would endure the burning thirst until he wasted away to nothingness.

Days turned into weeks which turned into months and still he lived despite his desire to die. He grew weaker physically but also mentally; he could feel his resolve faltering. It was becoming harder to think clearly, rationally. To think of anything but the pain of the thirst and how to relieve it. He was terrified that some lost hunter or some unfortunate woodsman would chance across his path and he wouldn't be able to stop himself, that he would become the monster he hated and lose himself completely. Yet no matter how his throat burned, no matter how weak he became, he did not die. He sat motionless in a secluded cave, clutching his knees to his chest, his head bent in grief and prayer.

And then: a sound. A scent. His head jerked up.

There was no thought, only instinct. At last! It was so easy to overpower them; it felt so good to drink.

He dropped the last carcass and wiped the blood from his mouth.

Blood.

All over his face, all over his hands. Conscious, rational thought returned and he looked at his crimson-stained fingers in horror.

And then he looked at the carnage at his feet. Shock mixed with an almost joyful relief when he discovered that the victims of his frenzy hadn't been human after all; he had attacked a passing herd of deer.

He fell to his knees in thanks.

The craving had been very specific: humans, just humans. Nothing else appealed. And certainly the legends he had read and vaguely recalled through the haze of human memory had insisted the species to which he now belonged preyed exclusively on the blood of human beings. He had crossed paths with animals—they all ran from him in terror--since his transformation but their smell hadn't signaled 'food' like the scent of humans had. But he was so far gone, so desperate, his body so starved for sustenance that even the deer had smelled attractive to him that night.

And it was enough. Some burning lingered, but he felt. . . better. Stronger, certainly, and his mind had cleared. He felt like himself again, capable of rational thought and reason.

He was not a murderer. He was not a monster. Or, at least, he didn’t have to be. He was still Carlisle Cullen. And he still had a choice.

Perhaps if he could keep himself satiated with animals, as he had in his human life, he could keep himself strong enough to resist more tempting prey. Perhaps, one day, he could beat the temptation entirely. He could rejoin the world. He could walk amongst humans as if he were still one himself. He could go to the great universities and study the things his father had always forbade him from studying. He could contribute to the world; perhaps even make it better, somehow.

Suddenly the endless expanse of time that stretched before him seemed a just a little bit less like a curse, and just a little bit more like an opportunity.

#carlisle cullen #fanfic #tw: suicide #tw: suicide mention #tw: blood #i am so fascinated by newborn carlisle #when people are like 'oh he's so perfect and boring'#i'm like no no no he worked so hard to get to be boring!#it wasn't like a certain character who is hanging out with her human dad a day after waking up as a vampire #it was 200 years of torturous effort!#it was so many close calls!#it was grabbing the first little bit of hope and creating a whole new philosophy out of it #rather than wallowing in angst

52 notes · View notes

intoanothermind · 4 years

Text

The Glue - Part Three

T H E G L U E

Word Count: 3.8k words

Synopsis: Glue or Variable? This is the big question about Frankie’s existence. Assigned to the same role as Newt in WCKD’s Lethal Experiments, Frankie suddenly realizes that she will become just a variable to activate brain reactions in her former Group A friends. Without memories and being the only girl among several boys, she has the feeling of already knowing some of them. The new question that matters to WCKD is: will Frankie play her role as a variable correctly?

- Newt x OC (Frankie)

Masterlist

(This will be a miniseries of Newt from Maze Runner. It will consist of 7 parts and a spin-off. I won’t do a reader insert as usual, but you will soon understand why.)

—

P A R T T H R E E

The girl paced back and forth, from hall to hall. She didn't want to participate in those stupid challenges again. She was exhausted from them, and although she now understood WICKED's goals after five years there, she didn't agree. It wasn’t fair that now hundreds of children had to suffer for a incorrigible mistake the egoism of the government made. It wasn’t fair, even more when she had managed to access the secret reports that said they would be exposed to the Flare virus at some point in the future Phase 2 trials. And she knew someone who wasn't Immune.

So whenever she could, she would dodge her challenges with the other girls and sneak into the boys' dormitory wing. She looked through the door with the GA1-10 sign, from the room belonging to the Group A individuals, from 1 to 10. Her non-Immune friend would be there, as usual at any other time. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with him.

She knocked and waited for thirty seconds, as agreed. She heard the doorknob turn, and seconds later the door opened revealing a boy, instantly recognized by the girl. Brown hair and eyes drawn, Minho hugged the girl and guided her inside after checking if any WICKED agent was following her.

"You shouldn't come every day, Frankie, it's dangerous!" Muttered Minho, saying what he always tells the girl when she was going to see them.

"Stop being a killjoy, Asian boy." Said a voice behind them, with the strong British accent that always soothed the girl.

“Newt!” Exclaimed the girl with a smile from ear to ear to hide the tears that threatened to spill.

“Hey there, shorty!” The ten-year-old blond boy greeted her, but didn't expect the girl to throw himself into his skinny arms, hugging him tightly.

“Will you guys never stop calling me Asian boy?” Complained Minho, but he laughed.

The girl turned away from the blonde, laughing too.

"Admit it was the best nickname I got after Newt." She said.

Minho rolled his eyes. “Frankie is a better nickname!”

“But this was me who invented it!” Said Newt, and the girl laughed.

“Where are the other boys?” She asked, looking around and seeing the untidy, empty beds.

Newt shrugged. “They went to eat.”

“Pack of hungry idiots.” Muttered Minho.

“Perfect, I have more time with you.” Said the girl, smiling and throwing herself on the bed that she knew was Minho’s.

The two boys threw themselves beside her, talking and joking. The girl knew moments like this wouldn't last forever. So she promised herself that she would enjoy it while it last.

~ * ~

I opened my eyes a little sleepy, only to find that the Glade wasn’t just a figment of my imagination or a nightmare from which waking up would be enough to find that nothing was real. And now, more than yesterday, I wanted to know where I came from. Did I usually wake up alone or did my mom call me? Or did I have a sister and share a room with her? And my dad? I found him sitting at the table and reading a newspaper every time I went down to have breakfast or he was going early for work so he could return soon and spend more time with me?

I sighed, feeling sadness and melancholy hit me hard as I realized that I may never know the answer to these questions. I wriggled free of the sleeping bag, already feeling the weak sunlight striking my skin, even though I couldn't see the sun in the sky above the Glade. I tasted bitter in my mouth and my stomach growled. I knew Newt slept with the keepers at the Homestead, maybe I could go there and ask if I could get something from the kitchen. But it was possible that I had to wait for the Frypan’s breakfast. I straightened my hair with my fingers while walking through the grass towards the Homestead, promising myself that I would also beg for a toothpaste.

But I didn’t make it to the Homestead.

I saw a movement in front of a construction that I haven’t noticed yet. A few yards south there was a squat building, apparently made of coarse concrete blocks, with only one steel door as its only entrance. And it didn't seem to have windows. At the door was a large round knob that looked like a helm wheel. That door looked like the entrance to a submarine or a safe - and I had no idea why this comparation popped into my mind. In front of the construction, I saw Minho and a boy who, if I was right, was called Ben talking a bit rushed. Both had a backpack on their shoulders and knives on their trouser belts.

I looked in in the Homestead direction, wondering if Newt would be wake. I shrugged - I could find him later - tucked my own machete in my belt and walked towars Minho and Ben. Curiosity spoke louder than my desire to see Newt.

“Good morning, boys.” I greeted shyly, but still smiling.

“Hi, Newbie!” They said excitedly, and I rolled my eyes.

“Where are you going with those backpacks?” I asked, making myself sound innocent.

They looked at each other before Minho answered me.

“There.” He said simply, pointing to what Newt had called Doors, still closed, but I had a feeling they could open at any moment.

I frowned. “And why?”

Ben bit his lower lip and Minho rubbed the back of his neck, as if he wanted to tell me, but they didn't know how or could not.

“We can't talk much to a newbie before the ride.” said Minho. “But everyone here has a job. Alby will explain this to you, but our job is to go there.”

I watched him, looking for something in his expression that indicated a lie, but found nothing. So I decided to give him some trust.

“I won't ask much, I'll wait for this tour.” I said, smiling slightly.

“Good that.” Said Ben, smiling at me.

Minho looked at the digital watch on his wrist, animosity taking over him.

“It's about time, isn't it?” I asked, smiling sadly.

“Yes, the Doors will open soon.” Answered Ben. “The other are ready at the other doors.”

l bit lower lip; the idea suddenly popping into my head.

“I’ll follow you.” I said, and Minho's eyes widened, about to answer. “Relax, just until we reach the Doors.”

Minho opened his mouth to protest, but finally nodded and we followed towards the South Gate, between the forest and surrounded by animals. The walls projecting all their grandness and I felt a sensation of suffocating and claustrophobic. I sincerely hoped that my irregular breath wouldn’t seem as much. We stopped in front of the door, and I avoided looking upwards to the impossible height of the walls. It was scary and intimidating. The same noise from the night before was heard, the rough, dragging rock sliding against rock. Dust was raised, transforming it in a horror movie. I resisted the urge to cover my ears to prevent the loud noise. And then, as impossible and abnormally as the night before, the Doors began to move, all four on the right, opening a long corridor ahead. At the nearest Door, I could see two boys running down a corridor even before the Door was fully opened. Minho and Ben waited, maybe for me to recover before they left.

“We have to go, Frankie.” said Minho.

I gave her a small smile. “I'll be waiting for you to come back.” I promised.

Minho smiled at me, placing a kiss on my forehead. If it were anyone else, I would have been uncomfortable, but with Minho I just felt again the same familiarity I'd felt before, like a tingling in the corner of my mind. Ben just waved at me, and they left just leaving a sentence in the air.

“See you later, Shebean.”

I still stood there for a while, just watching the end of the huge corridor where Minho and Ben disappeared on the right. The light didn’t seem to reach the ground, and the ivy on the walls seemed thicker, which made it cold and mysterious and frightening. I was torn between the fear of entering and the curiosity to explore.

“What are you doing here at this time?” Asked a voice behind me.

I got out of my trance and turned to face Newt and his messy blond hair, as if he'd come to see me as soon as he woke up. I almost smiled at the thought, but I suppressed the laughter before it was too late. It would be better to keep my thoughts to myself.

“Good day to you as well, Newt, sleep well?” I asked sarcastically and he laughed.

“Good morning, Frankie.” he said, opening a smile so beautiful and worry-free that could brighten the day of anyone.

And I smiled automatically and answered your question.

“I came with Minho and Ben until here.”

Newt's eyes widened. “Minho told where he was going?!”

"Not really, he just said his job was to go out and that Alby would explain to me on that tour." I said, grimacing at the thought that I would spend some time with the boy who didn't seem to like me very much.

Newt sighed.

“So let's get started with this.” He said and I frowned in confusion. "Alby doesn't trust you so much because you’re the first girl to appear here, so since I'm second-in-command, you 're under my responsibility."

I widened my eyes. “Your responsibility? Second-in-command?”

Newt chuckled.

“From all I said about Alby not trusting you, all you heard was that I was second-in-command?” He asked, half joking and half surprised.

"Well, I can't say I was surprised or hurt, I was expecting it. It's not as if I trusted him very much either.” I said, shrugging as if it were unnecessary information.

Newt rolled his eyes and I laughed.

“Can we start?” He asked.

"Will I finally have my answers?" I answered with another question, and he nodded. “Then we can.”

Newt guided me across the the grass towards the center of the Glade. I didn’t really understood what he intended, until I saw double doors metal lying in the ground, covered with a white paint, cracked and worn.

"This is the Box, Frankie, and once a month a newbie arrives for us." Newt started. “Every week it comes up with more supplies, clothes, food. It isn’t much, but we already produce the most here in the Glade.”

I remembered the fields with corn and the sound of animals in another corner in the Glade.

“What do you know about the box?” My tongue started and I couldn't hold back the questions.

“Almost nothing.” He admitted, his mouth twisting. “Whoever sent us here won’t tell us anything. Those shucking Creator watch us day and night through a mechanical beetle blade that seems to be everywhere. The good thing is that we can ask for some convenient things.” He said with a wink.

I laughed.

“And where does the electricity come from?” I asked.

Newt shrugged. “We don't know, we just use it.”

Damn things that put us here, I thought irritably.

“The Glade is divided into four parts. Gardens,”Newt continued, pointing to the northwest corner where the fields and fruit trees stood. “where we grow most of what we eat. The Blood House” pointed to the southeast, where there were waterfalls and animal enclosures. “where comes the water, which is pumped by pipes on the ground. Never ran out of it, which is strange since it never rains. We also raise and slaughter the animals there. The Homestead you already know.”

I nodded, trying to absorb as much information as possible, even if it resulted in more and more doubts.

"We call it Deadheads," he pointed to the south west corner, where the forest was marked by the presence of several dead and diseased trees. "The cemetery is in the middle. There isn’t much, but you can go there to rest whenever you want. For the next two weeks, you will work one day with each Kepper to know where to fit in and where to go to work.”

Newt then turned south, pointing to the door that lay between the Deadheads and the Blood House.

"See the door and the corridor before her, Newbie?" He asked, and I nodded. “Over there is the Maze.”

Widened eyes, stunned with the news.

“Ma-maze?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Newt confirmed with a serious face. "The oldest one of us living here have been stuck for two years”, and all our lives revolve around the Maze, finding a way out of this place and being able to return home."

I thought a second about that word home. What, after all, would be our home? A pile of bricks that together formed a construction less uncomfortable than the Homestead? Or a world we no longer know for the lack of memory?

"One of the jobs we have here," Newt continued, snapping me out of my train of thought, "which is forbidden to any Newbie are the Runners."

“Which is what Minho is the keeper of.” I commented, coming to conclusion myself.

“Exactly. They run the Maze every day, mapping every inch and every path...”

“And why then didn’t found their way yet?” I interrupted him.

Newt flashed a light, amused smile. “It was getting there. Well, it's hard to map to find a way out, because the Maze changes every night, the walls moving. Literally.”

I was still amazed. And I'm afraid my brain would explode.

“Besides, there are the Grievers.” Said Newt, and I frowned. "They are beings who go out every night in the Maze, and if the Runners are trapped there, they will not return." he said with a different emotion in his the voice. I knew he had some personal proximity to the Maze. "No one ever survived a night there. I'd even show you how they are through a window, but I don't want to submit you to that.”

"And that's how you hurt your leg?" I asked, pointing to his limp leg before I could even realize what I was doing.

Newt's face turned into a dark mask. “I don't wanna talk about it, all right?”

I just nodded, even though something in the back of my mind told me I was right, but that the Grievers had nothing to do with it.

‘Now let's get to the basic rules. And the only ones we have.First rule: everyone here should do their job without laziness.” I nodded to show that I understood. “Second rule: we al respect each other, then no hurting another Glader, although I think you can’t kill a fly.” He laughed, and I rolled my eyes but followed him. “And last and most important rule: never, never, cross the walls for the Maze. Only Runners have this permission.”

I nodded once again, feeling a swirl of questions clouding my mind, but I shut up, realizing that maybe Newt wouldn't be willing to answer all of them.

“Now, Frankie, I need to go help make the fire for your welcome party, but you’re already starting with the work.” He said, and then flashed a mischievous smile. “What do you think about starting with the Slicers?”

~ * ~

“Shebean!” I heard Minho's familiar voice and jumped up.

I was waiting for a few minutes in front of the South Door, where I said goodbye to Minho almost ten hours ago. I worked all day with Winston and the other Slicers, but had asked him to let me know when it was about Runner’s time to return. So when it was a few minutes earlier, I just washed my bloodstained hands and ran to wait for Minho.

“Minho!” I shouted, truly glad to see him, and just waited for him to cross the door's boundary to jump into his arms and hug him tightly.

And we didn't care that I was smelling of slaughter pig and he was sweating like one.

"I didn't think you would really be here." He commented, smiling and releasing me.

"I said I'd come, shuckface ." I joked, winking.

He wrinkled his nose at the sight of me. “Slicers?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes.” - I confirmed. "I hope tomorrow is some better job. I am feeling a lot of klunk.”

“Where's Newt?” He asked, and I pointed to the corner of the Gardens, where Newt helped the Builders prepare what he called "my welcome party " Understanding flooded Minho's face. "Ah, so I'll take you to the bathroom myself for a shower. Ben!”

Only then did I realize that the blonde came not too far away.

“Hello , Newbie.” He greeted me, and I waved at him, smiling.

"Can you take care of the maps while I take her to the Homestead?" Minho asked him.

Ben nodded, and Minho guided me towards there.

"While you 're taking a shower, I'll try to get you some clothes and try to keep the other boys out." Minho offered, and I accepted, smiling.

We went through the door and towards the bathroom, but not without before being stopped by a dark haired boy and a serious expression. Alby.

“Shebean.” He said, and I scowled. There was something about the way he called me Shebean that didn't look anything like Newt or Minho called me. Alby used a derogatory tone in his voice every time he addressed me. “The machete.”

I frowned angrily and put my hand over the machete handle on my belt to protect it.

“Why you?”

“Only Runners are allowed to carry weapons in case they see any Grievers.” He said, indicating Minho beside me with his chin.

“B-but...” I tried to argue, trying to keep my irritation at bay.

“But, as you are a girl, then I’ll allow you to have it.” Alby said, as if he was doing me a big favor or a huge sacrifice.

And the hatred took me completely. So the leader of those guys needed to be sexist and prejudiced? Suddenly I was disgusted to have that machete in hand, as if that was the necessary proof that I was, and always would be, weaker than he was. I quickly unsheathed the machete in a hurry and threw it at Alby's feet.

“I don't need this to beat any of you.” I said, disgusted, and went straight to the bathroom.

~ * ~

With the knife Minho had handed me, I was standing in front of one of the Glade walls, searching for a single name carved in the stone. My eyes went over several - known, unknown, scratched - but the one I was looking for didn't seem to be there just to see me humiliating myself. But then I found it, hidden just under my nose and under the names of Alby and Chuck. Luckily I had enough space to carve my name beside his. With some difficulty, I propped the tip of the knife next to Newt's name and began the work of "officializing," as Minho had called it. Usually it was Alby who did it, but he hated me and Newt, as second-in-command, must be there. But since welcome party started, I hadn’t seen him anywhere, so Minho took their place.

“Ready.” I said, when I finished carving my name and my fingers were already sore. I handed the knife to Minho.

He looked at me smiling, which made his eyes even smaller than they were.

“Welcome to the family, Frankie.”

I smiled at him, taking advantage of the sensation of belonging filling my chest.

“But why did you have to put your name next to Newt's?” He asked, and the feeling went away as quickly as it came.

I blushed instantly. “Oh, it was nothing.”

“You shanks have something going on, don’t you?” Minho asked with a mischievous smile on his lips.

“What?! No!” I said quickly, my voice rising an octave and becoming thinner, making my lie clear.

Minho raised his hands in surrender, but I knew he wouldn’t leave me in peace so soon.

Suddenly, a cup-like container with unidentifiable contents appeared before me. I twisted my torso, and found Newt staring at me with an amused smile on his lips.

“Newt!” I exclaimed, happier than I intended.

Minho laughed when he realized my slip and went away towards the other runners.

“What are you thinking?” He asked.

I looked around at the drinking boys who talked and shouted and fought around the fire. There weren't any girls and I felt out of place. But not that I would say that to Newt when he had so much work to organize it for me.

“I am liking it.” I said, smiling, and was I surprised to find that my smiles would always come out more naturally when I was with Newt.

“And the work with the Slicers, do you think it's there?”" He asked, laughing. He probably already knew the answer and the story that I almost threw up on a pig that I should be slaughtering.

I cracked a cynical smile . “I think I'll become a vegetarian.”

Newt laughed and handed me the container.

“Taste it, it's Gally's homemade recipe.” He said, and pointed with his chin at a tall, square-jawed blond boy who was in the middle of a circle, fighting some other Glader.

I shrugged and took a sip. As soon as it touched my tongue, I turned my face and spit it out.

“What the hell is that?!” I asked, exasperated.

“Nobody besides him know, and is a tradition to drink it in the welcome party.” Newt said, and if it were possible, his smile opened even wider. “Welcome to the family, shorty.”

#newt #newt maze runner #newt imagine #newt x reader #newt x oc #maze runner newt #maze runner #the maze runner #thomas #minho #minho x reader #maze runner x reader #maze runner imagine #minho imagine #thomas imagine

36 notes · View notes

jilyyall · 4 years

Text

Animal Magnetism - Ch 9.

Edward Cullen was not a normal teenager; of that I was certain. But knowing that did nothing to stop the pull I felt towards him. And if what he was saying was any indication, he felt some strange pull towards me, too. It was like we were magnets struggling against hope to stay apart. I only wondered what would happen when we inevitably collided.

Chapter 9. Iron Will. FANFICTION.NET / AO3 Intro/1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/

I took my time showering, dressing, and brushing my hair the next morning, trying to avoid my parents until they both left so that I didn't have to endure more questions about the mysterious Edward who drove me home. I ran out the front door maybe two minutes after I heard Renee's car pull out of the driveway, my truck key in hand.

And stopped, heart hammering in the damp air that promised rain momentarily, when I saw a silver Volvo where Renee usually parked. In the blink of an eye, Edward was outside and holding the passenger door open for me.

"Would you like a ride to school?" he asked. He was watching me carefully like he was worried I would have changed my mind about being near him, alone with him, in the last ten hours and thirty-two minutes.

"Yes. Thank you," I said, and walked over to him, trying my best to exude confidence even though I knew he could hear my heart hammering.

I brushed by him, closer than was strictly necessary, and slid into the car. He closed the door softly and instantaneously was sitting next to me, looking at me with that same expression he had when he'd done the same thing in Port Angeles.

"You're not going to scare me off with that," I informed him as I buckled my seat belt.

"I could scare you," he said with a thoughtful frown.

"I'm sure you're capable," I allowed, and shrugged. "But it doesn't make a difference to me."

"Yes, I remember," he said. "As it happens, I like being able to be myself around you."

For some odd reason, it sounded like he was frustrated. With me for not running away screaming? Very likely. With himself for not wanting to hide who he really was from me? Well, that seemed pretty likely as well, given what I knew of his personality and considering the several warnings he had given me that I would be better to stay away from him.

"You were going to tell me how your family was formed," I reminded him as he turned the key in the ignition.

He talked me through it, speaking quietly, carefully, as if expecting it to suddenly become too much.

"Carlisle found me dying of the Spanish Influenza in the summer of 1918 in Chicago. He was lonely, you see, after so long on his own, and had been considering making a companion for himself since he was having no luck finding one. He had treated my parents, but wasn't able to cure them. My mother… it was her dying wish that Carlisle save me. He saw something in me – I think I was especially perceptive even then, and he could see it. He was fond of me, so when it was clear to him that there was no saving me conventionally, he took me from the hospital – it wasn't hard to hide, so many bodies everywhere – and he changed me."

"I still, to this day, don't understand how he was able to stop from feeding on me. Mine was his first taste of human blood. I don't know how he's managed it, but in almost half a millennium, Carlisle has never fed on a human."

Half a millennium? I bit my lip, thinking of the young, attractive small town doctor, and trying to reconcile him with someone almost five hundred years old. It didn't seem possible, but how could I doubt Edward now?

"Do you remember it all from your own perspective? Or are they Carlisle's memories you have?" I wondered aloud.

"Some of both. I don't remember my human life very clearly, as I said last night, only small details that seemed important to hold onto. I remember even less from when I was dying. The fever was so intense…" he said, and I saw his grip on the steering wheel tighten. "Mostly, I just remember the pain."

"The pain? Of being ill?" I asked.

"No." He sighed and turned to look at me as he guided the car to a smooth stop at a red light. "The bite, and the subsequent transformation. It's days of agony, burning as the venom spreads through the body until the heart stops. And then, a different sort of burning when you wake."

"Hot iron down the throat?" I guessed, recalling the description from the night before.

"Something like that," he said with a wry smile, and his gaze flickered over me.

"Wait," I said, horrified. "Is it more painful now, with me? Even more painful than when you first woke up?"

"In some ways," he said, and shrugged. "When you first wake, it's different. It's… primal… the urge to feed… there's no fighting it. There's no caging the monster in. There is only the call of blood. Now, it's different. My body and my mind and my heart are constantly at war around you. You're lucky I'm a very stubborn being, Bella."

It was silent for a moment, one of those silences where I knew Edward was just waiting for my reaction. I looked at him, right in his eyes. "What about the others? How did they come along?"

He sighed and shook his head and I knew I hadn't given him the reaction he'd expected, the one he felt he deserved. Horror, I guessed. Or maybe repulsion.

"Esme was next. She fell from a cliff and was on the verge of death. He'd treated her in the hospital before, years earlier, had affection for her, and she for him. He couldn't bear the thought of her dying, so he changed her. They've been married for nearly a century."

"Then Rosalie. She was beaten and left for dead in the street. He brought her home and changed her. It was only two years later she found Emmett being mauled by a bear in Tennessee. She carried him more than a hundred miles back to Carlisle and begged him to change him for her. The amount of restraint she showed only two years after her own change was astonishing. To be able to resist all that blood when she was covered in it? It's not a simple thing, but she felt something for him and she knew he was going to be important to her."

"Did you see that in her mind?" I asked curiously. Somehow, I couldn't imagine Rosalie Hale sitting and talking with Edward about her feelings. But what did I know? I only saw the façade they put on at school. For all I knew, she was warm and inviting at home, and the stoic intimidating exterior in public was just a ruse.

"Yes. She used to be very annoyed with me that I could hear everything she was thinking," he told me. "She would try to block me out, but it didn't always work very well."

"And now?" I asked.

"There are no secrets in my family now. They are all free with their thoughts around me," Edward said, and scowled. "Too free, sometimes."

"You can't control it?" I asked. What must it be like to constantly have everyone else's thoughts in his mind when he didn't want them?

"I've learned to tune it out at times," Edward said dismissively. "In a crowd, it's almost like background noise. It's more difficult for me to tune out my family, though. The more familiar I am with someone, the stronger the connection."

"It must be terribly inconvenient," I said.

"Yes, it can be," he said, but he didn't sound inconvenienced. He'd clearly made his peace with the fact that he could so rarely enjoy true solitude. "They've each learned their own way of temporarily hiding their thoughts. Except for Emmett, who's never bothered to try. He's very open and honest and he doesn't see the point of trying to hide anything from me when I'll just find out anyway."

It all sounded very fascinating, and I wanted so badly to learn more about their family dynamic, but first I had to finish the story of how his family came together. "What about Alice and Jasper? You said they came together and found the rest of you."

"Yes. Jasper was changed when he was serving as a soldier in the Civil War, almost sixty years before me. He didn't have the same upbringing as the rest of us. He fed only on humans until he and Alice found each other in 1948. She helped him learn how to curb his instinct to kill humans, to control it after nearly a century of feeding on humans."

"Is that why he always looks like he's in pain?" I asked.

"It's part of it," Edward said. "It's more difficult for him to curb his nature. He struggles more than the rest of us."

"Why do you do it?" If it was so difficult, why did they bother to deny their instincts?

"We… have a fondness for humanity," Edward said slowly. "We respect the living; we see the people rather than the prey. And we don't… we don't want to be monsters."

"I don't think you're a monster, Edward," I said quietly. He looked dubious, as if he didn't quite believe me, but he didn't argue. "What's Alice's story?"

"She doesn't know," Edward answered. "She doesn't remember anything before she woke in the dark."

"Nothing?" I asked.

"All she remembers is waking up alone in 1920. She stayed that way until she and Jasper found each other, nearly thirty years later," Edward said gravely. "They haven't been apart since."

I pictured the smallest of the Cullens: flitting, pixie-like, fragile. Of course, that was just her appearance; I knew she wasn't defenseless, wasn't as harmless as she looked. All the same, I couldn't imagine the pain and loneliness she must have suffered waiting so long for her soulmate.

"It's so sad," I whispered, my voice breaking. I wondered, then, if it had been like that for Edward: lonely and sad. What was it like to be surrounded by happy couples, soulmates, to hear the force of their love in your mind, and have no one to share it with? I felt tears welling hot in my eyes and blinked quickly, swiping at a single errant tear. Embarrassed, I looked at Edward to see that he was staring at me again in stunned disbelief.

"Yes, it is," he agreed after a moment, his voice very gentle in the quiet space between us.

I realized that the car was no longer moving; we had arrived at school and parked close to the middle of the lot while he was speaking. There was a soft tapping on the hood of the car; the heavy clouds had finally produced the promised rain.

"Do you want your jacket back?" I said, feeling awkward; he was still watching me with that almost awestruck expression. I was wearing his jacket again, in part because I only had the one suitable jacket I'd left in Mike's car the night before, and partly because I'd been planning to return it to him as soon as I'd seen him anyway. That, and I couldn't get enough of the smell.

"No, Bella," he said softly, and there was something strange in his eyes. Hunger, I thought with a flush, but not the dangerous kind. "It actually serves its purpose on you."

He leaned over the center console, just like he had last night, and pressed his face to my neck and inhaled deeply again.

"Not that I mind," I said breathlessly as he began to run his nose along my jawline, just like he had done in Port Angeles. "But why do you do that? Doesn't it hurt you?"

"Yes," he murmured in my ear, but he didn't pull away. "It's enjoyable, though. And necessary. Think of it as if… I'm desensitizing."

He pulled away with a small, wicked smile. "That, and I like the way your heart races."

"Well," I said, swallowing thickly. He was still so close, his amber eyes inches from mine. I wanted him closer still. "I'm happy to help you desensitize. Feel free to continue."

"As much as I would love to – and, believe me, I would love to," he laughed ruefully, shaking his head, and then gestured out the window to indicate the full parking lot, "we have an audience, and they think we're doing something very different."

"Oh," I said, looking around in horror. I made eye contact with a couple walking in front of the car; the girl averted her gaze quickly, giggling to her boyfriend. I groaned. "Great."

"Are you ready?" Edward asked, reaching for the handle of his door.

"I guess." I sighed, though. I really didn't want to leave the confines of his car. I wished more than anything else that we could be alone again. I just had so many more questions for him.

Edward met me as I stepped out of the car, moving at a normal human pace, and shut the door for me. When he reached to take my books from me, I stepped back.

"What are you doing?"

He quirked an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't acknowledge my discomfort, taking the strap of my bag and sliding it off my shoulder.

"Bella," he said in a long-suffering voice. "Before the end of first period, everyone in this school is going to hear how we were just making out in my car. How would I look if I didn't even carry your books for you after that?"

"But, we weren't," I hissed, hurrying to catch up to him when he turned to walk across the lot.

"Would you like to tell them that, then?" Edward said. I could see the upward quirk of his lips; he knew I wouldn't say anything to anyone. "Besides, what we were actually doing is, in truth, much more scandalous. I'm only trying to preserve my reputation as a gentleman."

"It isn't 1918 anymore, Edward. You're being ridiculous," I said, then shook my head. I knew I wasn't going to win this one. "But, if I just think of it as protecting your reputation, I can bear it."

"I appreciate that. It's very noble of you," Edward teased.

I was aware of all of the eyes on us, but I couldn't find it in myself to care too much. I enjoyed being around Edward more than I hated the attention that came with it.

"Hey, where are the others? You usually drive them," I said, suddenly struck by the realization that his siblings were nowhere to be found.

He nodded to a bright red convertible on the other side of the parking lot. "Rosalie drove today."

"What does your family think about all this?" I asked. I knew I didn't have to explain that I meant us.

He was silent for a while. We were almost to the awning people usually crowded under when it was raining by the time he answered.

"Most of my siblings think I'm being irresponsible," he said carefully. "You have to understand that the entire family will be implicated if this ends badly. My parents just want me to be happy, so they're willing to support me in whatever decision I make."

"Is there something you haven't decided?" I asked very quietly. He had said I won't ever hurt you, Bella last night, and he'd said it more than once, so I was confident that he wasn't still deciding whether or not to kill me. What more was there?

"No, Bella," he answered. "I've made up my mind."

I still didn't think he was talking about the murder and blood drinking, but I knew it wasn't the time or place to push for clarification. "You said, most of your siblings?" I said instead.

"Yes," he said, his eyes narrowing in thought, like he was deciding how much to tell me. "Alice is very supportive."

"She is?" I said, surprised. I had never had any contact with any of the Cullens other than Edward and Dr. Cullen. I couldn't think of any good reason for his sister to like me, though I did remember her smiling at me the other day at lunch. "Why?"

"Alice can be strange sometimes," Edward said, still carefully choosing his words with a frown, and I remembered we couldn't speak freely here, not with so many people around. "She thinks you two will be the best of friends."

He glanced sideways at me, and smiled ruefully at what I was sure was the shocked expression on my face. "She has good reason," he added.

I filed that away for future clarification.

"Morning, Bella!" I looked up at Jessica's call to see her and Mike standing just ahead, under the awning several feet back from the light rain. Mike had my jacket folded over his arm.

"Hey, guys," I said when Edward and I drew level with them.

"Here," Mike said, handing me my jacket with a frown. "I thought you might need this."

"Thanks, Mike. You're a lifesaver," I said, swapping jackets as quickly as I could. Edward inclined his head when I handed him his jacket with a soft, "Thank you."

"Well, we'll leave you two to it," Jessica said with a sidelong glance at Edward. She gave me an expectant look that Edward pretended not to notice.

"See you in government, Bella," Mike said with a grumpy scowl.

"Yeah, sure," I agreed.

Edward chuckled when they walked away, stepping closer to me and lowering his voice. "She's planning to ambush you in Trigonometry."

"Yeah, I figured," I said with a sigh, then studied him speculatively. "What does she want to know?"

"She wants to know if we're secretly dating, or if we're just hooking up," he said at once. Then, after the briefest hesitation, "And if I'm a good kisser."

"But…" I stopped, and looked at him in panic. I didn't know any of the answers, except that we definitely were not hooking up. "What do I tell her?"

"I suppose you could tell her we're dating, if you don't mind. I think it would be easier than the alternative, since we'll be spending so much time together anyway," he said, grasping the handle of the door to the English building and holding the door for me.

"I don't mind," I said, then peered up at him shyly as we stopped outside my classroom. "I mean, it's kind of the truth… Isn't it?"

He looked at me with such tenderness, and stroked a single long-fingered hand through my hair. "Yes, Bella. You're right," he murmured, and then turned and began to walk away.

"Wait," I said, glancing warily at the people walking through the hallway. "What about that other thing?"

"Well, Bella, I'm afraid you're on your own with that one" he said, pausing at the door to give me a taunting wink. "But I'll be curious to hear how you handle it."

And then he was gone, leaving me to endure English class with Eric moping in the corner, and then Government with Mike shooting me furtive, sidelong glances. I knew he wanted to talk to me, probably to try to discourage me from seeing Edward anymore, but I was too preoccupied with the upcoming ambush to care.

Jessica was waiting for me outside of building six after my government class. It was a testament to how eager she was for gossip that she barely spared Mike a greeting before she hooked her arm through mine and practically dragged me along towards building five, and our Trigonometry class.

"Spill," she said as soon as Mike was out of earshot.

"About what?" I asked reluctantly.

"Did you plan to meet up with Edward last night? What happened after you left us? Did you hook up? Are you guys dating? Is he your boyfriend? Is he a good kisser?" She fired questions off rapid-fire so that my head was spinning by the time we walked into our classroom.

"Um," I said once I sat down. "No, I had no idea he was going to be there. I was as surprised to see him as the rest of you were."

"Why did he come? Just to see you? Just because he knew you would be there?" she demanded, leaning across the aisle to whisper so that we couldn't easily be overheard.

I shrugged awkwardly and tucked my hair behind my ear, acutely aware that Edward would be paying close attention to Jessica's thoughts.

"I… yeah, I guess so," I stammered. "We just went outside to talk… only to talk. And he gave me his jacket because I was cold."

"Because you left your jacket in Mike's car," Jessica said with a nod. "Did he really just take you home after? Or did you go somewhere else?"

"Well he was concerned that I hadn't eaten since breakfast, so we stopped at that Italian restaurant near the theatre."

"Oh, how thoughtful," Jessica said. "So, are you planning to hang out again? Are you guys, like, a thing?"

"Y-yeah, I… I guess," I said, ducking beneath my desk to rummage through my bag for my notebook and pencil. It was a pretty obvious attempt to hide my blush, I thought, but Jessica wasn't the most observant person, and I could only hope it hadn't registered in her thoughts. "He's driving me to Seattle next Saturday."

"Oh… But you guys should go to the dance!" Jessica protested.

"No, definitely not," I said, shaking my head firmly. "I don't surf, and I don't dance. Trust me, it's for the best."

"I bet Edward can dance," she said dreamily. "Rich kids go through classes like that all the time."

"I bet he can." I doubted if there was anything he couldn't do.

"Have you met his family yet? Has he met your parents? Has your dad pulled the Police Chief card and scared the crap out of him?"

"I've only met his dad. Dr. Cullen treated me after the almost accident," I reminded her. "Apparently, though, he thinks I'll get along well with Alice. He hasn't met my parents, but something tells me even the Chief won't scare him."

Jessica snorted softly. "I wonder if he'll pull the whole cleaning his gun routine when it happens."

Thankfully, class started just then, affording me a short reprieve from her questions. Of course, the second the bell rang she was at my side with more.

"Well?" she said impatiently, as if I had failed to answer a question she had asked two seconds ago, not an hour ago. At my blank look, she made a 'tsk'ing noise and lowered her voice to a hiss in my ear again. "Is he a good kisser?"

"Oh." I bit my lip, and hugged my books to my chest, thinking over my options carefully. She just assumed that we had kissed; I figured it was weirder for me to say that we hadn't, but I wasn't confident in my ability to lie to her. I decided on some semblance of the truth. "Um, you know… it's really embarrassing, actually, but every time he comes near me, much less touches me, I feel like I'm about to pass out."

Jessica giggled. "W-o-w," she said, drawing it out into a three-syllable word.

"Anyway," I said, quickly taking advantage of her silence as we approached our Spanish classroom. "Bring me up to speed on what happened after I left last night. You and Mike are looking pretty cozy."

"I know, right?" She squealed, her brown curls bouncing on her shoulders. "He dropped me off after everybody else even though Angela lives closer to him, and he kissed me!"

"That's awesome, Jess," I said with a genuine smile. It seemed Mike had taken what I'd said to heart, and had decided to leap into it with Jessica.

"Yeah, I mean, I didn't almost pass out or anything," she said, rolling her eyes playfully. "But it was really nice!"

"Are you guys going out again before the dance, or what?" I asked.

"I think he wants to go see another movie this weekend. A slasher flick this time," she said. "Oh, you and Edward should come!"

I pursed my lips in an awkward smile as I slid into my seat. "I don't know, Jess." I shrugged and reached into my bag for a pen. "Mike really doesn't seem to like Edward."

"Whatever, he'll get over it." She rolled her eyes. "I don't think any of the guys here like any the Cullen boys. It's just because they're all super hot, though. Don't worry about it."

We took our seats in Spanish just as the bell rang and I was relieved, for once, when Mrs. Goff announced a pop quiz. Next to me, Jessica groaned with the rest of the class.

"Who gives a pop quiz on a Monday? Seriously messed up. Anyway, are you having lunch with Edward again?" Jessica asked me as we started putting our books away after class. She paused, staring at something out the window. Turning, I saw Edward standing under a tree, looking at me. Jessica laughed breathlessly next to me. "I guess that's my answer. I'll see you in Gym."

By the time I stepped into the drizzle outside, he was standing there at the door with an amused smile. Once again, he took my book bag without preamble. "How did it go?"

I glowered at him and didn't answer; he already knew, of course. Hadn't he basically told me he would be listening in on Jessica's thoughts? He laughed at me as we started walking to the cafeteria and the mesmerizing sound made it difficult to feel awkward about the stares we were getting again.

"You nearly faint whenever I get too close to you?" He held open the door to the cafeteria with a smirk.

"Please. Like you didn't already know that." Following him into the line, I rolled my eyes. Then, in a truly terrible impression of his smooth, melodic teasing earlier in the car: "I like the way your heart races."

He took a lunch tray, slanting an almost nervous look down at me. "Are you annoyed with me already?"

"No," I assured him, eyeing the tremendous amount of food he piled onto the tray dubiously. He couldn't honestly expect me to eat all of that. "What? Half's for you?"

"Of course," he said with a wink for me, and a smile for the lunch lady as he paid her. She stared after him when he turned away; even middle-aged women weren't immune to his charm, I realized with a small smirk as I followed him.

He sat at the end of the same long, half-occupied table we'd shared the week before, but this time I chose to sit in the seat next to him. I worried my proximity would alarm him, but he moved his chair closer still, so close that our arms would brush each time I reached for something from the tray. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I was worried that we would be easily overheard. Correctly guessing the reason for my hesitation, he smiled softly and angled his body toward me, leaning in.

"The other students here aren't as curious as you," he reminded me. "Besides, it's incredibly difficult to be overheard in a noisy, crowded lunch room. We can talk."

"Is it difficult for you to pretend to be just like any other person?" I asked quietly.

"In what way?" Edward said. He leaned his opposite forearm against the table, and his torso hunched slightly as he leaned towards me. We looked, I was sure, very secretive, but I figured most people would likely attribute it to new love.

"Physically, I mean. Like your speed. I know you said last night that you hate going slow, but is it difficult for you to move at a more … normal pace, for lack of a better term?" I clarified. "And the strength. I know you're capable of massive shows of strength. Are you, I don't know, concentrating really hard right now not to crush that?"

I gestured to his hands. He was fiddling absently with my empty soda bottle.

"Regarding the speed," he began slowly, pausing when someone walked behind us, "it's not difficult, per se, to move at a normal pace. It's just boring. And the strength?"

In a flash, the bottle was a ball of plastic no bigger than a golf ball. He smiled at me and set it down on table between us.

"It's very easy to do things like this, and like … other things you've seen," he said cryptically as a boy I recognized from my Gym class walked in front of us. I knew he was referring to the day he'd stopped the van from crushing me. "But it's not difficult to handle delicate things. Your hand, for instance."

He reached over and took my hand in his, slid his fingers through mine smoothly. I marveled at the bold contact – he'd been fairly careful not to touch me too much last night. He turned our hands over so mine was resting on top of his on the table.

"I could very easily crush every bone in your hand, if I wanted," Edward said with a quick flash of a grin. "But it's not that I have to try not to hurt you in that way, it's that I would have to consciously expend the effort. Do you understand?"

I nodded. It wasn't like the bloodlust where he was focused nonstop on not killing me. He was like a regular boy in respect to his strength, unless he actively chose not to be. "Is it difficult right now? In the other way?"

He smiled serenely and shook his head. "No, Bella. Or, I should say, no more than I can handle."

"Is it… normal? The, um, the effect I have on you?" I said hesitantly. "Is it very strong like this, very often?"

He frowned, his eyes narrowing with some sort of internal debate. Finally, he sighed, and shook his head. "While not unheard of, it isn't common," he told me, speaking so quietly I had to strain to hear him. "Occasionally, there will be one person who is particularly enticing, but I've never heard of it being this strong before."

"Has it ever happened to you?" I asked. I hadn't yet asked him if he'd always followed his family's way of life, but it was on my list. I just wasn't sure how to word it, or how comfortable he would be discussing it. Something he had said in the car earlier made me suspect that he hadn't always had such a strong will, hadn't always rejected human blood.

I don't know how he's managed it, but in almost half a millennium, Carlisle has never fed on a human.

"No," he said. "But to Emmett. Twice, when he was still fairly new. Once stronger than the other, but nothing like this." He danced his long fingers lightly along the wrist of the hand he was holding, right over the veins there. "He tried, but ... couldn't resist. He's the youngest of us, it's more difficult."

Over his shoulder, I saw his siblings at their usual table. They weren't looking at us, but that didn't mean they weren't aware. Alice and Rosalie were on one side of the table with an untouched apple and a banana in front of them as they looked at their boyfriends... husbands? Across from them, Emmett and Jasper were playing a very ordinary-looking game of paper football on the tabletop. Shocked by the normalcy of the scene, I turned to Edward. "Can they hear us now?"

"Yes, they're listening," he said, watching me closely. "Does it bother you?"

I thought about it. Did it bother me to know that anything I ever said could be overheard? I didn't want to hide anything from Edward, and I wanted his family to know that they could trust me with their secrets. I couldn't lie to myself and deny that it was strange, knowing that I could only be certain I had privacy if I wasn't speaking, but nothing had changed. For the two months I'd been here, every conversation I'd ever had could have been overheard by any of the Cullens.

I shook my head, and shrugged. "It is what it is. It's the world I live in now."

Rosalie Hale turned suddenly, and glared at me so harshly that I flinched. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, but in that moment, her face was the stuff of nightmares. Edward stiffened and his free hand curled into a fist on the table between us. He scowled and hissed a low warning under his breath without looking up. Casually, Rosalie turned her head back to the other Cullens and shifted back into the ordinary illusion with ease.

"I'm sorry about her," he murmured and I remembered he had said that his siblings, save Alice, weren't very happy he was spending time with me so publicly.

"It's okay." I shrugged, but I was shaken. She'd looked so angry, almost as terrifying as Edward had been that first day. Now, looking at him sitting so calmly beside me, it seemed like a lifetime ago I'd been certain he wanted me dead. "I get it. This isn't just dangerous for me."

"I'm not going to lose this battle," he vowed quietly, and I knew he said it for his family's benefit, and maybe even his own, as much as mine. "I couldn't survive it if I did. Not after knowing you."

"That iron will of yours," I murmured.

"I get it from my father," Edward joked, and I knew he referred to Carlisle.

FFN/AO3

#twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #edward x bella #bella x edward #edward cullen #bella swan #i forgot to post these here again oops

1 note · View note

aweebwrites · 5 years

Text

The Raiju and the Dragon

Warning: mentions of blood, light gore, off screen murder.

______________

(YO! THIS IS A BIRTHDAY FIC FOR MY BEST PALL @thelucariosfish! HAPPY DAY OF BIRTH MY CHILD!)

____________________

Winter was finally leaving the summit of the Howling Mountain. Bits of plants could be seen poking through the snow covered ground as the trees began greening too. The scanty chirping of birds echoed through the quiet wrapping around the mountain. Through that near silent, snow-covered mountain, something was moving. It's coat was as white as the snow itself, blending it in perfectly. It's large paws were cushioned by the snow, keeping its steps silent. It's large ears perked up, twitching at the slightest sound as both of its tails flicked in opposite of the other. The fox was on the hunt. It's intelligent blue slitted eyes were glowing and focused on the path ahead as his nose twitched. He caught the scent once more. The fox quickened its steps, the electricity wrapping around its body cackling quietly with his excitement.

The fox approached the edge of a cliff on the mountain face then crouched low, looking over the edge for his prey. He made a low purr once he spotted them. The fox smirked.

'Foolish humans.'

They were another daring set of documenters. They must also want to see the secrets the Howling Mountain holds. They will walk into the arms of death. A dark skinned figure appeared next to the fox.

"How many?" Cole asked Jay, the Oread not having vision as precise as the Raiju he shared his mountain with.

The only signs that Cole wasn't human was his pointed ears that stuck out through his black hair and that he was out in the cold wearing just a linen robe.

"Seven." Jay says, thinking of all the way he could trick the pesky humans. "Zane should be happy. He'll have leftovers." He says, looking across at the mountain nymph.

"Yeah. But he doesn't particularly like when they run and hide. He thinks a waste of time and energy but he also has to eat. Do you think you can get them somewhere they can't run very far?" Cole asked him and Jay hummed.

"Shouldn't be too hard. I should get going before they disturb Kai. They're walking dangerously close to his lair…" Jay says as he shifted into a crouch.

"Oh skies and all, don't let them. He went on a rampage last time one of them woke him early from hibernation and scorched half the mountain. Do you know how hard it was to heal the mountain and convince the animals to come back?" Cole says exasperatedly and Jay giggled.

"Don't worry. Should take very long. Zane's in the Birch Forest, right?" Jay asked and Cole nodded. "Good. Tell him to wait near the Birch Barrier." He told him before leaping off the cliff, flying through the air as a compact ball of lightning.

The Birch Barrier was a particularly thick cluster of trees in the forest that formed an impassable semicircle. He made sure to keep out of sight then land a little further down the mountain. He then made his way back up, following the physical and scent trail the humans made. Once he caught up, he glanced back at his tails, watching as they merged into one. He then shrunk his body to that of the size of an average fox, not one as tall as the humans themselves. He then took a wide berth around them and waited up ahead, sniffing along the snow.

"Look! A fox!" One human whispered as they spotted him.

"Record it. This may be as good as things get here." Another says.

Jay resisted rolling his eyes then turned away from them and began walking ahead, leading them towards the Birch Forest.

"Follow it! There may be a den! Or kits!"

Kits huh? Maybe not now but in the future if things go well for him and his chosen. What an odd litter they would have. He would love them all the same. Jay shook his head to clear his thoughts. There he goes thinking about kits when he doesn't even know how he felt about him. But that changes this spring.

"It's just an ordinary fox though. Why not look for more interesting things?"

More interesting huh? Jay stopped then raised his head, sniffing the air. He then opened his jaws- and roared, startling the humans.

"Holy shit!"

"Shhhh!"

Jay took off in a run, pretending to be spooked.

"Shit! After it!"

These humans must be amatures to simply go chasing down an animal- worse in its natural habitat.

"Trap it! We can bring it back with us!"

As if he was that easy. He zigzagged through the trees, snickering as one of them fell. He came to the halfpipe rather quickly, backing himself up slowly with a growl as the humans formed a semicircle.

"We got you now. Zoos will pay a fortune to have you." A woman says with a smirk.

Jay rose a brow then dropped the defensive behaviour.

"Alright. That's enough play time." Jay spoke, freaking them all out.

"Holy fuck, did it just talk?"

"What the fuck?!"

"Ugh. You humans are always so loud." Jay says, lowering his head so he can rub at his ear with a paw.

"This is too freaky. I'm out." One human says then turned around, walking straight into the furred chest of Zane.

"Yeah no. My friend doesn't like that idea very much." Jay says as he stood on his hind legs, transforming as he walked towards the humans, now frozen in terror where they were, looking up at Zane in all of his hungered rage. "You see, he hasn't had a meal all winter. While he needs at least one person a month to feed on, he had to bypass eating for two additional months... For reasons." Jay's muzzle shortened as his body grew, until he was standing before the humans who were looking at him in just as much horror.

He looked like them. Sure he had the ears still, both tails and furred hind legs, as well as his claws and fangs… But he looked very much human with his curly brown hair and freckled cheeks. His smile was playful.

"I hope you don't mind sacrificing yourselves for the greater good. And if you do..." He says, looking at them with wide, innocent looking slitted, glowing blue eyes.

The humans looked back to Zane who growled from his place towering over them. His antlers branched out high from atop his disfigured deer head, his maw filled with jagged, razor sharp teeth. His arms were disproportionately long and skinny with claws the length of entire palms extending from his fingers. His chest was covered in fur in the middle but his ribs stood out along with all the bones in his body. He stood on powerful hind legs with just as long claws as he looked them down with sunken in, glowing, sky blue eyes that promised death and agony in the process.

"... Well. Too bad." Jay finished off, patting the shoulder of one man as he walked by.

The wendigo roared and the humans screamed.

Jay turned around to watch Zane take a solid bite out of one of their shoulders, taking bone and all. One managed to slip by, running in their direction but then a wall of rock and earth suddenly cut him off, trapping him inside with Zane.

"Nice work." Cole says and Jay smirked.

"I hardly had to do anything. These lot are a lot boring. The last ones I had to get more creative with." Jay huffed. "Don't hurt their equipment Zane! I want to add them to my collection!" He called out and only received a grunt in return.

"I'll need the bones for the soil! Don't forget!" Cole called out and received a purr in response, the sound bringing a smile to Cole's face, despite the terrified and agony filled screams that sounded.

"The natives are safe this and next month. I want my pick of whatever they brought on the ship though." Jay says as he walked away.

"Let's hope they have cake. I do like that human pastry." Cole says, following him and Jay snorted. "Nya should be awake by now, right? The water usually gets warmer before land after all." He says as they began to descend the mountain.

"Yeah. She should be up. She might even want dibs too." Jay says, watching as the docks came into view from their high elevation.

"They no doubt have weapons. She'll want to add them to her hoard." Cole nods. "Meet you there?" He questioned Jay who sighed in relief.

"Yes! I thought you were going to let me walk all the way down there!" He groaned.

"You should. All you've done all winter is eat and sleep." Cole joked.

"It's what foxes are supposed to do Mr-I-don't-have-to-eat-but-I-eat-anyway." Jay huffed and Cole chuckled before vanishing like he always does.

Jay rolled his eyes then unleashed his powers, letting the lightning consume him then shrink, leaving him flying down the mountain and towards the yacht that was docked a little off shore. Their island home was far off the coast of Ninjago, human territory. It was one of a chain of several islands known as the Dark Islands to humans. Solely because they are all shrouded in mystery. No human that visits any return yet they always do. Not that the natives mind. They have a saying: better them than us and urge the newcomers up the mountain into Zane's claws. When none arrive within a month, the village sacrifices one of their own along with other things to appease the rest of them. They had nothing Jay wanted however and the villagers didn't have the best access to gold and shiny things for Kai. Nonetheless they made an effort with their best livestock.

Jay landed on the boat, looking around curiously from the outside and went in. He knew how boats worked Unlike the others, Jay was a city fox. He wasn't sure if he was born but he was raised in human territory. He got up to a lot of trouble growing up but his mortal parents wanted him to not be found. Apparently they murder his kind for 'safety reasons'. He figured out without them that's what happened to his real parents. He lived with them for 50 years before they passed together, on the same day of old age. After that, he had no more ties to the human world. He hates hiding. So he took the first boat he could find heading to the Dark Islands to live like he wanted, without hiding. What he didn't expect was to run into a Sea Serpent, a Wendigo, two dragons and a Nymph. He was glad he did though.

"Find anything interesting?" Jay asked the nymph who was rummaging through the kitchen area.

"I've found a few packaged cakes actually. The sleeping area has some potential for you." Cole suggested and Jay nods, head there.

Immediately, he spotted a laptop.

"Jackpot. Finally!" He purred, picking it up and looking it over.

Borg Technologies. They're still around huh. A very good brand. He tucked the device under his arm and began looking around for anything else interesting. He was certainly keeping these blankets and pillows. They were surprisingly soft and would make a great addition to his den. After a moment, the yacht suddenly lurched. Neither entities were surprised.

"Looks like Nya is here." Cole says around a mouth full of Twinkies then headed out.

"I already have what I need anyway." Jay says, following him out.

They both looked out at the sea, spotting an arch moving in the sea covered in scales of all sorts of blues that glittered in the rays of the sun. That a bad omen to anyone who dare to cross her territory but a good one for them.

"I'm not surprised to see you two here." They turned around to see Nya there, her large head lifted out of the water as her slitted blue eyes looked them over. "Zane got them to eat, right?" She asked, raising up more out of the water, keeping her head over the boat before her body began to recede and morph.

Just like all of them, she had two forms. Her sea serpent form was long and large with a long fin-linke spine that spanned from the back of her head down to the very tip of her tail. She also possessed a few sets of gills just under her head and near her middle that were protected by toucheer scales. She had talons, much like Kai but she only had two front paws, mainly used for sinking heavy duty ships trying to get to the Dark Islands. Her teeth were straight and needle like but very sharp and deadly, as well as her ability to crush an armored ship with just a few could of her body around it. In this more humane form however, she still possessed no legs and appeared to look like a mermaid. Her tail however looked more like an eel's but with scales. Her hands are as webbed and as claw like as her sea serpent form and her gills along the side of her neck and chest were firmly closed, allowing her to take in air. Her hair was black in Kai's brown but just as short.

"This one is bigger than average. Zane got himself quite the meal, huh?" Nya asked as Cole walked over to pick her up.

"Yeah but it's good. He hadn't eaten for all of winter. He needs the extras." Cole says and Nya gained a smug look.

"I wonder why?" She teased and the Oread that held her flushed.

"Hush you. I never teased you when you finally asked that pretty Naga out." Cole huffed, the flush still in his cheeks and Nya laughed.

"Skylor is more than just a pretty Naga." She says but patted Cole's shoulder. "Let's go see what I can get out of this scrap heap." She urged and Cole rolled his eyes hut carried her in.

"Not you." Nya says, stopping Jay when he moved to come along.

He looked at her confused.

"I can send Kai about to wake up. You need to head back and finally end the pinning." She says and Jay flushed and stuttered. "None of that denial crap. We know it's true. Now go! You know how grumpy he gets when he wakes up alone." She reminded.

"I'll take your stuff back, don't worry." Cole reassured and jay looked down at the items in hand then dropped them, the laptop landing on the pillows.

"Fine, alright." Jay huffed then flew off in his electrical ball- only to stop by the village.

He put in a request just after Kai fell asleep for winter months back. The village settlement was next to the thawing river that cut through the plains. They all lived in cleverly crafted huts of straw and clay but that was the least of his concerns. He stopped by the blacksmith, the ball of lightning he was in exploding outwards sending the villagers into panic. He stood there, before the smithy glowering intimidatingly as the other villagers hid and ran. The smithy emerged moments later, hurried and carrying something sheathed in red cotton. She knelt before him, shakingly holding the object up, fearful of them as they should be. He looked down the material then flicked it back. His eyes shone seeing the results.

Perfect.

He accepted it and the woman quickly scattered back, keeping a respectable distance as the braver few peaked out, whispering as they beheld him, waiting for him to speak.

"... Your village will know peace for two moons." He spoke and no-one dared to even utter a breath.

He nodded his approval at the smithy then left, zooming through the air as an orb of lightning yet again. He pretended not to hear their cheers as he did. The people knew they weren't gods but they held high respect and fear for them. They were the original rulers of this world after all. Creatures as the humans caller them. That and they refused to leave their home but feared Zane the most. So they struck a deal. One of their kind a month for protection from the others of their kind who wanted the island. Not that they would let them take their home anyway but they didn't need to know that.

Now, Jay was buzzing with excitement as he flew over the snow-covered peak to the back of the mountain. There, a large cave resided, its entrance covered with snow still. The only way in was a small hole Jay dug into the lair of the red dragon of the mountain. Jay flew in, landing on his hind legs. He walked further into the deep cave, his slitted eyes blowing wide so he could see properly. Close to the back of the cave was a massive red dragon that held wicked looking horns and spikes. One black claw was almost as tall as he was. He could easily crush him and in a twisted kind of way, Jay could swoon at that knowledge. He walked over to him, unable to stop himself from stroking his hand along the large red scales covering his head and body, loving the way the colours shift and dance like the fire Kai was. He couldn't stop his purr as he rubbed up against his snout, his tails wagging eagerly.

Heh.

How embarrassing would it be if-

As if sensing his thoughts, his large amber eyes opened, glowing in the dark of the cave. Jay stumbled back, face completely red.

Shit! He should have known better! Nya did say he was waking up! He could hear his heartbeat speeding up too! He was such an idiot! A low chuckle filled the cave.

"Well. Isn't this a surprise." Kai purred without moving, his body waking up still. "Missed me that much Sparky?" He cooed and Jay love-hated how his sleepy voice made his tails positively curl.

"I thought you were gonna sleep through spring too. Had to make sure you actually planned on getting up." Jay excused but that sounded lame to even him.

"Oh? Was that why you were purring as much as you were?" Kai teased and Jay was impossibly red.

He huffed and looked away.

"S-shut up. You were warm is all." He defended.

Kai's chuckle filled the cave again. Jay yipped once he was pushed towards Kai, glaring back at his spiked tail before looking up with Kai with wide, doe eyes. This was a perfect opportunity though! What was he doing?! He could finally confess his interest to be mates! Kai always brings out this defensive side of him. Kai brings out a lot in him and he liked that...

"Denial isn't a good look on you Jay… Tell the truth… That wasn't friendly at all…" Kai hummed, shifting his head closer.

Jay was sure he was looking like Kai with how red he was. He opened his mouth to defend himself then bit his tongue. He fiddles with the cotton in his hand then swallowed.

"... So what if it wasn't?" He whispered, looking up at Kai who looked surprised.

He wasn't expecting that to actually work, or for it to actually be true! The Raiju always held a special place in his heart. Little did he know he was the most precious piece of his hoard. It was why he always slept late for winter and woke early for spring. The idea of leaving him alone for that long was unappealing but he couldn't very well put him atop his small mountain of gold and gems and demand he stay there… Though… Maybe he can now…

Jay bit his lip, tails twitching nervously. Kai has been silent for a while now. Does he…? Does he not like him in that way? His ears flattened on his head as his heart broke.

"I-I'm joking though! Don't take it so seriously!" Jay laughed, sounding forced as he plastered a grin on his face.

Kai snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at Jay. He frowned at the forced grin on his face that didn't belong there. Maybe he should say said something before this gets worse.

"You weren't." Kai says, factually and it was all Jay could do to keep the smile on his face. "You have feelings for me, don't you?" He asked the small fox.

Jay bit his lip, his fangs pricking into his skin and sending blood trickling down his chin. Kai forced himself to move one Jay says nothing, stretching his sluggish body and spreading his massive, horned wings. He then suddenly shifted down, becoming smaller, more humane. He pushed himself up on his hind legs, folding his wings against his back then walked over to Jay, grasping his chin with his clawed hand.

"Jay…" Kai says softly, tilting his chin up so he would look at him. "Don't take it that your feeling are one sided. You've always had a place in my heart. It's just…" Kai trailed off as Jay's heart pounded against his chest.

Kai… He's interested?

This was everything he could ask for. But his but was unerving. He looked at him seriously, capturing him under his amber gaze and Jay couldn't help but gasp at their intensity.

"Jay, if we do this, do us… I won't let go. I won't let anyone else have you. You'll be mine and only mine." Kai warned and- what was so bad about that?

Here he was offering him far beyond he could ask for and all he dreamed off. Jay found his voice.

"... And what's so bad about that?" He asked in a whisper as he stepped closer. "As long as you know… I won't be letting you go either. I'll slaughter anyone who even looks at you like I do…" He says softly, holding onto Kai's scaled arms.

Kai couldn't help the pleased purr that rumbled from his chest at that. Everything Jay says and do never ceases to get to him.

"Jay…" He says his name with a growl, pulling him close by the waist and Jay flushed but went willingly. "You have to understand. Dragons mate for life. There's only one for us. I want you to be it. Skies above knows I do. But you have to understand. There's no backing out after this. You should think-"

Jay cut him off with his lips, wrapping an arm around his neck as he kissed him. Kai growled against his lips then cupped the back of his head, swiping his long, forked tongue against his lips. Jay let him in with a soft sigh that morphed into a moan as Kai kissed him deeply, his tongue leaving no spot untouched. He melts under the heat that radiated from the dragon, bringing his other hand up to wrap around his neck when a loud clatter sounded. Kai pulled back, keeping Jay pressed against him protectively as he snarled, amber eyes looking around for danger as smoke billowed from his nose. He looked down- only to have his eyes blow even wider at what he saw.

"Jay, this is…" Kai whispered as he reached down and picked up the sword by its hilt, looking over its sleek design.

The blade was broad with a dragon breathing fire moulded on the side. He looked over the delicately carved hilt to the pointed tip in awe. The entire sword was made of gold. It would be the first weapon he would add to his hoard. Growing up, both he and Nya had the same interest in a hoard. It often lead to them stealing from each other and nasty fights. For the sake of his sister's happiness, he turned to treasure instead. Gold, gems, shiny things. He likes how they look when the light of fire hit them. He longer for a weapon in his hoard for a while and now… Now…

"I call it the sword of fire." Jay spoke up, regaining Kai's attention. "It took the blacksmith all winter to make but they knew better not to disappoint me. It's yours. Think of it as a courting gift." He grinned and Kai looked at him, at the beautiful fox he didn't know what he did to deserve.

Kai dropped the sword, surprising Jay.

"Huh? You don't li-" Jay cut himself off with a yip of surprise once Kai suddenly pounced on him, leaving him sprawled out on the ground with Kai over him.

Kai kissed him again before he could ask what, delving his tongue deeper into Jay's mouth, leaving the Raiju to turn to putty under his paws.

Not too far away, Zane sighed peacefully, his sated hunger bringing him back to a more peaceful appearance. He still had his horns but they were smaller, less branched out. He looked completely human aside from that, his skin pale and flawless as his platinum blond hair stuck up. Not as wildly as Kai's hair at least. His pointed ears caught sound of something. Someone. Jay! He took into a sprint, his claws reappearing. He sounds hurt! But- He stopped in front of Kai's snow blocked cave, were the sounds were coming from. Kai was there! Were they fighting?! He was quick to bring down the snow blocking the cave to find out.

What he saw… He really should have expected. Without a word, he brought the snow back up with his powers and walked away. Frankly, he was lucky Kai didn't scorch him for interrupting his coupling with Jay.

"Zane!" He looked up and smiled to see his own mate, greeting Cole with a kiss. "What's up? Why are you outside?" He asked, holding an arm full of pillows and blankets, as well as the laptop, all no doubt for Jay.

"I initially planned on checking on Kai's progression in hibernation but…" Zane grimaced. "I have gotten more than I bargained for." He says with a grimace and Cole snorted.

"Looks like I lost that bet. I should have known better than to bet against Nya when it comes to her brother." He says, amused. "Well, I would have helped her with that underwater mountain anyway." He smiled as Zane kissed his forehead.

"Let's leave those two alone. We have work to do." Cole says, leading Zane away.

____________

(Oof sucky ending. Tumblr don't @ me rn I stg. Anyway I spent wayyy too much time on the base of the story rather than the pure plasma I intended. I hope you like it anyway!)

40 notes · View notes

redcxnviction · 5 years

Text

It’s in the blood - A comparison between Himiko and Stain

[SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 226]

Ironically, or perhaps tragically, Stain's blood type is B - the group his quirk is most effective against, with the personality traits (buying into the theory here) that he loathes the most. The tragic element of this fact comes primarily from how My Hero Academia’s society views people with ‘abnormal’ quirks such as his.

As we see from Himiko Toga’s backstory, illustrated in Chapter 226, while her and Stain’s quirks are as natural to them as any other person born with an ability, the nature of that ability is regarded with fear and suspicion.

Toga was placed in a ‘quirk counselling’ program, presumably geared towards those with ‘abnormal’ quirks, apparently designed to help such youth adjust to modern society - which, as Rikiya put it, basically tries to make them conform to what society deems ‘normal’ behaviour.

However, Himiko’s ability makes her drawn to blood. She cannot help it, nor is it inherently malicious. She only needed guidance in how to express her affection in her own way without causing undue harm (as she did with the bird as a child).

Stain, likewise, must have been equally drawn to blood. The panel in which he is shown licking the blood off his blade outside battle, when he has already dealt with his opponant, demonstrates that even someone with his powerful will cannot resist the urge to ingest blood. He, like Himiko, was born with it. For him, it is natural and normal.

Curious states that the counselling program tends to alienate its charges from others more than it actually helps them, and considering the slant it takes against their natural abilities, that’s not surprising.

The sadder aspect of this alienation is that, for Himiko at least, this isolation started in her own home. Her parents viewed her ability with horror and demanded she suppress it. They describe her expression as that of a ‘deviant’, lamenting that their daughter is abnormal and ‘creepy’.

Immediately they cast their daughter as a villain. To them, her actions are the act of a criminal, a psychopath, who enjoys hurting others, rather than the display of affection it truly was.

Later, when Himiko flees after finally breaking and sucking the blood of a classmate, her parents refer to her as a ‘lost cause’ and a ‘demon’.

The moment she demonstrated her quirk, Himiko’s parents feared their daughter becoming a deviant, a villain, a murderer, and failed to take the time to understand their daughter’s intentions.

Stain’s parents, in the anime at least, are said to have died in non-suspicious circumstances during the ten years Stain spent training to conduct his purge of fake heroes.

What they thought of their son’s quirk, his views on hero society, or actions prior to their deaths, is unknown. However, it seems that they were at least more supportive of their son’s ambitions in life than Himiko’s parents, as they allowed and paid for their son attend a private hero academy despite having an ‘abnormal’ quirk.

The time in which Himiko and Stain cut ties with their school peers due to their quirks is interesting. After years of suppression, Himiko broke down and attacked a classmate while she was still in middle school. The mental strain of suppressing such a natural and powerful part of her identity was too much to bear.

Stain, on the other hand, seems to have endured whatever oppression he likely received to at least attend high school, determined to follow in All Might’s footsteps. His dream appears to have helped defend against it. What finally broke him, then, was what he encountered at the hero academy - youth corrupted either with greed, a desire for fame, money, or something other than the heroic ideal Stain aspired to.

Aside from the painful reality crushing his hope for the future of heroics, it also was no doubt a crushing blow for Stain personally. To have endured the isolation and oppression Himiko suffered, and then arrive at an institution that accepts and rewards people with ‘normal’ quirks but selfish desires, destroyed Stain’s faith in his dream.

In that academy, they were the ‘normal’ ones, destined to be heroes, while he was the ‘abnormal’ one, destined for villainy.

Himiko’s suppression of her quirk to fit in led to her creating a mask of conformity, which others interpreted as normal, and in effect, decent.

Himiko even states herself that displaying behaviour of those around her enabled her to receive better treatment despite her quirk.

Stain also appears to have been viewed as a decent sort of person, at least during his soapbox speaking teen years, when passers-by, ignorant of his quirk, saw him in the street, if this quote is anything to go by.

The bleeped-out part is Stain’s real name, implying that the woman may have gotten to know Stain personally during this time. Maybe she spoke to him. To her, Stain was a normal young man. But if she had known about his quirk, Bloodcurdle, would his transformation into the Hero Killer been so strange?

Like Himiko, Stain’s words and desires were ultimately ignored by the society around him, and he became more and more isolated. His parents appear to have been supportive, unlike Himiko’s, and so their deaths may have sealed his seperation from society.

Stain’s declaration: “Someone must be stained with blood!”, and his belief that he must be the one to carry out the purge, now carry a more tragic burden. It would appear that Stain has bought into society’s perception of him as a villain, and embraced it as the only possible way he could do a service to society.

This is likely the reason Himiko fell in love with him - she saw how, in spite of facing the same oppression as she had, and becoming the villain society expected him to be, Stain continued to pursue his dream of creating a better world, no matter the cost.

#spoilers #mha spoilers #bnh spoilers #chapter 226 #himiko toga #toga himiko #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnh #hero killer stain #stain #hero killer #Chizome Akaguro #akaguro chizome #analysis #theory

33 notes · View notes

volcanicflash · 5 years

Text

Morph

„A light in my hand

A light in my heart

I polish the rust off my soul

And place a mirror across from your mirror

So as to create an eternity of you” – Ahmad Shamlou, The Garden of The Mirror (trans. Jason Bahbak Mohaghegh)

„I am the beginning and ending of what is war

And I am the beginning and ending of what is raw” – Jedi Mind Tricks

It’s late at night, and nights usually come with grace. There’s a certain eternity to them that doesn’t try to convince me that I should believe every thought I’m having.

But this one is different. It takes only two words and a light switching up in the bathroom for me to start spiraling down. As if a part of my brain would start fogging, no longer being able to see through the endless, calm silence that a warm summer night brings. The brain, when the light switches on, becomes like the bathroom window: a frosted glass. Reality is not allowed. Reality is especially not allowed when I’m looking in the mirror for a brief moment, while I’m washing my hands, and that moment is rewriting everything I knew about myself in a split second, the horror of not seeing my reflection as it is. Or, rather, seeing it exactly as it is. Then the mirror becomes the enemy. Then is the moment of truth for the one who would rather spit herself in the face through the mirror rather than facing it.

I’m trying not to gaze into it any longer, I’m switching off the light, but as I step out from the bathroom, there’s another one in the hallway, a full-body one, gathering in the lights coming from the opposite room, just enough to reflect my silhouette. A form that stays the same even in darkness, where no one can see reality. I shut my eyes, what is reality. I know the next morning won’t be the same.

Wake up. Stretch. Get up. Sit for five minutes, observe your thoughts. They’re racing. Observe them. Stare at the wall. Put one foot on the ground, feel the cold. Put the other one down, feel the rug. Stand up, open the door, grow a shield, be bulletproof. Open the door, switch up the lights again, observe your surroundings, step on the smooth and fluffy rug that’s trying to distract you from having the thought, then open the faucet, wash your face, look in the mirror, try staying neutral. Feel the itch on your skin, the knot growing in your throat. Resist the urge to claw your face violently. No attack, no satisfaction.

Prepare yourself, be like a dead animal, your own version of taxidermy, put on a pedestal for an imagined audience that stares into your glass eyes, you could almost hear their sharp gazes like knives clashing onto the smooth surface.

Step out on the street and everything is a mirror. Dirty car windows that have „for sale” posters glued to them, dusty and uncomfortable underwear shops’ windows, supermarket walls shining inhumanly. Try not looking, look anyway.

There is no sense of body as whole while looking into a mirroring surface through the lens of dysmorphia. You see shapes and sizes impasted into something you forgot that’s human. They’re just feet that you’d rather shape and smooth down with a chainsaw, you’d slam back together as if the joint could pop back, you’d skin yourself alive to suck off flesh and fat tissue with some weird machine that’s all in your imagination, cut off the breast then reshape them and slam them back onto the flesh, no, you’ve never seen a plastic surgery, no, you’d never be able to endure one, no, absolutely no one would break open your skeleton to reshape it. Nip and tuck, that’s the other story. Sit with it.

Then come the fabrics, textiles that cover you. But none of them fall accurately, and none of them are hugging the skin in the right places. You don’t know where the right places are. You just know that they’re not right places. Palm-sized areas, softness, a curve, an angle. Nothing remains of it if you look at it from the perspective of an insect, climbing up on the skin, stepping on it with its tiny legs, one by one, barging into hairs, dead skin cells. But is this body dead or alive, when you can’t inhabit it. Where does dissociation end, when you’re dissolving in the worm’s stomach-organ, when you can finally see your true reflection in the eyes of deep sea creatures who never saw anything bright before machine encounters and their summer days and nights are infinite in the void of oxygen? Longing for deep salty water won’t sanitize your wounds, evil mathematics and ratio-obsessions. Sometimes I wonder in front of a reflecting surface if all of this will matter in a decade, among severe droughts, hailstorms, floods and food shortages. But the internalized audience and someone else’s voice, that speaks instead of mine disapproves of it. Dwelling in a foreign city, dwelling in a foreign body.

The only place that has no reflections is a dark one. Lying on the bed, for the first time in my life I wanted to know how being drunk would feel, dead, bare-assed drunk, not remembering anything the next day, in the glorious, numbing headache and graceful nausea, where throwing up would mean that for at least ten minutes I’d turn off a thought process. But I resist.

Then the emptiness ensues. There are no drinks, no drugs, but the feeling of being a vessel, a vessel of void.

I remember sitting in my kitchen with a classmate years ago, working on some insignificant project for an insignificant grade. A small-stature, very pedantic young woman, her legs carefully placed on each other, polka dots, hair in a fringe. I’m explaining the difference and connection between clitoral and vaginal orgasm, as she’s marrying her boyfriend in the next month and the only thing she did with him is kissing.

„But is this a custom in the Baptist Church, that you’re marrying the person after half a year of dating?” – I asked.

„Yeah, usually, but there were some exceptions before.”- she replied with a fake smile that slowly faded into a genuine one, after she realized she’d been through answering one of her most difficult questions in her life. „But I’m very curious. It feels so good when I hug him. And I can feel the wedding night is going to be great.” – she added.

„But have you ever felt that tingling, squeezy, flooding-hot sensation down there before?”

„Yes. It was interesting, at first, I didn’t know how to feel it. That’s why I started to be curious.”

„This curiosity was intense for me too, when I first had sex” – I added – „but my worst concern was that what will he think about my naked body. I’m not in the best relationship with it.”

„Sometimes I’m not either. But then I look in the mirror and I remember that God created us to be perfect. And when I’m thinking about that, it fills me with peace. Try to place your existence into God’s hand.”

Good for you, I thought. I’m placing my existence into the hands of a god below. God, please touch me, I can’t touch myself. Do your duty and fill this vessel. Fuck me to unfuck me.

I’m rolling back to my side, I turn up the volume on the music, the soundscapes fill me up, this is what one usually doesn’t get in subcultures and nomadic taste-groups, these intense sensations during concerts or listening, when the symbolic sonic self-destruction transcends the whole body into another realm of existence. This constant becomingness that fills every nerve, every pore, every inch of skin, these goosebumps that annihilates the pain of being trapped into a body you can’t always cope with.

What does it mean being a woman, when one is an empty vessel that could be filled up with anything. Does honoring the dread of looking in the mirror count as an approach to end this phase of utter madness? Why do I think every pain that comes across my way is trying to teach me a lesson? In fact, they do. It’s a productive emptiness, a Śūnyatā, a black ensō circle drawn to the blank paper. And with every brush stroke and every new circle drawn in silence, they become infinite, yet none of their ending is connected as the ink slowly fades out from the brush. Where the lines don’t touch, where the saturated ink-spot gathers on the paper, is where pertaining to self ends. While being a vessel of existence is not inherently something good or bad, a shattered vessel is what losing the sense of one’s femininity would look like.

In the evening I’m reading Bolaño’s 2666, where professor Amalfitano is having a conversation with the Voice. When I get tired of it, I just simply press the button on the Kindle and close the cover, I switch off the lights then I take the last stroll to the toilet.

In the hallway the full-body mirror stops me. Lights from the streets gather in it, coming through multiple windows and blinder-holes. The silhouette is standing there in its whole 171-centimeter height, dark and weirdly shaped. „What does femininity mean to you?” – it asks. „I don’t know”. I’m trying to look away, but it stares into me. „What does femininity look like to you?” – it’s persistent and its voice is hollow but stringent. „Something that’s always someone else and is outside of me. When I see women, I see the lack of woman in me. Yet I don’t know this piece from the puzzle. Woman is a puzzle. Femininity is that piece from the puzzle and the image is not complete. Why are you asking me these?”

Before it could answer, the silhouette transforms itself into someone resembling my young mother. She has no face of her own, but I can see a vortex of words, curses and fragments from lost sentences spinning in her skull. She’s shivering, squeezing her breasts and stomach. And I can hear her voice from behind. „You are pear shaped like everyone in the family”. „I looked just like you when I was your age.” „I was even skinnier”. „When I worked at the theater, I had this guy who said once that if I put cold compresses on my breasts they would cease like pimples.” „You’re so beautiful, can’t you see yourself? Tall and long limbs.” „Many would envy your legs.” „I got fatter after you were born, but before that I was just as thin.”

She’s vibrating until her face starts growing back, then her presence fades away and the voices that came with her. Then my silhouette appears again but turned into stone. And this one tiny snake is just there at its legs, crawling up and down, slowly turning to me, growing and growing, an then it comes right through the mirror.

Its cold skin touches my feet. It creeps up and with every inch of its scales it tries to turn me on, going back and forth on the places I hate seeing the most and it just caresses me and tries to blend in with the softness, and its double tongue is weird and erotic and what’s femininity even more, than weird and erotic? Making love is a snake trying to get into a desire-machine. This is when it becomes cosmic.

#flash fiction #short story #experimental #dream #dysmorphia #body dysmorphia #body image

2 notes · View notes

qwertythepopstarian08 · 5 years

Text

JSAB Steampunk AU Fanfic: Terminal

I couldn’t resist writing another gift fic for @just-steams-and-shapes

I have literally fallen in love with that AU, and I’ve realized how fun it is to write Luce and Belle.

I know some details may be off, but I’ve been putting this story on hold for a bit, so I hope everything suffices in quality.

This is technically an AU of an AU of an AU (is that right?) so any inconsistencies can be attributed to that... please?

Also, just because Belle and Luce were the only available characters on that blog so far, I added an OC, Riley the Mountain Blossom. She has a minor role, so please don’t yell about her presence.

Description: Belle realizes just how dangerous Deceoras can be... no matter who they used to be.

Warnings for minor body horror, animal death, angst, and canon-typical violence.

Three months, two weeks, and four days after his transformation, Luce was still a Deceora. Belle had tried everything she could to revert him to normal, from medicine to magic to chiropractic procedure, yet nothing seemed to work.

Belle was in no way fine with this. Luce was reduced to what was essentially an animal, and because of the stigma and fear surrounding the Deceoras, he couldn’t leave the house or even linger by the windows. He was trapped in his own body, barely able to communicate for the words scrambled on his tongue and got lost between his jagged fangs.

The two of them tried their best to find a cure, but it seemed that Luce was doomed to stay a monster forever. Even the feral Deceoras seemed to sense something was up. A few had taken to lingering by the workshop, not attacking but just… watching, beckoning the newly transformed creature to join them.

Each time one came, Belle hoped that their bond would hold up, but even she couldn’t deny the look of distant longing in Luce’s gaze…

Deep down, they both knew that he’d slip. Given his predatory nature, it was only a matter of time.

It had been a full year before things went downhill.

Luce had started falling into a hopelessness, believing that he’d never go back to normal. He’d remained in his beastly state for what felt like an eternity, and each passing day made his heart break as he awoke to see himself looking and feeling like a monster.

At the moment, hee was sulking, perched on one of the tables and trying vainly to gnaw at a granola bar. His teeth just weren’t meant to consume oats, or anything other than meat and shards, for that matter, so he only succeeded in eating the snack one bite at a time, over the course of an hour. It was… loud.

((Cronch-cronch-cronch-cronch))

Belle had tried to raise his spirits. She approached, a tentative smile quirking at her features.

“Luce? You awake?”

It was code for, ‘Are you in control?’ Luce was prone to snapping into a more feral state at times. He never hurt anyone, but he didn’t seem to respond to vocal communication, unable to understand. As of late, he’d been slipping out of control far more often than usual, undoubtedly because of his lack of hope. He just didn’t have the strength to fight his instincts. Much to Belle’s relief, the Deceora nodded, huffing as he sat up. He was aware, although he just wanted to sleep.

“Rrrr….” he growled lowly at her, too tired to muster up words. He licked chocolate from between his teeth, giving Belle a side glance. “Mmrf.”

The purple shape crossed her arms, her tone becoming a bit irritated.

“Come on, Luce… I want to talk to you.”

The Deceora turned around, sighing heavily. “Monsters… don’t talk.” He drew in on himself, a soft, sad croon spilling from his jaws. “But… I listen…”

Belle walked around, cupping the beast’s face in her hands. She was unafraid of his lagoon infection by now. From the looks of it, it only spread through open wounds, and she’d taken care to bandage any work-related injuries. Luce looked up at her with puppy-dog eyes, whimpering a bit. His heart rate eye, now modified to fit his current facial structure, started to slow in pace.

Belle pulled him into a sudden hug, giggling as she heard him squeal and try to break free. He’d gotten significantly bigger during his time as a Deceora. If he stood on his hind legs, he came up to his sister’s shoulders, counting his horns. He was no longer the weakest and smallest of the monsters, but the purple engineer was unafraid, having reassured herself that he’d never raise a claw to her.

He was her brother, after all. They poked fun at each other and teased, but at the end of the day, they only had each other. Belle was rather strong; she had to be, given her line of work. She easily hefted him up to her shoulders, where he clung to her, held by her second pair of arms.

“I”m gonna spin ya….” she warned.

Luce threw his head back and screamed. From any other Deceora, the sound would have been threatening, but in the months that he’d been like this, Luce had learned other ways to communicate besides through his stilted speech. That particular scream was one of excitement.

Luce’s screeching halted as he heard knocking at the door. Belle frowned, and the beast felt himself being lowered. His horns drooped, and he whimpered, allowing himself to be set down.

“Alright, fun’s over,” Belle stifled a chuckle. “You stay right there.”

Luce huffed, sticking his tongue out. He dimly wondered what Belle’s excuse would be now. With his advanced senses, he could hear his old friends outside, undoubtedly looking for him. He admired their loyalty and concern, but it only broke his heart when he heard Belle tell them, time after time, that he was ill and couldn’t come out to play.

He was thirteen now, but he was still a kid… or at least he was before turning into a monster.

His thoughts started to spiral, and he shook his head, standing on shaky legs. A low, curious growl rumbled from his core, and he peered around the corner of the table to see who was at the door.

From what he could see, it was a flower. He vaguely recognized the kid from the last time he’d been outside, before he was cursed. The young sprout had just joined his mutual friend group, and he thought he remembered her name as being something that started with an “R”...

The flower was inquiring about him again. It was a sweet gesture; she hardly knew him, yet she came all this way just to ask about him.

“Uh… do you know when Lucy will be better?”

Luce winced at the nickname. In his current state, he couldn’t quite suppress the urge to hiss, wanting to shatter whoever came up with that title. He wished he could blame his aggression on his current state, but he’d always been a bit volatile at heart...

The girl at the door seemed to hear him, her eyes going wide as she glanced over Belle’s shoulder. Luce darted behind the table, although the flower managed to catch a glimpse of his tail, hearing his claws clicking against the floor. She shuddered.

“What was that?”

Belle tried to remedy the situation, holding up all four of her arms to block the flower’s view. “Nothing, just some old, creaky gears… don’t worry about it!”

The flower narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “I’m worried… is Luce doing alright? He never passes up a chance to go exploring….” Her tone became solemn, almost nostalgic as she sighed. “The other kids say that he once knocked out a bird with his arm cannon. We nursed it back to health, and it’s not mad at him… in fact, we named it Lucy Junior….”

Luce’s growl abruptly cut off, and he blinked, tilting his head. Suddenly, his endearing nickname didn’t seem so bad, and he crooned sadly, thinking about that day, all those months ago.

One of the rowdier kids had dared him to try to shoot fireworks from his arm. They’d all gone out to the forest to goof around and pretend to be explorers or monster-hunters. Up until his disappearance, Luce fondly recalled the crazy stunts that the others put him through. It was all fun and games for the most part. Occasionally, a kid broke an arm, or a few bushes got burned down. But no real damage was created.

The bird had been a misfire. It had been sitting in a tree, far away from the action. But then, as soon as Luce readied his cannon, it swooped, coming down in a collision course for the blast. They had banded together to nurse it back to health; they may have been a destructive bunch, but none of them would actually kill someone… Right after that, Luce vanished, having fallen to the Deceora curse…

Luce whimpered, looking up to see Belle starting to close the door. He shook his head, suddenly growling to himself.

He missed his friends, he missed his life… he missed being a kid... and not some abomination. He wanted his old life back, even if he stayed a monster.

Without a second thought, he jumped up and rushed at the door, shrieking. It was meant to be one of his signature battle cries, but in his current form, it came out as a threatening roar.

The girl, whose name he now remembered as “Riley,” turned with wide eyes. Luce was vaguely aware of Belle’s startled yell, hearing her begin to mutter blights and otherwise rude exclamations.

Luce ignored her, determined. He rushed through the door, leaning outside to see the girl. Mustering up the willpower to be understood, he screamed, “RILEY! IT’S ME!”

Riley screamed, staggering back. She obviously knew what a Deceora was… everyone around here knew all too well. She scrambled back, watching with wide eyes as Belle fearlessly grabbed the monster by the tail, dragging him into the house again.

“What are you doing?” she hissed. “Tryin’ to get killed?”

He whimpered, shaking his head and pointing at Riley.

He choked, “Friend….I miss… my friends.”

Belle groaned, holding her head. She crossed her arms, backing away and allowing the Deceora to go free.

“Well, half the neighborhood has heard ya now… might as well go and clear things up before people start jumping to conclusions... “

Her gaze became distant, and Luce knew that she was thinking back to his initial change. Belle had assumed that he was a feral beast, attacking him, thinking that he was dead. She’d been trying to get the full story before she acted nowadays, not wanting to put anyone in unnecessary danger ever again.

Luce happily crooned, standing on his haunches to give her a proper hug. He nudged her shoulder with his snout, then fell back onto all-fours, turning to face the confused flower.

“Hi… Riley…” He trotted outside, keeping his gait slow so as to avoid frightening her. “It me… Luce? Remember…?”

Riley blinked owlishly. She stepped back, concerned. She knew what a Deceora was; EVERYONE in Paradise probably did at this point. They were infamous for being relentless killers… but this one… just wanted to hug her.

“What… what are you?” Her petals drooped, and she looked up at Belle. “Is this like… a guard animal? Did… did you train it to attack intruders?”

Belle raised her arms in surrender. “Nope.” She chuckled bitterly, sending a glare towards Luce. “That’s my dumb little brother. Got himself turned into a Deceora.”

Riley suddenly staggered back, her eyes going wide.

“A what now?!” She looked at Luce, who whimpered. “YOU’RE A WHAT?!”

He shrugged, then started to trot closer, trying to appear small. Luckily, not many people were out at this time, having seen the other Deceoras in the area and opted to stay indoors more often lately.

Luce approached Riley, his head held low. His horns flicked downwards, and he glanced at her, a soft, nonthreatening growl pouring from his jaws.

“Don’t be… scared… won’t hurt…” He tilted his head, whimpering. He towered over the flower, so he could understand her fear. If he stood to his full height, he’d be like two of her, with the physical strength of ten. He kept his voice low, trying to avoid the growling tone. “It’s me… Luce… friend… won’t hurt you… not monster…”

Riley seemed to understand, frowning as she looked up at Luce. She recognized the pink hue of his gaze, a twinge of guilt hitting her as she saw how afraid he was… of scaring her. This couldn’t be a trick. Deceoras were smart predators, but none of them could mimic speech, at least to her knowledge. There was no doubt in her mind… that the monster before her was her friend. She hesitantly approached, reaching up to touch one of his horns.

He recoiled slightly, whimpering. His gaze was melancholy; he wasn’t in any pain anymore, but he was terrified… he didn’t want to scare anyone. Riley frowned.

“Oh… Luce… what happened to you?”

The Deceora breathed a sigh of relief, then sat on his hind legs, chuckling bitterly. He lifted his foreleg, showing the jagged scars and bite marks that still lined his arms. While the scratches and claw marks had healed significantly, the bite wound was still visible, having closed up but left a dastardly scar. It was proof of his curse. As long as it remained, Luce was sure that he’d remain a Deceora, lagoon venom coursing through his veins.

Riley shakily reached up, tracing a hand along the scars.

“... You were bitten?” She looked up to see him nod sadly. “But… that’s never happened before…”

Belle stepped up, crossing her arms.

“Maybe it has.” Luce and Riley looked at her oddly. Sighing, she elaborated, “I mean, nine times outta ten, Deceoras kill their victims and leave nothing behind, so there’s no telling what really happened…” She looked at Luce’s scars, frowning. “I’ve been thinkin’.... What if some of the victims survive, but they end up like Luce? Some of those Deceoras are smarter than they look… who’s to say they aren’t people?”

Riley thought for a moment, humming. It sounded crazy, but….

Luce huffed, his horns drooping. Riley tilted her head, thinking. If Luce could spontaneously change into a Deceora, who was to say that others couldn’t befall the same fate?

“That’s… strikingly sensible…. Most Deceora attacks happen out in the Badlands… too far out in the wilderness for a shape to find help in time…” She crossed her arms. “If one was to succumb to the venom and turn into… this… no one would ever know…”

Belle added, “The Deceora attacks have been less frequent here ever since Luce changed…. They must know that he’s still a shape at heart… they won’t turn anyone else if it’ll just give us power against ‘em…”

Luce glanced between the two, huffing. He didn’t want to think of himself as a symbol of fear at all… even to the enemy. While he was a frightening creature on the outside, he doubted he’d be able to bring himself to kill a Deceora with his own claws and teeth. Back when he could shoot blasts at a distance, it was easier to shatter something… he didn’t have to get blood on his hands.

But now… he knew deep down, the moment the shards flew, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. As soon as blood was spilled, he’d succumb to his instincts and KILL. He’d tear it apart.

He grumbled, bristling.

“No… hurt… anyone…” His horns flicked back, and he hissed. “Not monster… won’t fight.”

Belle gave him a sympathetic glance, sighing. She reached over to pat him on the head, and he purred sadly, nuzzling her hand.

“No one said ya had to, bro. I know you don’t really wanna hurt anyone…” She frowned and looked at Riley. “He’s been real skittish lately. He wouldn’t raise a claw to anyone.”

She internally winced, thinking back to her initial reaction to his change. She’d attacked him in fear, and he sat there and took it, knowing that fighting back would result in her getting injured worse.

He was aware of his raw power, having seen Deceoras tear shapes apart. He didn’t want to become another monster. Although he had predatory instinct, he’d mellowed out slightly, knowing that if he didn’t keep his aggression in check, he’d shatter someone… most likely her.

Luce whimpered and nudged Belle in the side.

“Want… go back…. Inside…” He growled softly, on high alert. “Someone… see…”

Belle nodded, sighing.

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone else would be too keen on seeing a large Deceora just wanderin’ about…” She glanced at Riley, starting to back away towards the house. “See you later?”

The flower held up a hand in a half-hearted wave. Luce looked over his shoulder as he was lead back inside. If he squinted, he could see fear in her eyes.

~~~

Later that night…

Luce’s eyes snapped open as he heard scratching at the window. He leapt up, horns flicking back as he glanced around, his pupils shrinking despite the lack of light. A low growl had started to rumble from his core, and he found himself on edge, sensing something. He stood shakily, tossing his blanket aside as he scanned the area.

It was a few minutes shy of midnight. He grumbled slightly, a snarl threatening to rip from his throat. He was frustratingly familiar with being awoken late at night… or rather, in the darkest hours of the morning. He turned to face the window, his tail thumping against the edge of the bed, his claws digging into the sheets.

His glare met parted, serrated jaws, and he hissed, agitated by the familiar sight of another Deceora.

The pests had stopped attacking his home altogether, but they’d taken to watching him. They normally kept their distance, yet a few curious stragglers stuck around dangerously close to his dwelling, waking him with their clicking calls.

They seemed to think he was a part of the pack, if only for the fact that their venom ran through his veins...

A deep, subdued instinct in Luce’s core forced him to respond, and he, instead of ignoring the creature and going back to bed as he desired, found himself hissing quietly at it, his eyes narrowing as a warning.

It pawed at the window, inquisitive. It seemed to be a bit younger than him, small and a bit scrawny in stature. It didn’t look like it could put up much of a fight, although Luce knew better than to judge a creature by appearance. He trotted up to the window, sitting up on his haunches and pressing his face against the glass.

He could feel the cold of the night from the window. It was pleasantly chilly, just the right temperature for a nightly walk… if there were no Deceoras out… if he wasn’t a Deceora himself.

He huffed, swiping a claw at the visitor, trying to get it to leave. It tilted its head, rearing up and leaning against the windowsill, small, raspy chirps sounding from it. It didn’t seem aggressive, but it wasn’t sentient as Belle had mused earlier, either. It just wanted to play…

Luce winced, his horns flicking upward, before he sighed.

In an act of impulsive curiosity, he nudged the window open, allowing the crisp air to filter through. The young creature outside gave an almost happy series of clicks, nearly climbing inside, before Luce scrambled out, hopping out of the window. He landed with a soft thud, shuddering for a second as his body became accustomed to the chilly, fresh breeze. He purred, having missed the brisk weather dearly.

Quickly growing fond of him, the other Deceora nudged him with its muzzle, trilling. It was a similar shade of lagoon corruption… it must have thought he was a member of its pack.

His tail started wagging a bit, and he paused, looking up at the sound of approaching footfalls. He instinctively pushed the other creature behind him, letting out a huffing hiss as he glanced around.

From the shadows, another Deceora emerged… an adult. It stood tall, easily reaching the roof of the house in height, not even counting its horns. It glowered down at Luce, who staggered back, cowering a bit. He recognized the towering being’s power, and while his logical mind told him to run, his instincts forced him to stay, waiting for approval from the higher pack member.

He instantly jolted, a slightly worried trill escaping him. He looked down at his claws, his vision blurring a bit. When had he started thinking like this? He was a shape, not a Deceora. And yet… he almost… liked it out here, with the nightly beasts. He shook his head, looking back at the tall creature. The smaller one had bounded over to it, giving an affectionate purr as it approached. The large Deceora let out a deep croon, briefly embracing it before turning to face Luce.

It locked eyes with him, communicating a welcoming aura, before it turned, retreating into the forest, the tiny monster in tow. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself advancing forward, quickening his pace to keep up with the giant.

His strides were less clumsy than usual, and in his sleep-deprived, instinctive mindset, Luce didn’t think twice about following the two beasts. In that moment, he was just another Deceora, roaming through the night, hunting for sustenance.

In just minutes, Luce had slipped into the mindset of the beast.

A rapid fluttering movement piqued his attention, and he snapped his gaze towards the source, horns flicking backwards. A low growl ripped from his core, and he halted, turning around. The other two monsters slowed to a stop, the younger beast glancing over its shoulder to glance at him, curious as to why he stopped.

Luce’s predatory instincts flared up, and he stalked towards the bush where he’d seen the movement, a clicking hiss escaping from him. He heard a frightened chirp, a fanged grin spreading across his face. Whatever was there… was afraid.

He sniffed, catching the scent in the air. Avian… warm-blooded… terrified of him. He hadn’t eaten anything since that granola bar from earlier… Whatever was there would soon become his dinner.

Luce crouched, inching towards his prey. Seeming to sense his intent, the large Deceora turned, watching him, ready to interfere if something went wrong. It gazed down at him, holding the smaller creature back from interrupting.

There was a sudden rustle of grass as the hidden animal tried to flee. Luce gave a howling cry, pouncing at it. His claws closed around a small, feathered shape, and he suddenly squeaked in surprise, recognition dancing in his gaze. He tumbled through the bushes, holding the tiny bird close, his eyes squeezing shut.

He could feel a warm , viscous liquid trickling from where his talons had punctured the avian. Its panicked cries quieted to pained trills, and it vainly tried to wriggle free, only for its damaged wing to snap the wrong way.

Luce heard the bird’s dying cries, his heart racing. Its blood splattered across his mechanical eye, which he angrily tore off, shuddering. Warm, slick blood coated his flesh. He’d killed something. With his own two claws. He went cold, nearly letting out a cry as he stared down at the bird.

He recognized it… it was the bird he’d helped to rescue a year ago. Once again, he’d harmed it… this time, it would perish in his hands… in his talons.

Unable to restrain his carnivorous nature for any longer, Luce lowered his head, crunching down on the tiny avian and finishing the job, silencing his prey. It gave a last, shrill chirp, before falling silent, the light leaving its eyes as the venom worked its way through its system.

Luce stood, the bird still suspended from his jaws, its bloodied feathers slick and dripping with red. He glanced over at the other two Deceoras, his eyes wide and tearful.

He trotted over, dropping the bird at the larger beast’s feet unceremoniously. As soon as the bird fell from his jaws, he gagged, backing away and glaring at the large Deceora. It stared through him, a confused croon escaping it as it tilted its head. It failed to interpret Luce’s conflicted expression, moving aside to allow its smaller companion access to the catch. The younger monster trilled happily, wasting no time as it darted over, its jaws closing around Luce’s catch. Purring, it snapped its head to the side, tearing the bird’s wing effortlessly. It tore at the avian like a piranha, unaware of the emotional turmoil the action caused Luce.

He staggered back, a haunted look glaring over his eyes. His head hurt… his senses were overloaded. He hadn’t meant to kill the bird. Yet… he was… hungry.

His mind reeled, his rational thoughts warring with predatory instinct. He couldn’t think straight. He was overwhelmed.

Shaking his head wildly, Luce broke into a run. He was dimly aware of the Deceoras calling after him, although their clicking cries were mute in comparison to his screeching. He shrieked until his throat was raw, trying to block out his fervent senses. He could tell, even without the heart monitor, just how fast his pulse was racing. Terrified, he rushed back to the house, wanting nothing more than to curl up and cry himself to sleep.

He wasn’t a real Deceora. Belle had reassured him of his sentience many times before, but after this, he was beginning to doubt his chances of ever changing back. Even if he managed to reverse his curse, would things ever go back to normal? He’d spent so long as a beast… he couldn’t imagine returning to his old self now.

He’d have to relearn how to walk, to speak, to exist as a normal shape, just because of his mistake. He’d have to reintegrate into society, have to regain the trust of his friends, of himself… He didn’t think he could handle it.

Luce came to a halt just as he reached the window, looking down at himself. His claws were caked in avian blood, and the smell was starting to agitate him, his eyes flickering between fearful pink and mindless lagoon. His head aches, and he started to sway on his feet, nausea flooding his core.

He whimpered, curling up, his tail tucked to his side as he shuddered. He licked the blood from his paws, his jaws clattering, raspy breaths leaving him as he fought his own instincts. The old scar on his foreleg suddenly ached with a phantom pain, and Luce whined, looking over his shoulder to see pink and green blood starting to drip from the aggravated wound.

His entire body screamed with agony, and the Deceora finally mastered up the strength to stand, his frame quivering.

He hesitantly approached the window, standing on his hind legs to reach. Hissing softly, he hefted himself up, attempting to scramble back inside. He only managed to succeed in knocking his arm against the wall, wincing at the loud thump that sounded, a stinging pain shooting through his shoulder, down to his wrists. The pain only increased as he attempted to scramble up the wall, his claws digging into the windowsill as his hind legs kicked vainly.

Finally, he seemed to alert Belle to his troubles, his cries echoing through the night. He heard approaching footsteps, tensing as he saw his sister rush into his room, her fists clenched with worry. She looked around, frantic, before she spotted him clinging to the window, a confused glimmer shining in her gaze.

“Luce?” She opened the window, wasting no time as she reached out and carried him inside. She held him at arm’s length, looking over him for injuries. “What were you doing out there?”

He whimpered and looked away, ashamed of himself. He refused to speak, afraid to show his bloodstained fangs.

Nonetheless, Belle caught sight of the reddish stains along the Deceora’s scaly flesh, her eye filling with a deep, paranoid fear. She nearly dropped him, her hold faltering as she stifled a gasp.

“Is that… blood?”

She set the Deceora down, crossing her arms. He averted his gaze, a shrill whine escaping him as he lowered his head. His horns were angled downwards, a clear indication of his anxious state. Something was bothering him, and it definitely had something to do with the blood.

“Luce, were you attacked?” Belle decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She’d incriminated him once too many times, and she couldn’t afford to lose his trust again… for him to lose his trust in himself again. “Are you alright?”

Much to her dismay, Luce just whimpered more, draping his lanky arms over his face and attempting to look small. He was panicked, his agitation only increasing as time passed. He’d done something horribly wrong, and he recognized it.

Belle sat next to him, pulling him into a sudden hug. He winced, his breaths quickening, before he abruptly pulled away, his eye going wide.

“You… hurt…” he whined. “Stay away…”

Belle sighed, holding out her hand to show the tiny, irritated scratch. Normally, Luce would have merely worried about spreading his corruption through the open wound, but only one panicked thought filled his head now. He could smell the trace amounts of blood, a deep, horrible part of himself thinking back to that bird and wishing that he’d seized the chance to devour it.

He growled lowly, and Belle tilted her head, slightly concerned.

“I got nicked working on some parts… no biggie.” She narrowed her eyes, suspecting a deeper meaning behind the Deceora’s worry. “Why?”

That simple question seemed to set him off, and he suddenly shrieked, unable to handle his own emotions. He ended up rolling right off the bed, scrambling to try and right himself. His limbs felt heavy… foreign…. It shocked him to think that he’d gotten used to his new form, but right now, he could barely move.

Everything felt… weighted. He wanted to go back outside.

He refused to look at Belle, his eyes welling up with tears.

“I…” He hesitated. What would Belle think? Would she finally see him as a monster?

His mind swam with frantic thoughts, and he curled up, his eyes flickering between lagoon and pink. Belle took notice of the ocular change, her voice filling with worry as she reached out, only to be responded to with an aggressive hiss.

Luce arched up, his eyes wild with agitation. It was getting difficult to think properly, especially in this… limited space. He wanted to run, but between the bed and the walls, he could barely maneuver. It was quickly becoming clear… a monster like him wasn’t meant to coexist with shapes.

He wanted… to be free.

Shaking his head, he acted on the impulse, leaping for the window. He heard Belle yell after him, yet he forced himself to ignore her, bracing himself as the glass shattered. His scaly flesh deflected most of the glass, although he couldn’t help but hiss in pain as he hit the ground, shards of glass falling around him. He didn’t waste a second to leap to his feet, briefly shaking himself before he broke into a run.

He couldn’t stay here… not after what he did. He couldn’t endanger his sister.

Shocked, Belle climbed out, rushing after him. Her panicked yells rang out through the night, and Luce felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes again.

He glanced over his shoulder, screeching at her, trying vainly to get her to stop following him.

“Luce, what are you doing?!” Belle started to fall behind. She was athletic enough, but she just wasn’t built for such a sprint, at least not a long-distance one. “Luce, come back! Luce!”

The Deceora paused briefly, turning to face her. He arched up, his eyes flaring with corruption, before he let out a threatening roar, his horns angled backwards. His jaw hung open, dripping with venom. His heart was racing.

“Stay away!” His words dissolved into hisses, and he screamed, “DANGEROUS!”

Belle finally seemed to falter, taking a shaky step back. Her eye filled with fear, and Luce could almost sense what she was thinking of… a feral Deceora.

It hurt to scare her like this… it hurt to yell at his sister, but he had to, if only to get her to leave him alone and forget. He gave an almost rabid snarl, swiping at her. He was dangerous, and she had to see it.

“Luce… bro…”

Before Belle could get another word in, Luce cut her off with an angered hiss. Without further hesitance, he turned and ran, hoping that he wouldn’t be followed. He wanted to believe that he’d never harm her, that the incident with the bird was a fluke, but he couldn’t trust himself. He kept running, forcing himself to race through the forest as his muscles burned in protest.

“I’m… sorry…” he wheezed. “Too dangerous…”

He didn’t stop until he could no longer hear Belle’s footsteps, could no longer detect her scent in the air. He collapsed in the middle of the wilderness, sure that he must’ve travelled all the way to the Badlands with how far he’d run.

Luce’s heart ached, even more so than his body. His mind reeled, and he found himself curling up and sobbing, fighting to catch a breath as he wailed. He was vaguely aware of the inquisitive, familiar chirp that sounded near him.

The small Deceora from earlier trotted over to him, nuzzling up to his side in an attempt to provide comfort. He didn’t protest this time, having resigned himself with his fate. Whimpering pitifully, he returned the embrace, a clicking hiss escaping him as he did so.

The younger creature purred sadly, seeming to sense his despair.

Luce could barely breathe, but he didn’t dare move, afraid to lose his only companion. His eyes slid shut, and he drifted off, feeling his will to return to normal dwindling to nothing.

The chances of him ever reversing his curse were slim to none. No matter what Belle had tried, he’d remained a Deceora. He sighed, although as he took in the crisp, chilly air, he found his despair being replaced with something else.

A curious anticipation… for his new life.

~~~

Weeks later, Belle was still searching for her brother. The only sign of him had been an avian corpse, a familiar little bluebird that had once been fondly referred to as, “Luce Junior.”

The bird was mauled by a Deceora. Belle knew her brother was to blame.

Her hopes died that day, and from then on, when clients of the workshop asked where he was, she replied with a sad sigh, a haunted look in her eye, “I don’t have a brother. Luce is dead.”

She saw a familiar Deceora sometimes, in the odd hours of night. It was smaller than the others, with dark, thoughtful pink eyes. Its wounds had healed. It had let go of the past. Sometimes, it looked at her, and Belle got a rush of familiarity, almost wanting to speak to it.

She didn’t dare approach, for she knew what it was capable of. It didn’t matter who it had once been; it was a Deceora, and it was dangerous. It was fond of her, nonetheless, and Belle often caught the creature watching her from afar, protecting her from a distance.

But it never stuck around. Belle knew deep down… it was afraid of becoming attached.

#jsab #Just shapes and beats #belle #Other people's OCs #luce #new game #Oh Look a Story Thing #deceora #au #jsab au #steampunk au #oops all angst #gift #riley #oc #fc #fan character

12 notes · View notes

mentalmimosa · 5 years

Text

this room and you

Prompt: We’re actors who have never met before and the first scene we’re filming is the kissing scene, and the director isn’t happy so we have to do it over and over. By the way, you need a breath mint.

t’s not that Bucky hates Steve Rogers; that’s kind of impossible. The guy’s a do-gooder in the best sense, in the sort of way that says even if he weren’t famous, weren’t a modern-day version of a matinee idol, he’d still be out there helping kids and raising money for animal rescue and using his scarce days off to build houses for the homeless with Jimmy Carter with a big ol’ smile on his face. He likes it, trying to make the world a better place, and he’s one of the few actors Buck’s ever met who gets that there’s more he can do on that score than look pretty at photocalls and name drop Amnesty International whenever he wins an award. The press raves about him, his co-stars all do; even the crew guys Bucky’s met who’ve worked with the guy can’t gush fast enough. Steve Rogers is a very solid human. Full stop.

They’ve both been in the business about the same time, though Bucky’s path hasn’t been as meteoric as Steve’s. He’s more of a character actor than Rogers; co-star material, guest star of the week. He’s got talent, sure, but it’s not as easy to read as Rogers’, not as blond All-American beefcake. People see him as potentially tragic material, the kind of character you get to love in Act I before he dies an unfortunate death in Act III with loads of tears and self-pity in between. It’s a good niche, a relatively profitable one, but it’s never translated into summer blockbuster gold. Bucky’s been up for Critics’ Choice awards twice and never won and a Golden Globe once (same result), all as Best Supporting, etc., while Rogers already has his hand on the Oscar ladder: nominated three times, won once. For Best Actor, of course. And he’d deserved it.

Maybe it isn’t so funny, then, that their paths haven’t crossed until now; different trajectories and all that. But somehow, miracle of miracles, they’re on the same set, in the same scene, playing at being boyfriends, and Bucky’s not sure how to feel. Honored? he thinks, tugging at little at his linen shirt and resisting the urge to put a hand through his professionally styled hair. Or intimidated? Yeah. Some of both.

It’s not like today’s the first day they’ve met. There’ve been three weeks of rehearsals: first on a soundstage in Rome and then scattered over some of the gorgeous outdoor locations, set ups drowning in sun and the sound of the ocean, everybody--crew and talent alike--trying to get used to the heat. It’s a period love story, this picture, a different kind of movie for Rogers, the kind of project big actors do when they want to expand their range. He’s playing a traumatized WWI veteran who’s fled to the Italian coast after the Armistice to drown the last years of horror in the beauty and solace of the sea and Bucky’s the young American he meets there, rich and handsome and sheltered, with whom Rogers’ vet falls deeply in love.

Bucky dies in the last reel--because of course he does--loses his life to pandemic flu, but not before he and Rogers’ character have the sort of love affair that transforms Rogers forever, that brings life again to the dead weight of his heart.

So there’s a great deal of kissing to be done and tasteful sex scenes to endure and they’ve sort of sketched all of that, the two of them and the director, back in Rome and a little bit on this very set--the sitting room of a small villa--and why Bucky’s head feels like a hot air balloon, his heart like a train car, he has no goddamn idea. They’re not even shooting the tough stuff today, anything that requires banana slings and the removal of clothes; it’s just a kiss, the characters’ very first one, a fevered and clandestine thing that’ll take, eh, three or four takes, tops, depending on how Kubrick the director’s feeling this morning. He can make out with Steve Rogers for the next half hour, no problem, right?

Steve, who’s as fucking wonderful as everyone says. Steve, who’s even more beautiful in person. Steve who’s funny, Steve who remembers everybody’s name, Steve who likes to talk about politics and books rather than the business, any day.

But Steve is also not perfect. That’s something Buck’s learned. He has high expectations and he rides himself hard--too hard sometimes, Bucky thinks. He remembers his mistakes and files away his successes and seems determined to make everything about the movie match the picture that the director, Nat, has in her head. Bucky doesn’t figure out until the second week that Steve’s one of the producers, that he’s paying for just about everything. It’s a pet project, one based on a book whose title Bucky can never remember, and Steve’s desire for perfection sometimes come off as controlling. He never yells or anything, never acts like a dick, but Bucky can see it on his face when he’s talking to Nat, when they’re huddled over storyboards late into the night. Steve wants the movie to work, wants the movie to fly, and sometimes it seems like he’d carry it up into the sky under his own power if he could.

Bucky likes that about him, how tough he is. How driven he is to succeed. Now the awards make sense, all the accolades; the celebration of him inside the industry and out: Steve knows what he wants and he makes it happen. It’s not a bad way to be.

That he likes Steve doesn’t surprise him because hell, everybody does. But that he finds the guy interesting as well as talented as shit and bone-crushingly beautiful--that’s come as a surprise.

Oh hell, he thinks.

There’s something different about standing here in costume, about the cameras being in place, about the knowledge that they’ll both go for it this time--no marking, no sketching, no testing of beats. Bucky knows what’s going to happen: how hard Steve will kiss him, where Steve’s hands will be, where he’ll put his own. It’s all scripted and under control and he’ll find a way to ignore the fact that Steve is ridiculously attractive, that he’s a fucking great kisser, and the inconvenient truth that the last time they’d run this scene, Bucky humiliated himself through and fucking through.

They’d been rehearsing at night, just the two of them and Natasha, the director. The house they were using was a lot cooler like that, with the sun down and the stars in abundance, and Nat had been insistent that they get in one more run before she loaded the cameras in and started futzing with sound.

“This room and you two,” Nat had said, waving them inside after dinner. “That’s all we need to make this scene work. So let’s go find it.”

She’d positioned Bucky by the settee and ordered Steve to exit stage left, ready to storm in when he called action . Then she took Bucky by the shoulders and grinned at him, his smile made easy by wine.

“He surprises you,” Nat said, quiet so only Bucky could hear. “You’re angry at him at this point. You have every goddamn right to be. But you’re also so in love with him that you can’t see straight and the moment he touches you, the moment he lets you touch him, your anger gets subsumed and the only thing you can think of is to ask for more.” She’d tipped back a little, her expression softening. “Your character, Benjamin, he’s afraid of what he feels, what he’s willing to do in this moment. I need you as an actor not to be. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Bucky had said, and he’d meant it, too, up and until Nat called a soft action and Steve blew into the room, his face already desperate.

“Benjamin,” he said, “please, you have to believe me. What you saw, what you thought you saw, it wasn’t--”

Bucky turned away, his mouth working around Benjamin’s anger. “Really? What was it then?”

“She asked me for help. She hasn’t heard from her father since the war ended and she thought I could tell her what to do, where she should start looking. And then she--she was overwhelmed by her grief.”

“So you were comforting her.”

“Yes.”

“Which required that you hold her.”

“She threw herself into my arms, Ben! What would you have me do?”

Bucky turned, his mouth curled into a sneer. “Have you do? Why, nothing at all, Captain. Your choices are your own.”

“Then why are you so angry with me?” Rogers’s voice was that of his character, Matthew; rougher than his normal tone and always a half-step from wounded. “Please, tell me. I don’t understand.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Matthew’s hand on his elbow, Rogers’ eyes locked onto his own. “No, you don’t. But I hate the idea that I’ve hurt you.”

The touch had unbalanced Benjamin; Bucky let that uncertainty show. “It’s of no matter.”

“It is .” Suddenly Rogers was in his space, his fingers sliding up to grab at Bucky’s bicep, bare beneath his thin t-shirt sleeve. “It means more than you can know.”

His Benjamin made no move to pull away; he stood as if turn to stone by Matthew’s grip, the bright, unsteady sheen of his eyes. “Then tell me,” Bucky said, reaching back towards haughty. “If it’s so vital that I understand your inexplicable behavior, Captain Arnold, then pray tell: enlighten me.”

“Oh, god,” Rogers breathed, Matthew did, and then Rogers’ mouth had been on his, trembling and yet all at once fierce. Bucky reeled, let his body tell of Benjamin’s wavering, the battle between anger and unspoken desire. His hands scattered, birds frightened by thunder, and they drifted around Steve’s shoulders, his face.

“Good,” Nat said from the sidelines. “Put them wherever you want, Bucky, but when they settled, you have to hang on.”

He settled for the back of Steve’s neck, for a knot of his fingers that left Steve nowhere to go and Steve--Matthew--moaned, a low little thing that Bucky was sure only he could here.

Steve’s tongue was in his mouth and his nails caught Bucky’s spine, raked down and dug in at the base of his back and for a long, lovely second, Benjamin couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only let his head fall back and whine.

“Oh, my beautiful boy,” Rogers murmured, rubbing his lips at the curve of Bucky’s neck. “I never imagined that you wanted me.”

“Wanted you? Wanted?” Benjamin sounded drunk, his words a hot slurry. “I’ve ached for you, my captain.”

Matthew let out a growl, more helpless than fierce, and then they were kissing again loose and wet and needy, Steve’s hand curled now around Bucky’s ass, and--

Nat clapped her hands together, a sharp, sudden staccato. “Nice work, fellas. But hang on. Run that bit for me again.”

Rogers let Bucky go and Bucky’d stepped back and found his heart pounding, his knees maybe shaking. “Which bit? Rogers asked.

Nat tapped her fingers on her chin. “From your line right before the kiss, Bucky, through to where we just stopped, please.”

They moved back into position. Bucky took a deep breath and reached back for the right moment, the right flutter inside of Benjamin’s chest. “Then tell me,” he said with an edge. “If it’s so vital that I understand your inexplicable behavior, Captain Arnold, then pray tell: enlighten me.”

“Oh, god.”

Then they were kissing again, as ardent as before. The same moan when Bucky’s arms caught around Steve’s neck, the same shudder when Steve’s nails turned down Bucky’s spine and dug in at the base.

Rogers’ mouth slid to Bucky’s throat, bit gently this time at the turn of its curve. “Oh, my beautiful boy,” he whispered, “I never imagined that you wanted me.”

“Wanted you? Wanted? I’ve ached for you, my captain.”

Rogers growled again, let both hands fall this time to the swell of Bucky’s ass, and Bucky couldn’t help but shove his hips forward, to rock against the stonework that was Steve Rogers’ thigh.

“Ah,” Nat said, her voice slicing the moment in two. “Ok, I actually like that, Steve. A little more forward than we’d talked about--”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Bucky could feel his face flush. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s good. It works. It just needs an equal and opposite reaction, that’s all.” She slid into Bucky’s field of vision and that’s when Bucky realized that Steve was still holding him. Neither of them had moved a centimeter. “Buck, don’t forget that Matthew is seriously out of his depth here. He plays at Mr. I Know Everything, but he’d never had anybody touch him like this and that he’s overwhelmed by what he’s feeling.”

“Right,” Bucky said. “Uh huh.”

“So when Steve grabs your ass, we need to see how that affects you.” She raised her eyebrows. “How do you think it affects you?”

“I think--I think Benjamin wouldn’t be able to control himself. He’d, ah, it’d be hard for him to deal with how good it feels.”

Steve rumbled in his chest, a sound that felt good in Bucky’s own. “I agree with you. Yes.”

Nat poked him in the shoulder. “Which means what to Matthew, then?”

“Whatever restraint he had left--and that isn’t much, believe me--is gonna get even thinner.”

Nat made a satisfied sound. “Yep. Good. So show me that this time. Start again from the same place.”

“If it’s so vital that I understand your inexplicable behavior, Captain Arnold, then pray tell: enlighten me.”

“Oh, god.”

This kiss was a collision, two bodies crashing together in space, and this time Bucky couldn’t ignore how good Steve smelled; how sweet his mouth was, how eager; how big his hands were and how fiercely they clutched at him. He wondered if he’d have bruises in the morning, if he’d wake up and feel deliciously sore, if he’d look in the mirror and see suck marks on his throat, soft marks from Steve’s teeth and get hard all over again, hard like he was now, hard against Steve’s thigh, Matthew’s, and thrusting his hips like a kid unable to do anything with desire like this, thick and overwhelming, except express it right there and then.

“Oh, my beautiful boy.” The words were rough in his ear. “I never imagined that you wanted me.”

A moan first and then the lines, reedy, half-breathless. “Wanted you? Wanted? I’ve ached for you, my captain.”

Steve squeezed his ass and Bucky cried out and shoved his hips up again and oh god, he was hard and oh god, there was no way that Steve didn’t know it, and oh god, his first movie with Steve goddamn Rogers and his dick was acting like it was still in drama school, unclear on what was make believe, and they had to stop this, he had to, why hadn’t Nat told them to--!

He yanked himself from Steve’s arms and staggered back, panting.

Nat’s voice rang out of the shadows. “Barnes? What’s wrong?”

“Um,” Steve had said, startled. “Bucky? You ok?”

“No,” Bucky had said then, whispers to himself now, waiting for the cameras to roll. “No.”

Nat holds up a hand from behind the monitor. “Ten more minutes, Buck. We’re having trouble with the boom.”

Bucky steps away from his mark and takes a breath. Another. Again.

I can do this, he tells himself. I can. It’s not just the two of us and the room. Look at all these fucking people. There’s no way that I’ll get lost in it in time. There’s zero. None.

He’s so wrapped up in his own stave off the panic bullshit that the hand on his shoulder makes him jump.

“Hey,” Steve says. He’s in full costume and makeup, Matthew’s scars from Ardenne cut on his cheek and under his eye.

“Hi.”

“You ok?”

Oh shit, Bucky thinks. Is it showing? “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

Steve looks into his eyes, keeps looking, the grip on his shoulder going tight. “I’m glad we’re starting with this scene,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

Bucky swallows. Great. He’d made Steve worry about a scene, about whether his co-star could get through it without something middle school happening. Fuck. “I’m sorry what happened the other day," he says in a rush. "When I, you know, overreacted.”

“Bucky--”

“That wasn’t cool, and I won’t--I mean, it won’t happen again.”

“Which part?” Steve says softly. “You getting off on kissing me or you running away?”

Bucky feels like is a yoyo. “Um, what?”

“Because I can handle the first one. It happens, you know?” Steve’s hand slides up to his jaw. “But the second one? Not so much.” He smiles, a glimmer that makes Bucky’s heart do a flip. “Maybe it’s a good thing you did leave, though.”

“Why?”

“I like you,” Steve says, Steve freaking Rogers, Mr. Oscar, Mr. American Icon, Mr. A+ Freaking Human. “I like you a lot, Buck. And not just because you’re a fucking great kisser. I’ve wanted to work with you for ages.”

Bucky’s stuck in a Stoppard play. Jesus. “You have?”

Steve looks surprised. “Well, yeah. Since you did The Unfinished Bombing. ”

His second movie. A low-budget thriller with aspirations of arty. It hadn’t exactly worked. “What?” Bucky says. “Nobody’s seen that. That’s like--it played for like five minutes.”

“A friend of mine worked on it. She wouldn’t shut up about how awful it was but how great you were. She sent me a copy.”

“Wow.”

“And ever since then, I’ve made a point of seeing your stuff.” Steve laughs a little. “I mean, honestly, I’ve been jealous more than a few times. The parts you get to play are always fascinating , you know? Complex. And you communicate that so beautifully through your movements and your voice and your eyes. God, Buck, you have such expressive eyes. They’re amazing.”

Bucky wants to sit down. He needs to sit down. Except Steve is still touching him. And saying nice shit about his acting. Is he dreaming? Did he fall out of bed and hit his head?

But Steve is still talking. “I mean, didn’t your agent tell you? I’m the one who asked Nat to send you this script. I knew you were perfect for it.”

“I--you...you what?”

“The second I read it, I thought, Bucky Barnes as Benjamin. No question, no doubt.”

There’s a smile on his face, he can feel it, a big, dumb smile that he cannot fucking fight back. “Christ. I had no idea.”

“So,” Steve says, “ if you hadn’t left the other night, I might have given you the wrong impression: that all I appreciated about you was how gorgeous you are. You might’ve thought I wanted you onboard just to get paid for making out with you.” He blushes, a warm rush of rose that peaks in his ears. “Oh god. This sounds awful now that I’m saying it out loud. Fuck. I didn’t--I promise you, Buck, that’s not why--”

“Shut up, Rogers,” Bucky says. “Shut the hell up.”

This time, he’s kissing Steve Rogers, full stop. This time, it’s Steve who’s pulling him close and Steve who’s stroking his back and nipping his lip and groaning softly when Bucky sucks on his tongue. There’s a room full of people behind them, around them, but all that matters in this room is the way they fit together, the idol and the character champ.

“What would you have done if I’d stayed the other night?” Bucky whispers under the hoots and catcalls from the crew.

“Easier for me to show than tell.”

“Yeah?”

Steve makes a soft, aching sound. “Mmm, definitely.”

“So,” Bucky says, a grin that’s divine, “your room later, or mine?”

#stucky #actors au #first kiss

18 notes · View notes

ransomedbard · 6 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

This was inspired by re-watching “Lily C.A.T.”, an 80’s anime which is essentially a rip-off of “Alien” except (spoiler alert) the threat is an alien pathogen that gets aboard a deep-space vessel and turns the crew into monsters. It has a scene where two of the people trapped on the contaminated ship get handcuffed together (note: not a super bright idea in a horror movie!) that always stuck with me…

———————————

Infected

Infected with an alien pathogen that had already transformed several of her Preventer colleagues into mindless berserkers, Hilde was secretly glad to be left behind on the station’s brig to die alone. But she hadn’t reckoned on Duo deserting his squad and his duty to go ‘rescue’ her. Now on their own with a horde of alien monsters separating them from potential rescue, and with her time rapidly running out, she must press Duo to reveal the truth about what happened during her blackout.

———————————

“Hilde.”

“Hey, Hilde.”

“Hilde, are you in there?”

When she opened her eyes, Duo was crouching on the floor next to where she lay, a pistol in his hand. His clothes were unfamiliar - the Preventers uniform was gone, replaced by some dark lumpy vest. Other than that, she could identify virtually nothing in the glare of the battery-operated light - just a vague impression of a ceiling high overhead, and rows of towering shelves stacked with boxes. It was definitely not the last place she remembered - the inside of the station’s brig.

“Well hello,” he said, sounding relieved. “Don’t move around too much - you’ve had a concussion. Gunshot wound too, above the left hip.”

He lifted his left arm and her right hand rose with it, pulled up by the handcuffs that bound them together. “And, there’s this. Sorry, it was the best I could do.”

She took a minute to sort that all out. In a way, she was grateful for the concussion; it explained why she didn’t know where they were or how she got injured, and her sense that a lot of time had passed. She ran her free hand over the wound dressing and found it felt well packed and dry. The pain was significant, but she’d always had a pretty high tolerance for it, and this wasn’t the first time she’d been shot in her career. It was the progression of her other symptoms that she was worried about: the occasional pull of muscles that wanted to move of their own accord, a propensity to want to twist up instead of remaining flat, and most of all the feeling that her very bones and sinews were by turns straining and softening. Experimentally, she spread her free hand out and watched her fingertips curl back alarmingly toward her arm. Yup, it was definitely getting worse. And she was out here, loose. She stared dully at the cuff. “You should have left me in there.”

“And what kind of friend would I be to do that?” he replied lightly. He had tucked away the gun and was sitting on the floor by the lamp now, methodically stripping the coating off the end of a wire with an odd tool that wasn’t suited for the job - some sort of little screwdriver, by the looks of it. Her eyes were so sensitive to the light that they kept closing of their own volition, adding to her sense of disorientation.

This was crazy, even for him. Breaking her out of quarantine was probably enough to subject him to court-martial, let alone deserting his squad during a mission. And handcuffs? What was that supposed to do if she - wait, had she already?

“Did I hurt anybody?”

Duo focused on scraping curly swirls of rubber off the wire, which rested on a large tray balanced across his knees. “You don’t need to worry about that. It’s just us in here, and we’ve got enough supplies now to last until help arrives.”

That was a yes, then. She should ask who, or how many, or how badly, but the words stuck in her throat. She was suddenly angry as hell at him for sacrificing somebody else because he couldn’t accept that it was too late for her. I don’t want this on my conscience, damnit.

She watched in silence as he finished preparing the wire, then put it aside and started on another one. His posture was awkward, his cuffed hand stretched out to where she lay on a short stack of cardboard. When he noticed her watching, he gestured over at a small cluster of rechargeable batteries he’d apparently scavenged from various devices.

“Workin’ on a way to power my radio - ran out of juice about 12 hours ago, so I haven’t had contact since then.” From that, she gathered she’d been out - or rather, ‘not herself’ for longer than that. “Henderson and Yao’s teams are focusing on securing and prepping the number 18 dock,” he continued. “That’s where the fleet will come in. Big ESUN ships, so they’ll have a sickbay, doctors. That’s our goal.”

“Wufei took everyone else and the handful of civilians they found and made for the big toolshop in block D - last I heard they had found a store of maintenance equipment they could repurpose, including an actual flamethrower.” He stopped scraping for a moment and stared off into the distance. “I’m … I’m pretty jealous of that.”

She couldn’t help a small smile. “He always gets the cool toys.” Guns would be better, of course, but there weren’t supposed to be any firearms on this station - officially, anyway - and when their rapid response squad deployed for this mission they had stocked a normal loadout of ammo and armaments, unaware that it would be laughably insufficient because this time their adversaries weren’t smugglers or terrorists - or even human.

The mission briefing from Preventer HQ had not given them much to go on. H-940 was a sizeable but sparsely populated private station in the L3 cluster. The owner, Tiankong Trading, listed it as a warehouse and repair center for their fleet of cargo vessels. Three separate emergency calls had been logged, reporting massive systems failures, missing persons, and most bizarrely, reports of “monsters” lurking in the now darkened station. Headquarters suspected a mix of sabotage and some sort of mass poisoning with a hallucinogenic.

Their ship had successfully docked at one of the bays that still had power, and the first hour of the operation was smooth; all teams deployed for reconnaissance and returned to the rendezvous to report finding substantial damage but no contact with anyone, threat or otherwise. Then all hell broke loose.

She hadn’t really had the time to process what they were - aliens or some bio-engineered monstrosity - although her money was on the former because they were simply unlike anything she’d ever seen: hunched and bare, like a plucked chicken, yet spiky like an insect. They were not much larger than a medium sized dog, but their strength was tremendous. The creatures had little in the way of intelligence and didn’t seem to hunt as a pack; they just swarmed forward, viciously pursuing and attacking anything that moved. They had a powerful set of limbs that served as both legs that propelled them in high jumps through the station’s weak gravity, and grasping arms with talons that ripped apart metal and flesh alike. On the underside, there were several smaller striking appendages they used when they got close; they were covered in barbs that broke off and buried themselves under the skin. She resisted the urge to feel the line of lumps on her left arm where they had pierced her.

After their first engagement, where they had lost a third of their number outright, they retreated to the station’s corporate offices, which had a small store of medical supplies. They were focused on the triage of traumatic injuries, so at first no one even noticed when Hilde’s teammate Jack, who was only lightly wounded, became incoherent and fell out of his chair. It escalated as his body bent and twisted unnaturally; he began striking out wildly, attacking everything in sight. They had nothing to spare to sedate him with, so they put him in a cell in the brig. Then Lucy went crazy, and Ahmad, and they realized the common factor was that each of them had been stung by the creatures’ barbs.

When the quarantine was announced, Hilde didn’t wait for an examination to confirm what she already knew; she walked down and put herself in a cell. Then she watched as Jack and the others suffered through episodes where they writhed and smashed and flailed - mutely, with vacant eyes - only to pass out and come back to themselves briefly before it began again, until they succumbed to a final bout of contortion from which they never rose. It was all over in a matter of hours.

And then she was there all alone down there, after all the bodies of her teammates had been quietly taken away. Duo came as often as he could, of course, and Wufei and the others brought her rations and news, neither of which were good. They couldn’t make it back to their own ship to evacuate, and they were critically low on ammunition and medical supplies; two more of the wounded had died. The only bright spot was that they had managed to patch in to a relay transmitter outside the station and contact headquarters; help of some sort was on the way, but the Earth Sphere government was now in charge and it was slow to mobilize.

“You shoulda seen Wufei’s face when the military brass briefed us that this mission is now classified as Top Secret and tried to scare us about leaks,” Duo gossiped with forced energy as he slid a small bag of chips he’d liberated from a vending machine through the bars of her cell. “All these years of debunking De Santos’ nutty government cover-up conspiracy theories and now he’s in one. I think the man might just send an unencrypted transmission to any satellite he can ping out of spite.”

And so it went. For two days she’d held on to hope: that she might be immune, that once help arrived maybe they could use her to make a vaccine or something. That she would cheat death again. But by the start of the third day she couldn’t write off the involuntary twitching as just sleep deprivation; couldn’t ignore the feel of those damned barbs, that had been curly like a cashew when they went in but were now straightening out, painfully deep under her skin. And then she had drifted off leaning up against a wall of her cell, only to be startled awake when her hand snapped out and grabbed hold of a bar of her cell entirely on its own.

#rip-off of a rip-off of Alien #Hilde and Duo best buds 4 evah #gundam wing #fanfic #wip

22 notes · View notes

h4rin · 7 years

Text

part two to werewolf shownu!! specifically tagging @vivixnus and @jamisjiminless bc they were excited for part two ~

words ; 3,670

warnings: y’all, so much, violence, blood, swearing, but it ends in fluff even though it starts off angst. also witchcraft and religion.

part one part two

A month later, you gripped the sides of your porcealin sink. The pure white of it was splattered in blood as you tried to avoid turning.

“This isn’t going to completely stop it,” Amber warned you a week before. “It’s going to make it less painless, but you can’t resist it. It’ll be over before you know.”

“I don’t want to do this. Can’t you like...chain me down or something?” The exasperated words escaped your mouth without you realizing. The full moon was less than a week away and as the hours ticked by, you could feel yourself losing your grip on your human side. You wondered how Shownu had managed to stay so calm less than eight hours before transforming.

“It wouldn’t work. No metals, aside from silver, obviously, work on werewolves, and silver’s expensive. Anyway, even if I had any silver restraints, I couldn’t use them on you, they would burn you. Third degree in seconds.”

You held your head in between the heels of your hands, exasperated. “Couldn’t you use like, leather? Titanium?” You looked up to Amber with hopeful eyes.

“[Y/N], I really wish I could.” Her eyebrows were pressed together, her eyes, amber, just like her name, filled with worry. Even if she wasn’t a training empath, you knew that the concern she felt was genuine. “Werewolves are almost obnoxiously strong, you would break through them in less than a second. No matter what.”

You lifted your head up. “What do I have to do with the potion?”

So here you were, about an hour after you were supposed to transform, fur growing out of every square inch of your skin. Your window was open, as was the door leading from your bedroom to your bathroom. You had decided that it was your best bet to not wear clothes when you transformed, so you were standing naked, your head pounding, some fur already shedding.

With your last hold on humanity, you hit ‘send’ on your text prepared to Amber. ‘I’m turning’, it read.

Her response came quickly. ‘Finally.’

With that, you stumbled into your room. Your parents hopefully assumed you were drunk, knowing about your harsh breakup from Shownu, and, being legally able to drink, you would admit you had taken advantage of that assumption a few times.

Holding back screams as claws emerged from in between your fingers, you kept stumblind, this time towards your bed and window. You collapsed on your bed, already exhausted. You knew that the transformation would burn more calories than running for two days straight, but you didn’t think it’d hit like this.

You watched, half in horror, half in fascination, as your fingers bent themselves, hair growing, transforming into paws. The claws kept growing, and, still having some human conciousness, you scraped the floorboard that was usually hidden by your bed. Some reminder is better than no reminder, right?

The transformation continued at a quick pace, moonlight shining onto your already scraped up floorboards. Your chest melted into fur, flattening, and you grew a tail? You would rather not relive that, but you knew you had to. Your toes curled, toenails forming into claws, and your legs bent, covering in hair, as you fully transformed.

You wanted to scream, but bit your lip, as your head was the last to transform. Your eyes stayed in the same position, burning for a split second, and you tried to scratch your face, but couldn’t, already having paws.

Your nose got larger, in width and length, as your ears melted into your head. Your skull changed shape, which hurt like a bitch, but you held yourself back from screaming, terrified that you’d release a howl instead. Ears grew out of the top of your head, already covered in fur, and your hair became a gray on the top, more of an ashy blonde on the bottom.

Resisting the urge to automatically jump out of your window, you stalked over to your mirror, trying to not sound like, y’know, a wild animal. Your eyes were pale yellow, but still glowed, like the moon. You watched as they slowly turned back to the same color they usually were. Your tail was fluffy, gray on the left, slightly on the top, blonde on the rest.

You growled slightly, baring your teeth, before crawling out of your window.

You landed on the pavement below, the shock almost turning your knees to jelly. On instinct, you started walking, no idea where you were going. You started to question why you knew where you were going, but ignored the nagging at the back of your head.

Within a few minutes, you knew where you were. There was still a subtle bloodstain from your knees skinning on the pavement, avoiding the wolf you knew was the alpha. You growled loudly, despite knowing there was a high chance you would wake up some of the neighbors.

From just behind you, you heard a growl, and, whipping around, you instantly recognized the wolf. The one that attempted to kill you. The light brown one. As you stared into its eyes, daring it to take a single step forward, you recognized the eyes. You opened your mouth to ask it something, but realized you couldn’t.

You took a chance, sending a sharp bark to it. “Kihyun?” You wanted to ask.

The wolf seemed to know exactly what you were asking. It acted cocky, sending a few short barks back. “Yes,” it seemed to reply, “[Y/N]?”

Hoping you understood properly, you nodded as best you could. He seemed to tell you to go along.

You followed him as he stalked through the streetlamp’s light. He led you into a nearby forest, one that you had been warned against even as a child. Shownu said that stories of werewolves had scared him as a child, at least this time someone was telling the trust.

Dramatically laying in a spot of moonlight was the wolf you recognized as Shownu. Your ears flattened against your head, knowing that he was the pack’s Alpha, if they even have a pack. You bared your teeth, growling quietly. He stood up, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. He stalked towards you, and your heart beat quickly, as it did before, but you refused to show it.

As he got towards you, you kept your eyes narrowed, not even blinking. He surprised you, putting his head on top of yours. He growled lowly, reminding you of his laugh. He then removed his head from yours, still looking you in your eyes.

“Do you still hate me?” he seemed to ask. You didn’t move.

“Why?” you growled instead.

“Come to my house when you’re human, please.” His eyes seemed to beg you. “Please.”

“I’ll think about it,” you snarled.

You stalked off, tail stick-straight as you knew that you he could attack you. You weren’t overly-knowledgeble about wolves, but you knew walking away from an Alpha without being dismissed could easily lead to your death. Your shoulders were tense as you walked down his street. You walked towards Amber’s house, recognizing it easier now, knowing the scent of her dogs easily, even with that mixing with the lavender and vanilla that always surrounder her house. You pushed yourself on your back legs, scratching your paws on her lit window.

She looked into your eyes, and it took everything the wolf in you had to not threaten her, keeping your eyes as soft as you could. She walked to her door quickly, opening it after allowing you to sniff her, gain her trust. It occured to you randomly that she had never seen an actual werewolf. She had interacted with them, but only in human form. You realized that you hadn’t interacted with werewolves much, either, but it seemed like you didn’t have to let them smell you.

Whatever, you’re not human anymore, you don’t have to deal with that. Amber held her dogs in her arms, telling you to wait for just a second, before putting JackJack and Gongju in a closed room.

“Are you not losing your mind?” she asked as she walked down the stairs. She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Wait, I forgot, I won’t be able to understand you. Bark once if you are [Y/N], twice if you can understand me but are not.” You hesitated for just a second before barking once.

“Alright, the potion should help you to keep your sanity. I think there’s a few other werewolves, did you see any of them? One bark for yes, two for no. That should work for the rest of our questions.”

You barked once.

“It’s about two in the morning, the sunrise isn’t for another four hours, at least. Do you just want to stay here? Did you already call in sick for tomorrow?” You growled at yourself quietly, chiding yourself for being an idiot. Of course tomorrow is Monday. You know you weren’t going to show up to at the very least your first few classes, but you had hopes you could go to at least a few.

“Oh!” Amber suddenly interrupted your thoughts with an exclimation. “I have some steaks that aren’t cooked, would that be okay for you to eat? So you don’t have to be hospitalized for a few days after this.” You weren’t sure if you growled or your stomach did. Amber quickly grabbed them from her refrigerator, and you devowered them.

“Shit, you´re probably still wondering how you´re not going full wolf, right? Like, you saw the other wolves, you saw how they were.” You barked once. “The potion keeps the human part of your brain more active than the wolf part. You loose your speech centers, obviously, but you can keep yourself from trying to assert your dominance and killing other things. I wasn’t too sure about how well it’d work, most werewolves were born or turned at an early age, and don’t trust witches.” She sat her head in her left hand. “Please don’t ask.” Amber perked up.

“It’s already been a few hours, though. I think there’s maybe twenty minutes until you’re human again. How do you feel?” You lay down, exhausted. “Tired? Just try not to fall asleep. It’s harder to control yourself if you do. Don’t ask how I know, please. If you want, I can make sure you’re called in sick in the morning.” Your eyes narrowed, looking into Amber’s. For the first time in not quite a month, you had the energy and confidence to give Shownu a piece of your mind.

“Do you want to stay in here or go around? You should probably get more exercise in, I know of wolves who didn’t move around much and were sore as hell in the morning. I don’t want that for you.” You nodded as best you could, deciding that if you saw Shownu, you could avoid him pretty easily, or get out of the predicament easily.

“Alright, you don’t have to come back, but the back door’ll be open just enough if you choose to, alright?” You blinked, hoping it could somehow express your understanding. With that, Amber opened the front door and you left.

It seemed that as soon as the door was shut, another wolf showed up. Shownu. Of course. How long had he been waiting there? You’d been in there for hours, but he didn’t look tired or anything.

Well, you supposed you didn’t really know how to tell if a wolf was tired. You figured that, at least in wolf form, you should be able to tell. You blinked once, narrowing your eyes at him. You growled softly, not loudly enough to wake up any of the neighbors, but you assumed that your barking just a few minutes ago might’ve woken them up. Whoops?

You took a step towards Shownu, attempting to make yourself steady, but scared out of your skull. You didn’t know if it was concious or not, but what you did know was that he could kill you as quickly as he wanted to, if he so chose. You didn’t even know how active his concious brain was.

He growled in response, but more of a way of communication rather than a threat. “Do you hate me?” He seemed to ask. You snarled, answering in the only way you could. You looked up at the slowly lightening sky, the sun starting to rise. Amber had said it had been a few hours, but it only felt like a few minutes. Well, she is a witch, but it’s also really nice to talk to her. Maybe the effect was magical, maybe it was just a decent relationship.

“The sun is coming up.” You did the best you could to get the words out in a series of barks. Shownu didn’t say anything, just stared at you, barely acknowledging that you had said anything. Bowing your head slightly, just in case he didn’t have full control over who he was, or even partial, you walked off, shoulders tensing. You didn’t hear any claws other than your own on the pavement, so once you could turn a corner, you bolted, trying to get home as quickly as possible.

The sun started to shine through the trees as you jumped through your window, exhausted. You passed out pretty quickly, so the only part of your detransition you really felt was your tail going under your skin and essentially melting, just flattening out.

“[Y/N]?” Your mother called from outside of your room, knocking gently, disturbing your sleep. “Are you feeling okay? I heard groaning pretty early this morning.”

Finding your voice, you responded as best you could. “I’m okay, but I don’t think I feel well enough to go to school. Nothing hospital-worthy, just fatigue.” That wasn’t entirely a lie. Amber hadn’t lied when she said that werewolves need to eat massive amounts, even if you hadn’t been running around half the night, the transformation took a lot out of you. You half-wished you could just decide to stay in the wolf form for longer.

“Alright, I’ll call you in sick. I hope you feel better, honey.” Your mother walked off, footsteps fading down the stairs.

As you started to fall asleep again, still drowsy from only having about twenty minutes of sleep, your phone buzzed. Nobody really texted you, especially not before school, so you figured it was on some other social media. Someone with a spam-like username on Instagram wanted to message you. You sighed, opening the message up.

SHNU00 - Is this [Y/N]? You hit accept warily. [Y/N] - Yeah? Who is this? They took a while to respond. SHNU00: This is Shownu. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but after I saw you last night, I need to talk to you. Are you going to be at school today?

You clenched your jaw. You didn’t want to be honest, but you figured that if you told him you were sick, he’d feel bad, and in some way, that made you happy.

[Y/N] - No, I’m sick from yesterday. I only slept about twenty minutes.

SHNU00 - Oh shit, I’m sorry. The first time is always the hardest. When your parents are gone, I can bring you some stuff that’s helped the rest of us, and I can even let you meet the pack, if you’d like to. If you want.

[Y/N] - Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. We definetly need to talk.

SHNU00 - Alright, just text me when you’re ready. You should probably go back to sleep, I’ll bring a bunch of food, you need energy. I’ll see you later, I hope.

You elected to not respond, simply reading the message and locking your phone. It didn’t take that long for you to pass out once again.

Your dreams didn’t feel restful.

You were on the street, the same as last night. To your left was Amber’s house, and you could hear JackJack’s excited barks. To your right, however, were the wolves you had seen last night, Kihyun and Shownu, as well as a few others. A dark brown wolf, a pale brown wolf, and a pure white wolf. You blinked slowly, knowing that you were dreaming, and stepped forward. Four of the wolves in front of you stepped back.

Shownu was alone, standing as the four other wolves slowly retreated down the street into a thick fog. You looked down, and, surprisingly, saw your own feet. Everything felt in slow-motion as you looked back up, only to see Shownu, in a black t-shirt and blue jeans, cheeks tear-stained. “I’m so sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice rang clear as day, which felt off in the fuzzy world you were in.

“This isn’t real,” you responded, turning to leave.

“No,” he sighed, “I-it is. It’s a soulmate thing. It can only be done by werewolves, too. It’s really weird, but really helpful. I want to talk, and you won’t answer my calls or talk to me in school or,” he took a deep breath. “God, you won’t even come when I call in wolf form.”

“Why would I?”

“We’re supposed to be a pack.”

“I’m supposed to be human.” You could practically see the words hit Shownu as you turned on your heel. “I’m not supposed to be like this.”

“Nobody is.”

“So, what, how do I wake up? How do I get out of this?”

“[Y/N], please, just give me five minutes.”

You sighed in defeat, exhausted from the past days. “Fine.” Shownu gestured for you to sit, and you did, crossing your legs.

“I tried to keep you away from me during the whole moon,” he said as soon as he sat. “I’m not blaming you but I beg you, don’t blame me. It’s like I’m a different person. I never wanted to hurt you, I still don’t want to hurt you, and I never will. I don’t want you to hate me.” The last words he said were whispered.

“I don’t hate you,” you responded half-heartedly. You meant every word, or at least you once did. You didn’t know how to feel anymore. “I hate to sound like a mom, but I’m really just upset. You didn’t tell me, or anything.”

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“Keeping me in the dark isn’t keeping me safe, it’s keeping me helpless.”

“I know that now.” Shownu’s eyes were cast down. “I really am sorry, and I love you more than anything.”

“I’ll forgive you.” Shownu’s head snapped up, eyes full of hope.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Will you take me back?” His words were full of worry.

You hesitated. You knew that the two of you were soulmates, and Shownu was so good to you the rest of your relationship. You wouldn’t ever be not salty about what he’d done, but it had only changed one aspect of your life. You didn’t owe anything to him, and you knew that, as well, but you hadn’t been as happy as you were with Shownu...pretty much ever. “Yes.”

Tears fell freely from his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really, you nerd. What time is it? Would we be able to meet up before school?”

“No idea, let’s wake up now. I’ll be at your house in twenty, okay?”

You sat up in bed immediately, heart beating quickly. What were the odds that your dream was real? That Shownu had talked to you, that the two of you were back together? You took your chances, staying up, seeing as how your clock said it was a few minutes past noon, so worst case scenario, you went back to sleep in a half hour. You already missed most of school, anyway.

Time passed strangely as you waited, seemingly slowing down as fell partially back asleep, only to speed up as you jerked forward, suddenly waking up. Ten minutes came and passed in that strange pattern, and you were falling asleep again when you heard a stick snap in your front yard.

Your eyes snapped open, a small amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins as you stepped towards your window. Shownu’s eyes, golden in the moonlight, shone up at you as he grinned cheesily. He pulled himself up a tree branch, almost-silently crawling towards your room on the roof. You slid your window open, pulling the screen in, as he sat in front, paitenly. “Hey,” he hushedly said. His voice was lower than usual, still half-asleep. “God, I hope that worked. Was I in your dream?”

“Shownu,” you sighed, “Why would I be letting you in if you weren’t?”

“I don’t know,” he responded, “Lycanthropy is a tricky thing. Did you meant what you said?” He sounded hesitant, but he didn’t seem to hesitate. “That you’d...take me back?”

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “I still love you.”

“I never stopped loving you.”

“It’s not a competition, babe.”

He grinned widely. “I love you so fucking much,” he whispered, stepping forward into your room. You sat back on your bed as he stood in front of the window. “Should I...stay? Or should I -”

You cut him off. “Please stay.” He walked towards you, footsteps light on your old wood floors. You lay down on your bed, and as he lay down behind you, chest pressed to your back, your bed creaked slightly. He nuzzled his forehead into the back of your neck, letting you feel his soft breathing on the top of your back. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, his arms draped around you, as you fell asleep quickly.

You woke up hours later, sunshine shining through your open window, the smell of morning dew still burning off grass. You were now facing Shownu, his eyes open, smiling. Not grinning, just a genuine smile, so full of love and infatuation and every positive emotion he thought he’d ever experienced.

Thank God you were ‘sick’.

#halloween #shownu #.txt #shownu imagine #shownu scenarios #shownu scenario #shownu imagines #shownu angst #Monsta X #monsta x scenario #monsta x angst #monsta x imagine #monsta x scenarios #monsta x fluff #monsta x imagines #shownu fluff #mine #writing

12 notes · View notes

graphicpolicy · 7 years

Text

WARNING: MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD

“JENNIFER WALTERS has survived the Civil War…barely…and having risen from the rubble, she re-enters the world a different kind of hero. Fueled by a quiet rage, she is determined to move forward, to go on with her life, but the pain of the past and all she’s lost is always there – an undercurrent, a pulse, waiting to quicken and trigger Jen’s transformation into the one thing she doesn’t have control over…”

–From the Marvel Comics website

Ah, Hulk. I’ve been waiting for this one. Strange to say since my general attitude toward Marvel and DC comics is mostly derision. Can you blame me? One company protects a serial sexual harasser while firing women who dare speak out. The other is run by a Trump lover, making Hydra something of an all too poignant allegory for the company. I don’t care for the majority of their comics, especially their world events that operate as a way to temporarily spike sales, ultimately crashing and burning while receiving the hissing, clawing displeasure of both fans and critics. With Marvel, the recent blunder is Civil War II, a gimmicky cash grab for an enjoyable movie based on terrible source material that got delayed so many times that the books taking place after the event came out before it even concluded.

Just like the original Civil War, the sequel is guilty of character assassination, unnecessary conflict, unnecessary death, and ruining a whole bunch of comics people were enjoying. NEVER FORGIVE THEM FOR WHAT THEY DID TO CAROL DANVER! I mean, I don’t care about her, but turning her into a fascist ruined her relationship with Ms. Marvel, by far the best, most relatable Marvel character to come out since the Runaways. She was my generation’s Peter Parker, and now she’s lost both her idol and her friends as a result. Marvel ruined her. RUINED HER, I SAY!

Also, why was Tony Stark against Danver’s Minority Report shtick? I mean, this was a man who in the original series OK’d a metahuman registration program that probably made Trump cream his pants. Tony is practically a fascist himself. God, even Captain America is a Nazi now! I mean, so many of the heroes have turned into villains themselves and…

Aw, forget it. I could go all day long about everything wrong with Civil War II, but naw. I avoided that garbage and I don’t want to waste time talking about it either.

So, why in the world would I be reviewing Hulk, a comic that happened as a direct result of this nonsense? I should be angry given Bruce Banner, one of my favorite Marvel characters, died. I should be with the Marvel Zombies grabbing their axes and lead pipes smashing windows and burning cars over it. However, after reading about the series from Mariko Tamaki and Nico Leon, I had to check it out.

Oh, I know. There are those that don’t want Jennifer Walters to be angry, traumatized Hulk. They love her as She-Hulk! Big green lawyer lady that breaks the fourth wall, cracks jokes, and goes on crazed hijinks with Patsy Walker. Now, I haven’t been a lifelong fan of She-Hulk. The first thing I read starring her was the short-lived series by Charles Soule and Javier Pulido. That comic was fun! Like watching your favorite Saturday morning cartoon show while listening to your favorite indie rock band. I can see why people are so attached to happy Jen. She’s a blast.

However, I must defend this new, darker approach to her. As much as I love ladies having fun, I prefer when they’re angry monsters. In fact, it seems recently that a new breed of female lead comics that center on women being some kind of monstrosity has risen: Monstress, Insexts, She Wolf, Cry Havoc, and even the mass murderer Gertrude from I Hate Fairyland. These women are angry, broken by whatever is afflicting them, and they’re ready to let it out in a wave of unprecedented carnage. The best part about this trend is how subversive these monstrous women are. Their monstrosities might at first seem like afflictions, but they slowly develop into a form of empowerment.

Happy is good, but monstrous is better.

So, how does this route go for Jennifer Walters? Well, I’m happy to say that Hulk is a bold new take on the character that will draw readers in not with endless action, but atmospheric art, character-focused drama, and a unique horror tone tackling trauma head on.

The covers of Jeff Dekal take a unique approach in conveying monstrous rage. Instead of showing actual destruction, as was Banner Hulk’s trademark, Cover #1 shows Jen grasping the logo tightly, seemingly on the cusp of crumbling it to pieces. Yes, it’s a violent image, but not in the sense of catastrophic physical violence, but poignant emotional violence. Jen is trying to hold back her rage, resisting the urge to destroy. After all, that’s what Bruce did, a man who couldn’t control the beast within. Jen is supposed to be different, supposed to be healthy and balanced. However, given the trauma she suffered in Civil War II, Jen’s on the breaking point. This is what Dekal masterfully conveys. Also, have to give huge props for coloring Jen gray. I suspect it’s a callback to Gray Hulk, a version of the character that I sometimes prefer over the Emerald Giant.

Cover #2 also takes a unique approach to violence in showing its aftermath. The punch-cracked window, Jen’s hands clawing upward, indicates how she momentarily lost control and there was a negative consequence. She’s trying to hold it back again. Slip-ups happen, right? However, when you’re a gamma-radiant monster, slip-ups tend to end up sucking for everyone around you. The coloring of Jen is quite interesting. I don’t understand why her skin is pink (call back to the Red Hulks, maybe?), but I love how there is a creeping network of gray veins slowly covering her body. To me, this symbolizes the Hulk inside of Jen, the one she’s trying to hold back. It’s also symbolic of the negative emotions she feels: anger, depression, and helplessness.

I think it is important to note how green has more prominence than Cover #1. The glow is notably on the walls. It seems to mean Jen’s control is slipping. Again, so much about the conflict of the comic, the overriding theme of struggling with anger and trauma is masterfully conveyed on the covers. I’ve recently talked about the importance of covers conveying a story’s theme and hooking a reader at the same time. For the covers of Hulk, Jeff Dekal hits a bullseye twice.

So, how does the interior art hold up in comparison? Nico Leon’s style creates a deceptively quiet atmosphere that aches with tension. Matt Milla’s coloring adds to this with a soft color palette. In issue #1’s opening scene, Jen’s apartment has a gray tone to it. It’s a huge space, some objects built to accommodate She-Hulk’s size. However, now that Jen is in human mode, the objects are hilariously oversized. In this empty apartment, with its many objects, Jen seems tiny and isolated. It’s strange because it is both calm and tense at the same time. It has to do with how Jen’s inner monologue, full of polarizing emotion, turns the plainness of the apartment into a mask. Leon’s depiction of Jen’s mute expression further pushes this idea of plainness as a mask for turmoil. Reading the comic is the same as visiting the hospital for an urgent report. You’re sitting in the waiting room, made as nice and homely as possible, but you’re still tapping your foot because once the doctor enters, it could be life or death. This is the atmosphere of the comic. Sometimes, it’s suffocating, but always poignant.

Leon and Milla also shine in their portrayal of New York City. Instead of trying to recreate it as the grim concrete jungle it no longer is, they showcase the city in its present decorum of bright colors, modernized architecture, and streets full of yuppies in designer clothing. These are also the scenes where letterer Cory Petit gets creative. A scene in a subway has big letters crowded with the sea of bodies, demonstrating the overpopulated, noisy experience of living in New York. Just like with the apartment, Jen’s isolation is noticeable and just as emotionally complex, simultaneously calm and tumultuous.

Although the art team certainly excels in environmental atmosphere, they fall a little short with character design. They’re not bad, but not memorable either. It might have to do with the lack of detail. Leon’s faces are simplistic, most of them eerily similar. I noticed this when contrasted with the art of Dalibor Talajic in issue #2, pages 4-6. Talajic adds more details that make faces distinguishable. Also, ages are recognizable. I couldn’t nail Jen’s age with Leon, but Talajic easily places her from late 20s to 30s. Another thing that I don’t like about Leon’s characters are the eyes. When closed, they look like a cutesy style anime character. Leon might be influenced by anime and manga to a certain extent, but this element of the art clashes with the tone of the comic.

However, there are exceptions, most notably the amazing designs of metahumans. They are creative, unique, and diverse. Already, one of these metahumans, Miss Brewn, has become an important side character. In fact, just like Soule and Pulido’s run, I hope Jen ends up representing a number of crazy characters and exploring their back-stories.

The hallmark of Hulk is Mariko Tamaki’s writing. I was interested to see how a writer well known for her indie drama work like This One Summer and Skim would do with a mainstream cape comic. Can she bring the same complex, emotional drama? The answer is almost. There is still the limitation of a 20-21 page-count that prevents extensive development, not to mention some campy elements, such as a sketchy landlord character that acts like a Sopranos extra.

The rest of Tamaki’s writing pulls off an astonishing feat of taking the concept of Hulk and bringing it down to reality. Now, this isn’t impossible and has been done before as evidence by Bruce Jones’ amazing run. Here, however, it is even more so because instead of starting off with a tale of espionage, it’s one of recovery. I will admit to having been trepidatious about trauma as a central theme, not because I doubted in Tamaki’s writing abilities, but worried that funneling it through a cape comic would make depictions over the top or offensive. Thankfully, that’s not the case. There are no gross scenes of Jen crying in a shower naked while chugging bottles of whiskey, and moaning about how she can’t go on without Bruce! Oh Woe is a world so cruel and unfair! HAWTHRONE HEIGHTS RULEZ!!!

That nonsense is absent. Instead, trauma is depicted accurately. Jen gets up each day and tries to live a normal life. She goes to work, eat bagels at a café, and have a coffee while watching children ice-skating in the park. She doesn’t interact much with people. Currently, Jen feels the need to be alone. This will probably be disappointing to folks that love Jen as a snappy joker with lots of friends, but it’s relatable to some people that have experienced trauma. It is important to reach out and let people aid you, but it’s also helps to be alone sometimes. Being alone is a time to be at peace, to clear your mind and experience life instead of over-thinking it.

The few interactions Jen has with people are still supportive. There is Patsy who sends positive text messages, and Bradley, Jen’s gay secretary, who keeps her busy and provides her a packet of nuts after a bad spell of rage. There is also Miss Brewn, Jen’s client, who brings out the best part of the character: her heroism. Even if Jen’s no longer fighting along with super folks, she still dedicates herself as a lawyer, protecting clients from harm and making sure their justice. This is important again in approaching trauma from a mature, complex angle. Tamaki shows that there is room for positivity, to be able to function and be happy, even while in the midst of coping. There is even humor, both laughs and heroism balance out the darker parts of the comic.

As for trauma, the core of the story, Tamaki & Co. explores it in a unique way. Jen’s trauma is triggered when mentions of Bruce and the Hulk are made. It reminds her of the pain she has been through, of the fact her own Hulk form is now uncontrollable, something welling up and ready to burst. In these scenes, green becomes a dominant color. At their worst, Jen’s eyes turn green, the veins around them glow, and she glares and grits her teeth. The Hulk is trying to claw out, but unlike Bruce who always lost control automatically, Jen is able to force it back down. Unfortunately, this resistance clearly causes her pain. This pain symbolizes the agony of trauma itself, how it takes it toll on both the mind and body. Also, how long can Jen’s efforts last? It seems to be only a matter of time before her control slips completely.

The way these scenes are depicted is best described as atmospheric horror. The darkness, the intensity of glowing green, Jen’s contorting face of anger, are images that make the reader feel uneasy, ready to jump out of their seat as they prepare for the worst. This is how the best horror scares its audience, not through jump scares or extreme violence, but the dread of anticipation. It’s the feeling of walking alone in a street at night and there are either footsteps or strange noises trailing behind. You keep walking. You don’t dare turn around out of fear that it will be the moment the stalker strikes, yet at the same time its agonizing not knowing who or what it is. The creative team nails this type of horror down, with the added emotional resonance of knowing these scenes symbolize Jen’s trauma. It agonizes the reader into caring for Jen, if that makes sense. They know how much pain she is, and now want to see her persevere and survive. It’s similar to the final girl trope from slasher films.

The comic manages to balance out both the light and dark parts of Jen’s story. Seeing her both in pain and triumphant when the time comes is a satisfying emotional wheel for those that like protagonists to go through a personal trial before getting a happy ending. Sometimes, it can feel a little over the top, but never exploitative. Best of all, the story is told without the overuse of action that’s prevalent in modern superhero comics. Each issue unfolds like the chapter of a book, focusing on character development and dialogue. This approach reminds me of the masterful Vision series by Tom King and Gabriel Hernandez Walta. Both series read more like literary horror than superhero adventure. This style is not for everyone, and there will still be people that don’t enjoy this type of story, especially those who don’t want it happening to Jen. However, I have to take a stand and say it is executed expertly. Tamaki, Leon, and everyone else involved obviously understand people’s concerns for the character, and from what I have seen so far are giving her the respect she deserves.

One last thing I want to comment on is both the title of the series and that of the current story arc. It’s called “Deconstruction.” Why? My theory based on the content is that this arc, and the series as a whole, is attempting to deconstruct the character. Hulk, in relation to Bruce Banner, has always been associated with pain, destruction, and mental illness. His death can be seen as the finality of those negative attributes. It is something seen in stories time and time again. The monster, symbolic of the things that bother humanity, must die. Jen was different. Yes, she started off just as savage, but eventually attained control of her other self, even going so far as live daily as She-Hulk. That gift was taken away from her with the death of Bruce, and now her Hulk form afflicts her just as much as it did him.

Perhaps this is necessary. Now that Hulk is dead, and Jen claims the name, it’s almost saying that she has to be stuck with the original meaning of the name, not empowerment but destruction. It should be noted how the events that caused the scenario were mandated by a mostly male creative team. So, while it is easy to give praise for titling the series Hulk instead of She-Hulk to erase gender labels, it could also be said that the old male meaning behind Hulk is now inflicted upon a woman. As I mentioned before, monsters are often symbolic of everything that is wrong with the world, and anyone or anything labeled as such tends to be set up for elimination. After all, society can’t have an ugly manifestation of its dark side stalking about.

However, there is an opportunity for the monstrosity to become a form of empowerment. In the female monster titles I mentioned, monstrous women are immediately put in the box of wrong and afflicted by (mostly male) society’s perceptions of monsters. Jen is similarly afflicted, dealing with her cousin’s legacy, one of contempt from the world at large. But she’s not letting this legacy hold her down. Jen is still being Jen. Furthermore, the series would be smart in showing a transition of Jen reclaiming control of her hulk form and, on a larger scale, breaking down the old concept of Hulk and reconstructing it as something positive. Being a monster can become empowering rather than afflicting.

Only two issues in, Hulk is full of potential. If it lasts long enough and the creative team grows Jen in the right path, it may become an engaging tale of trauma, monstrosity, and reclaiming one’s identity. With atmospheric art, an emotionally complex story, and unique horror tone, I would recommend this title to anyone that loves the character. She might not be the She-Hulk of old, but she is no less fun to read.

Story: Mariko Tamaki Art: Nico Leon, Matt Milla, Cory Petit, Dalibor Talajic Story: 9.5 Art: 8.5 Overall: 9 Recommendation: Buy

Make Me Angry: Hulk #1-2 Review #comics #marvel #hulk WARNING: MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD “JENNIFER WALTERS has survived the Civil War…barely…and having risen from the rubble, she re-enters the world a different kind of hero.

#comic books #Comics #cory petit #dalibor talajic #featured #mariko tamaki #marvel #matt milla #nico leon

9 notes · View notes