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americasass81 · 4 years ago

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Make Her Mine - Chapter Three

{Warning: 18+, Dark theme, Smut, Fingering, Drugging, Mild Somnophilia, Non-con, Swearing, Choking, Mention of oral, Violence, Male Masturbation, Real Persons Mentioned}

Seriously do not read if any of this upsets you.

A/N: Okay though this started out as something to keep me occupied while I was without Wi-Fi for a week and never really planned on posting it, here at chapter three I would like to thank everyone who seems to like it and hope they get the same kick out of reading it as I’ve had writing it. Having started out with an original female character, I have decided for those reading to remove the reader's name. As such it’s now dark!Tony Stark x Reader and I figured it was about time I posted this chapter which was written months ago. Hope you all enjoy it.

Word count:- 2,490

Waking the next morning well rested, you started the day by emailing Sabrina the vague outline of your plan to escape Tony as well as how Sebastian might get involved should his infatuation prove stronger than you hoped. Titled Operation Goldfish, you figured it was a handy enough codename to quickly slip into a compromised conversation. Once satisfied, you then ordered breakfast before heading downstairs to rebook your room for five more days. Getting off the elevator and walking towards the reception desk, you took a sharp turn back to the seating area when you saw Tony walking through the front doors.

'Fuck.' you thought, 'what was his problem. Was his ego really so bruised, that he was determined to track you down?' Looking around, you quickly picked up a paper off the table and hid behind it, while you waited to see what happened next. Noting the time it was taking him to be dealt with, you instead seized the opportunity of his distraction to make it back to the elevators unseen, and quickly returned to your room.

Running through the suite, collecting all your belongings, you were just about to text Sabrina regarding the situation when you heard a beep and the sound of the door opening. Heart pounding and cursing that you didn't feel comfortable having Sabrina retrieve your weapons as well, you slowly walked towards the bedroom door to be greeted by the sight of Tony Stark standing in your suite.

"Well Darling, have you any idea all the bother you've caused me. Now I hope you're not planning on going anywhere after I gave clear instructions as to what was expected of you."

"How the fuck did you get in here and why are you doing this? Is your ego really that fragile?" you asked, while quickly trying to assess how you were going to get out of this.

No sooner were the words out of your mouth however, when you found his hand around your throat as your body hit the jam of the door. "You'll find being Tony Stark I can pretty much buy my way in anywhere. Now listen to me very carefully, the money you're using to hide from me was earned in my employ. That means Darling, that I own your pretty little ass."

Trying to hit him with one hand while using the other to pry his off your throat, he released you and you slumped to the floor, gasping for air as tears leaked from your eyes. Glaring at him, your temper flared and you couldn't hold your tongue. "So what, you think you're entitled to do whatever you want with anyone who works for you? That is seriously fucked up and illegal on so many levels."

"Oh no, Y/N, not anyone." he purred, helping you up while forcing you to look at him as his fingers caressed your chin. "Just you. There's something about the way you think you're too good for me, that makes me want to see you kneeling naked before me while choking on my cock."

Disgusted at his words and brimming with fear and anger, your knee came up to connect with his family jewels as you reached your hand around the wall and pulling a floor lamp towards you, brought it down on him. Though all this only stunned him, it gave you enough of an opening to hit him again, before reaching for your getaway bag and running from the room.

Not looking back to see if he was following you, you forgot the lift and started down the stairs as fast as you could. Reaching the street, you made it two blocks before you felt a sharp prick in your neck. Slowly slumping forward, you weren't conscious as iron arms wrapped around your chest and a booming voice told passersby that everything was under control. Taking you to an Avengers controlled facility because of the publicity surrounding your episode, the next phase of his plan was to extricate you from those determined to keep you from him.

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

Having received the unexpected call from Tony Stark, it didn't take long for Sabrina to show up at the facility with Sebastian and two of his goons in tow. Being greeted by a kindly nurse, they were allowed to see you for a few minutes before being ushered into one of the unused offices where Tony sat waiting.

Closing the door behind him, Sebastian had to hold his wife back as she lunged at Tony. "What did you do to her, you sick fuck? I swear, if anything happens to her the full might of the New York Mob will tear you and your costumed freaks to ribbons."

"Firecracker, calm down. At least let the man explain." Sebastian coaxed, quickly glancing at Tony.

"Fine." she said, sitting in the nearest vacant chair while keeping her eyes fixed on Tony, as Sebastian took the seat next to her.

"Well it's good to see you have some control over your woman, but I wonder Mr. Stan, does she actually speak for you."

"Mr. Stark, please don't interpret my love for my wife as a sign of weakness. While she may not speak for me on Mob business, where Y/N is concerned we act as one."

"Fair enough. I was on my way back from a routine rescue when F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted me to a pedestrian in distress. I reached her before she could hit the ground and only discovered it was Miss Y/L/N when I saw her face. I then brought her here and immediately called you, of course." he said, turning his gaze on Sabrina.

"And what exactly is wrong with her? The nurse Charlie wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information." Sebastian stated, reaching out to take his wife's hand.

"That I'm afraid is a question I don't yet have the answer to. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is running every conceivable test, but if nothing comes up, we may just have to accept it's something else and simply let it run its course."

"Something else? As in stress related?" Sabrina snapped, glaring daggers at him. "I wonder what could possibly have stressed her out that much?"

"Yes Mrs. Stan, I'll admit it, I didn't handle her rejection of me very well. But I've since gotten over it. Which is why I now intend to make sure she gets the best medical care my resources can provide."

"Mr. Stark," Sebastian interrupted.

"Tony, please." he stated, turning to face the mob boss once again.

"Tony. Given the issues these past couple of days have thrown up between you and Y/N, surely you can understand our concern. I don't think my wife and I are very comfortable with this arrangement."

"I totally understand your reservations, but as a Stark Industries employee she is also covered under the company's medical insurance, which means I can insist on the best possible treatment available anywhere. I will of course be more than happy to keep you updated on her condition. Now perhaps we can leave it there for today? I have your number."

"Sebastian, we can't just leave her here with this arrogant douchebag. This is exactly the opportunity he's been waiting for." Sabrina explained, locking eyes with her husband.

"Sabrina, sweetheart, his concern seems genuine and he should be made pay for her care. She'll be okay." Turning back to Tony, he looked him over once, before he spoke again, "Remember what my wife told you, Stark. In the meantime, I'll expect regular updates." he stressed, rising from the chair and taking his wife's hand to lead her from the room. Left alone with you incapitated down the hall, Tony couldn't hide the satisfaction he felt, knowing he finally had you in his grasp.

Suspecting that your friends didn't believe a word he said, Tony walked down the hall to your room where he couldn't help but gaze on your sleeping form. Though the sedative he'd hit you with should give him until tomorrow to get you moved to his secret location, part of him was disappointed that it had come to this. He had hoped when you left his office you would do as he asked, but it seemed you weren't as meek as you pretended to be. Still, he did love a challenge and he would enjoy breaking you.

Leaving you temporarily to deal with the paper trail and the nurse, he returned quickly and went about removing what medical equipment had been hooked up to lend some reality to the scene. Next, pulling back the sheets, he frowned at the hideous workout gear you still wore but couldn't help himself as his hand made its way up the inside of your thigh. Though he knew he wanted you awake for all he had planned, he told himself he simply wanted to see how effective the drug was at keeping you sedated.

Reaching your waist, he gently eased down your leggings before running his hand along your panty covered folds. Moving his hand up and down a few times, he brought his fingers to his mouth and coated them in his saliva before shoving your panties aside to feel your flesh against his hand. Slowly gliding up and down your folds, he moved up every now and then to circle your clit before he poked your entrance with a finger. Moving it gently in and out, he was surprised by the small amount of moisture this single digit was producing. Deciding to experiment further, he slipped in a second finger and was rewarded with a tightness that wasn't there the first time. Pumping his digits harder and faster into your pussy, he marveled at how well the drug was working, while still allowing your body to slick up his fingers.

Hearing movement out in the hall, he quickly removed his fingers, replaced your clothes and licked your juices off his digits before pulling the sheets back up. Bending down to softly kiss your lips, he pulled back before whispering "soon darling, you'll feel more than my fingers and you'll never be empty ever again." Then when a dead quiet once again fell over the place, he released his armor, eased you out the window and gently flew you to the secluded spot where his car was waiting. Placing you on the seat and securing your belt, he swept the hair back from your face before shedding his armor, getting behind the wheel and driving off to your new home.

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

Pulling into the secluded, underground hideout, he thanked all the gods above that no one knew of its existence or its connection to him. Housing a garage, living quarters and state of the art lab, he knew it would be the perfect place to hide you until you finally accepted him. Taking you gently from the car and depositing you in your room, he still had things he needed to do before you woke up.

Removing your leggings and panties, he hurried to your bathroom to clean you up after his earlier exploration, before slipping into his room to retrieve a pair of boxers. Left to him, you wouldn't need clothes any time soon, but he figured after the hotel you might not take too kindly to waking up naked. As a compromise, the drug should afford him time to wash your lower garments and return them before you knew anything was amiss.

Heading to his room to shower, his mind wondered how you would react when you regained consciousness. Oh he could easily have tied you to the bed already and after the hotel maybe he should, but where was the fun in that? The contrast between the meek 'Mr. Stark' spouting you in his office and the fiery you that had evaded him and attacked him in the hotel suite excited him more than any woman had in years. He couldn't wait to see which you would open your eyes or what it would take to tip you in either direction.

So consumed was he by you that it took him awhile to realize his hand had strayed to his throbbing erection. Continuing to pump his hand up and down while thinking of your tight, warm and wet walls squeezing him like a vice, his mind wandered back to his fingers buried in your pussy and working himself harder he came with a groan, his cum coating his hand. Looking down at his release, he quickly washed up, exited the shower and changed his clothes before making a bite to eat.

Once fed, he headed back to check on you, to find you just as he left you. Though fairly certain about the timeframe of the sedative, he thought it best not to dally and headed off to his lab to set up a cover that would hopefully keep your mob friends off his back.

His first act was to wire money to associates in Europe to make it look like his private jet had landed with himself, you and the nurse Charlie aboard. Next was the setting up of a false trail that currently had you under the care of the best doctors in Denmark, no way he figured would your meddlesome friends travel there. Then he fished your phone out of your getaway bag, while marveling at the amount of cash you had stashed away. He knew he paid his employees well, but the ingenuity of someone your age to even think of something like this both amazed him and made him wonder why you did it in the first place. But that was a mystery which could wait.

Unlocking your phone, a pathetically simple task he noted, he quickly cloned the whole thing and then, placing it back with your cash and passport, hid the bag in the lab's secret safe. Once done with that, his next task involved combing through every voicemail you had in order to synthesize your speech pattern should he have a need for it at some point. He also contemplated freezing your accounts, but figured that might raise some red flags. When all that was done, he then redirected his business calls, thus making the whole thing look legitimate before instructing his A.I. V.I.R.G.I.L. to shut down most of the building.

Satisfied that his efforts were enough, he returned to your room with your freshly washed clothes and redressed you before settling on the couch to spend some time watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Knowing it would be a while before he got to see you this peaceful again, he savored every minute until his eyes started to close and so rising, he kissed your forehead before reluctantly returning to his own room. Laying down, he drifted off to sleep, wondering what the days ahead held in store.

Tagging:- @nsfwsebbie , @hoseokchild , @malloryharris , @ironlady1993 , @floatingdaisy7 , @taintedgenre , sorry if I missed anyone.

#dark!tony stark x reader

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loveisneurotic · 4 years ago

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Kaguya-sama Blind Reaction/Analysis: S1E1

Hello everyone, this is my blog which I am currently using to react to and analyze Kaguya-sama: Love Is War much more seriously than I should analyze any romcom.

I have only seen the first episode of the anime, which this post shall explore using far too many words. If I'm feeling particularly motivated, I may read the manga as well.

My analysis will contain spoilers. If you're thinking of watching this show and haven't seen it yet, I recommend you at least go check out the first episode yourself before reading any further. I don't know what the rest of the show is like, but what I've seen so far has been both entertaining and thought-provoking.

I'm going in mostly blind, but not entirely blind. There are a few images of the anime and manga that I have been exposed to, although without the attached context. Due to cultural osmosis and the sheer popularity of this work, perhaps that was almost inevitable.

Figure 1.1.1: Why did this guy write an essay about a single episode of an ongoing romcom?

Kaguya-sama: Love Is War

Season 1 Episode 1

I Will Make You Invite Me to a Movie / Kaguya Wants to Be Stopped / Kaguya Wants It

Power dynamics in relationships

Figure 1.1.2: Immediately, the mangaka's tastes become clear.

I heard a saying once that really stuck with me: "The partner who cares the least has all of the power."

In the world of dating, I often sincerely believed this saying. You may yearn for someone's affection, but the other person need not give it to you until they are willing and ready. No matter how much you want it, you can't make someone more interested in you, unless you resort to being roundabout, such as adding some mystery and intrigue to your courtship. But is that excessive?

I once felt a potential lover slipping through my grasp, and before I knew it, I found myself chasing after them. As I was yearning for their attention, I felt as if I'd lost my dignity. It was humiliating. Painful. Was it just that they weren't the right person for me? Or was I not funny enough? Not charismatic enough? Not interesting enough? Too clingy? Too talkative? Should I have been more distant and given them more space? Did I seem too weak? Too eager? How should I have maximized my desirability? Regardless, I had surely lost. Perhaps they wanted the satisfaction and validation of conquering me. Playing me for a fool and asserting their superiority by being so distant. Isn't that right? Or is that just insecurity speaking? At what point is it ideal to cut one's losses and walk away?

If someone desperately wants the object of their affection to desire them, does that make them pathetic? Does it make them a loser? If you show more vulnerability and desire than the other person, does that truly make you the weak one in a relationship?

These questions plague our two protagonists and seem to be a driving force behind the main conflict. Since I have also grappled with how much to reveal my own feelings of desire, I find Kaguya-sama: Love Is War to be a particularly fascinating show.

Desire without action

Figure 1.1.3: Our protagonists are gifted with impressively high academic intelligence paired with impressively low emotional intelligence.

The show wastes no time in introducing us to our two main protagonists. Kaguya was born into a family of high stature (and says "ara ara" frequently enough to power a small country of weebs), whereas Shirogane is a "commoner" (Kaguya's word, not mine) who worked hard to reach the pinnacle of the student body. Like timid schoolchildren, they're crushing on each other, and yet they refuse to admit it due to their pride. Instead, they focus on getting their "opponent" to confess their love first.

What stuck out to me immediately is how they both have different ideas of what their relationship would be like. Shirogane envisions Kaguya as blushing, shy, and conventionally cute, whereas Kaguya (thankfully) envisions herself taking absolute dominance over Shirogane (which plenty of people should see coming as a character trait after the anime's very first scene). The bad news about this is that their two fantasies are at odds. The good news about this is that the mangaka has fantastic taste -- you can learn a lot about a storyteller based on the characterization of a love interest or lead character of the author's preferred gender.

In the event that the two of them become an actual couple, I wonder how on Earth they'll reach a compromise as to how they'll treat each other. Perhaps they will have to figure that out before they can even get that intimate.

I appreciate that we get to see both of their perspectives. It hammers home how everyone has a different truth in regards to what they desire and what they experience, and the show does not hold back when it comes to showing just how different these truths can be -- such as a certain lunch-themed sequence that I will talk about later. This works to great dramatic and comedic effect.

That said, when you spend your time fantasizing about what could happen instead of actually taking action, time is not so friendly to you.

Half a year passes.

Figure 1.1.4: Two geniuses dedicate their pride to wasting their life and energy.

Immediately, I got the impression that whoever wrote this segment of the story knows what they're doing. This is too real. And by "too real", I mean I very much appreciate the realism. How many of us have waited for ages (or for eternity) to confess our feelings to a specific someone?

This is the curse of having a crush and being incapable of acting on it. It's also why I hate having crushes.

Manufacturing affection in others, AKA the extraction of vulnerability

Figure 1.1.5: A plan is devised to weaponize jealousy in the name of affection.

To express your truest feelings means being vulnerable. That implies taking a risk and feeling responsible for any potential consequences of rejection, as well as putting our dignity on the line. It would be so much easier for the object of our affection to make themselves vulnerable instead. So instead of being direct and honest, we act indirect. We drop hints. We act suggestively, but not explicitly. We may even place them in situations where we think they are more likely to confess. If they don't pick up on it, we can pretend we didn't mean anything by it. That way, we don't have to risk our dignity. We can just wait for them to make the move.

It sucks.

Incidentally, it sucks even more when both you and your love interest are thinking that way.

It sucks infinitely more when both you and your love interest are COMMITTED to thinking that way.

Someone has to break the deadlock, whether that's immediately or eventually.

If this show isn't one of those romcoms where the status quo never changes ever (judging by the quality of writing, I have faith that it isn't), then at some point, either Shirogane or Kaguya is going to have to be explicit about how they really feel. And it's going to feel scarier to them than anything else they've ever done.

It's gonna be great.

If we could all grow up and live in environments where it's safe and encouraged for all of us to be honest about how we feel and what we want, surely love would be much less painful for so many people.

Chaos theory

Figure 1.1.6: If your prospective lover won't protect you, then your friend definitely will.

Chika is the ideal wild card and agent of chaos in this arena of love.

From a writing perspective, Chika is immensely useful. The mangaka probably could have gotten by without a third character in the mix, but she serves as a catalyst and an unknown element, able to create unpredictability and subversion of expectations. For a comedy-oriented story, this is invaluable.

Blissfully unaware of the mental turmoil that plagues our two lovesick dorks, she is able to unintentionally invalidate whatever schemes that Kaguya or Shirogane spent so much mental energy on, which adds extra comedy and tension for the audience. She is also an effective vehicle for Kaguya's jealousy and projection, as seen in the lunchbox scene which I have so graciously foreshadowed.

Figure 1.1.7: We have confirmed visual on an unidentified fourth person. Chekhov would love this. From their posture, I wonder if they'll be a gloomy character?

Misunderstandings and assumptions

I've heard that most interpersonal conflicts in life emerge from misunderstandings. In the absence of communication, assumptions are born and give rise to misunderstandings.

You may know where I'm going with this. Let's talk about the lunchbox sequence.

Figure 1.1.8 (not pictured because tumblr wishes to deny me of my image spam): Kaguya is too prideful to admit she thinks that a couple is doing something cute.

Figure 1.1.9: Pride is considered a sin for a reason.

From a writing perspective, I was impressed by the lack of romantic intentions in Shirogane in this whole sequence. Not once did he try to get Kaguya to show vulnerability to him. Instead, Kaguya is the only one spinning the situation in a romantic way, while Shirogane's driving force is the misunderstanding that Kaguya is looking down on him for what he eats. Because of this misunderstanding, Shirogane doubles down and makes his food even better, making the situation even more complicated and more stressful for Kaguya. This was definitely my favorite comedy sequence from the first episode.

I appreciate that the show has demonstrated the ability to create these scenarios where one of the characters doesn't even have love on their mind, but there are still romantic thoughts coming from the other character which drives the drama. It gives me a lot of faith in the variety this show will have to offer, and makes me excited to watch more.

When it comes to comedy rooted in misunderstandings, it is important to have miscommunication or lack of communication. In order to resolve a misunderstanding, you need to talk about it. For a pairing as dysfunctional as Kaguya and Shirogane, expecting healthy communication sounds highly unreasonable, which makes them prime material for a whole world of misunderstandings.

Misunderstandings are rooted in assumptions about what the other person meant when they said something or made a certain gesture or expression. When Kaguya glared at Shirogane and his food, he didn't even think to ask "What's the matter?" He just made an assumption about how she felt. I wonder if trying to understand Kaguya's feelings would be considered a sign of weakness by Shirogane?

A prerequisite to initiating an emotional conversation is the desire to understand or be understood by the other person -- assuming that your assumptions haven't already built a narrative for you. It is far easier to make assumptions than it is to attempt any sort of understanding.

In the end, Shirogane fled, unwilling to confront or attempt to understand the intense and passive-aggressive Kaguya. Kaguya feels that she cannot directly ask to try his lunch, so perhaps this is the closest she can get to initiating such a conversation with him at this time. Despite their mind games where they imagine the reactions of their opponent, they still have a lot of difficulty understanding each other.

I am curious to see if this prospective couple's communication skills and emotional intelligence will improve over the course of the story.

The burden of potential romance

Figure 1.1.10: Even the infallible genius Kaguya succumbs to superficial jealousy. It's "mind over matter" versus "matter over mind". That's how the saying goes, right?

Chika is a free spirit, able to ask Shirogane for whatever she wants without being neurotic. That is the power of not being bounded by a crush. Kaguya, who lacks that degree of freedom, briefly loathes her for experiencing something that Kaguya cannot ask for. It's amazing how much someone's feelings for a friend can change without a single word being spoken between them. All it takes is an action, unintentional or not, combined with the raw strength of insecurity. Just as quickly, the status quo can return back to normal too, with the act of properly making up.

To Chika, asking for food from someone doesn't mean anything at all, whereas with Kaguya, it is an admission of defeat. In that sense, a relationship that will only ever be platonic brings peace of mind, whereas a relationship that can be potentially romantic brings leagues upon leagues of anxiety if the outcome is of great concern.

Love is neurotic.

Is love worth the pain? For some people, it is not. For others, the reward is immense -- but only if you can make sure your relationship with this person doesn't end up being a nightmare for your emotional health.

Love and self-identity

The final scene of the episode surprised me in a good way. It's a brief departure from the comedy, and reveals a more heartfelt side of the show.

Kaguya's servant asks her an insightful question. It is substantially more insightful than I would expect from any romcom: "If you fell in love some day, would you wait for that person to confess their love, like now? Or would you confess your love?" I found myself immediately curious to hear Kaguya's answer, since I knew it would be highly informative about her character.

"If that time comes, I would consider the risk of someone stealing him first and come to the one rational conclusion." Even in the realm of love, Kaguya seems precise and calculating. It's as if she hesitates to give a straight answer, but then she confirms: "Of course I would go."

Figure 1.1.11: "Please understand."

It is not embarrassment or rejection that Kaguya fears; it is the absolute destruction of her identity and sense of self. Kaguya is the daughter of a family that practically runs the country. In her mind, everyone yearns for her and wishes to serve her. Turning that around and reaching out to another person to express her own desire would be a direct contradiction of that. It is probably a similar situation for Shirogane, where the infallible self-image he has built up is being put at risk during his romantic duels against Kaguya.

Kaguya clearly feels trapped. She and Shirogane see each other as threats to be conquered, but in reality, they both share a mutual enemy that is much more imposing and insidious: their own simultaneous disgust at the idea of vulnerability.

Their freedom is dominated by their insecurities, and so, even despite their impressive stature, they are still very human. Their upbringing that has lead them to become so accomplished may be more of a curse than a blessing, due to the resulting pride and self-image they likely feel pressured to uphold.

It is hard to cast aside a lie that you have bought into for your whole life.

If our two protagonists wish to have a chance of establishing a healthy romantic relationship, they have a lot of their own demons to overcome first. If they cannot set aside their pride and reach mutual understanding, they have no hope.

Until then, they will both remain trapped in a hell of their own design, however tragically comedic it may be.

My hopes for this story's future

I can tell that the mangaka, unlike far too many writers all over the world, actually seems to have a solid understanding of romance and the conflict that arises within. I've watched too many anime that place huge focus on the "will they or won't they" crap which never runs any deeper than one or both of the characters being too embarrassed to just say what they're thinking, without any sort of convincing mental blocker. In that case, it's clearly just manufactured drama which is designed to pad out the story and waste your time rather than pose interesting questions and themes. In the case of Kaguya and Shirogane, the two of them have substantial communication issues which are depicted in a comedic yet mature way, which I have found engaging.

I very much hope that the show will more deeply explore the themes and questions surrounding the ideas of vulnerability, emotional intelligence, and superiority within relationships. Kaguya and Shirogane have been set up to be great vehicles for such exploration, and I hope the mangaka can capitalize on that, especially if our protagonists can confront these issues directly.

My impression is that the ending will make or break this story. If the mangaka can pull it off well, I can already believe the payoff will be hugely satisfying.

Of course, in order to get to that point, we'll have to see a certain something. It has to do with the most sacred word amongst romcom enthusiasts: "progress". Indeed, after spending chapters upon chapters watching two characters bumble around amidst the same exact status quo, those little signs of advancements in a relationship are highly rewarding.

Underneath all of their aggression, if we can see Kaguya and Shirogane slowly open up to each other and realize the benefits of vulnerability, I think we could witness something really beautiful and really emotionally cathartic.

I've still only seen one episode, but I believe the mangaka has laid a fantastic groundwork for a series and can do a great job developing upon what I've seen so far. On that note, I will surpass our prideful protagonists by opening my heart to this story and entrusting it with my vulnerability, believing it can deliver satisfying development and resolution. You can do it!

Closing thoughts

I did not expect to write so much about a single episode of an ANIME of all things, but here we are. If only I could conjure this kind of power back when I actually needed it in high school English class!

The first episode alone is already so rich with characterization and themes that I managed to find quite a lot to talk about. Given how much I found myself relating to the characters and some of their situations, it's clear to me how this show became so popular. Not only are the animation, direction, and writing excellent, but also many people can probably relate to love feeling like a battlefield.

I do not want to believe in the idea of winners and losers in relationships. That idea creeps into my head whenever I'm having trouble keeping the interest of a new date, and I find myself wondering where those thoughts even come from. Lately, I have been reflecting on the way I relate to other people. Perhaps I've started experiencing this show at a time in my life when I most needed it, and that's why I felt driven to write such a large analysis.

This show poses some very interesting questions about romance that I do not actually know the answer to at the time of writing. I do not know yet how much the show is actually going to explore these themes. Regardless, I appreciate how this show is helping me reflect, and I am curious to see if and how the mangaka will answer some of the questions brought about by the story's themes.

This is a show that I'll most likely have to pace myself with. There was so much to process in this first episode alone. If I went any faster, I'm not sure if I'd even catch all of the details and character moments. I'm excited to move onto the second episode soon.

A highly subjective footnote about my cultured tastes

I'm glad that Kaguya is a sadistic dom with a gentle and vulnerable side, solely on the basis of that being my favorite personality type in a love interest. It also helps that it makes Kaguya's fantasies that much funnier with Shirogane acting so out of character. I feel like this show was made for me.

What was I writing about again? Oh yeah, writing a gigantic wall of text about an anime romcom. Somehow, I spent an entire day on this essay. Hopefully someone got a kick out of it.

#kaguya sama: love is war #analysis #long post #reactions

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consumedkings-archive · 5 years ago

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ancient names, pt. xviii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xviii: even as a dream

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.4k

Rating: Mature; nothing explicit, just mentions/references.

Warnings: almost none, though some descriptions of Elliot's recent actions, as well as some colorful threats and some poor decision making on John's behalf. This whole chapter is basically Elliot suffering and that's probably why it was so hard to write.

Notes: Hello my friends! I am once again asking for your patience as I come to you with a chapter full of emotional manipulation and almost no physical plot movement! All of this felt important to dig into and though it may not be the most fast-paced (or smutty) chapter, I hope that you still enjoy it nonetheless. Drama abound as we are slowly but surely closing in on the end.

I want to give a super special thank you to @shallow-gravy for listening to me whine and complain about this chapter as well as lend me their eyeballs so that I didn't go just fucking nutso trying to write this thing. As well, @lilwritingraven has been SO sweet, cheering me on and keeping my spirits up even when I think this was one of the harder chapters for me to get through; and everyone who comments, kudos, likes/reblogs depending on what platform you're on, thank YOU so so so much. It really keeps me going!

As always, my most beloved @starcrier put her eyes on this and let me feel less like I was going insane. I love you so much and thank you for loving my girl Elliot as much as I do!! God knows she DESERVES it.

“We should get our story straight.”

John’s voice wrangled Elliot out of her brain. She’d been trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever mind games were about to commence, but John stepping in front of her to block her way into the chapel and speaking was enough to yank her right out of it.

“Get what story straight?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze flickered to Boomer, waiting expectantly, and she made the quiet little motion for sit ; he did, obediently.

“Our timeline,” John clarified, “for—”

“You know, for someone who insists his brother doesn’t scare him,” Elliot interrupted, “you sure act like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar every time he wants to talk to you.”

The brunette’s mouth twisted into a grimace. His arms crossed, mirroring her own.

“I don’t ,” John said, speaking slowly, “want Joseph to get the impression that because we are romantically entangled—”

“Please stop.”

“—that it somehow compromised the work I was doing with you before,” he finished.

“But it did,” Elliot pointed out mildly. “Or did you forget telling me about how long you’ve wanted to fuck me for?”

She saw, for a brief second in time, irritation spike in John’s expression. All this time it had been Elliot smothering him, stopping him from saying the words out loud—but there was something a little liberating about doing it herself, like she had discovered something sharp that had been hidden inside of her all along. It wasn’t useful enough to be used as often as she would have liked, of course; but that didn’t stop her from getting some satisfaction in seeing John’s expression clamp down because the control freak couldn’t stand the idea of her derailing his perfect plan.

(And maybe that had been what she really liked this little game they’d played, all along—the increasing frustration in his voice every time he’d cut in to her walkie talkie, like she could tell that he was losing control thread by thread.)

“I didn’t forget.” John managed to somehow sound both incredibly frustrated and nonplussed at the same time, like ambivalence was a tone of voice rather than an opinion that he could emulate. He continued, “I just think we should be clear about the timeline with each other.”

“Nothing’s unclear,” Elliot replied. “You’ve wanted to fuck me all along—”

“Well, now—”

“—and I finally let you,” she continued.

He sounded spiteful when he said, “Twice.”

“Twice,” she acquiesced, “but do we need to include details?”

John chewed on that for a minute. “Should,” he ventured, and he was clearly trying not to sound smug. “If it’s going to happen again.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think Joseph needs to know that.” And then, light-heartedly, “But if you think he does, we should include how you said please so very nicely for me—”

“Unnecessary,” the brunette interrupted. “Fine. It happened twice, the nature of our relationship is...”

“Tenuous at best.”

“... But not without hope,” John concluded. It took every ounce of her strength not to roll her eyes so fucking hard that she passed out; because yes , she did want to say, I know John was good, sometime, somewhere inside of him, and that means maybe I can bring it back, and if he said that he’d go with me I’d let him.

“Isn’t that right, El?”

Elliot sighed. She regarded him for a moment—grinning, handsome and boyish, flashing his teeth like the cat that had caught the canary. And handsome. He’s handsome, too.

“Whatever,” she relented, at last. “Is that all? Can we go in now? There are things I want to do with the day.”

As she reached around him for the door, John said, “So what are we?” and she groaned.

“ John.”

“I just think that—”

“You are ruining,” Elliot told him, poking a finger into his chest, “the mythos of whatever this is.”

John frowned. He looked like he wanted to say something; he looked like he wanted to say it and very terribly, but like he thought she might be mad if he did. Then again, Elliot had to consider that John said plenty of things that made her angry, and he did so knowing they would make her angry, and that there was no reason that he should start now.

“It shouldn’t be a mythos,” John said after a moment. “We’re… Together, you know—”

Elliot fished the carton of cigarettes out of her back pocket and tapped one out, lighting it. John had stopped himself to watch her, his gaze sweeping over her before he grinned again, wolfish and pleased.

“Does it stress you out?” he asked.

“Baby,” Elliot deadpanned, ��if stressing me out was an Olympic sport, you would be a gold medalist.”

John plucked the cigarette out of her hands after she took one drag, dropped it on the ground, and stomped it out, much to her chagrin. One wasted cigarette.

“You owe me,” she said.

“I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page when we go in there,” he reiterated. “Nothing about the nature of our relationship affected the time that you spent in my custody.”

She eyed him. Out of spite, she almost wanted to agree and then say something completely different once she was inside—just to make him squirm, and all for stamping out her cigarette.

“Fine,” she relented, at last. “But that’s all we say about it. I don’t think anything else needs to be said, do you?”

For one second, John opened his mouth again. It was all Elliot could do not to immediately groan; stupid, pretty John, who for some reason needed to constantly be talking, the same way a shark would die if it stopped moving.

But then he said, “Sure,” and suspicion spiked high and hot in her brain. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers; the kiss was unhurried, but short, and succeeded in frying her brain pleasantly.

“Don’t try and distract me,” she snipped half-heartedly, even when she felt the blush crawling up her cheeks. He grinned as though to feign innocence, before he turned and opened the door to the chapel; when he stepped inside, it left her alone.

One blissful, serene moment alone. It felt more and more like she was running short on those. It was probably intentional. Whatever it was happening between herself and John—whatever this mythos really was—it was harder and harder to keep straight with him around her all the time, breathing her in and exhaling her out, hands and mouth and—

And if she just got one more second —

Inside, Joseph said, “You don’t have the deputy with you?” and John made a noise like he was surprised she hadn’t followed right in. Elliot motioned for Boomer to stay before she stepped inside and closed the door behind her; the movement plunged her into the dim, cool light of the chapel, illuminated only by the cut-out of the Eden’s Gate star-symbol, slanting golden light across the floor. Everything else was dark. Like a womb, living and breathing and spitting out cultists.

“I trust you’ve gotten sufficient rest?” came Joseph’s next question, and it was clearly directed at her. Elliot made her way to the front of the chapel and stifled a sigh.

“Faith said you wanted to talk with us?” she prompted, and Joseph looked like he was trying not to smile; the corners of his mouth ticked upward for a moment as he watched her. He liked to do that—let a silence linger between them, let it fester for a moment until she thought she’d rather curl up and disappear than stay there any longer.

He finally spoke and said, “It’s come to my attention, Deputy Honeysett, that your relationship with our brother John has developed.”

‘Our brother,’ he said. Joseph talking like he was the fucking Pope made her molars grind.

Before she could remark on it, Joseph continued, “It would stand to reason, then, that you are intending to enter the End with us?”

I want a home with you.

“Of course,” John said, just as Elliot said, “‘Reason’ is a funny choice of word for you,” and then their eyes met. John’s expression said we’re supposed to be on the same team, but as far as Elliot couldn’t bite back instinct so easily.

She knew John could be good. She knew it, and yet he insisted on acting otherwise, and it just made her think maybe she had been some kind of exception and he really was, all this time, just rotten.

“I know that you’ve had a lot to process these last few days,” Joseph continued lightly. “The devastating loss of Hudson, having to purge all of that old poison concerning your last boyfriend…”

Elliot felt the panic wash over her in an instant. It was the same feeling that she had gotten with Kian, but the kicker here was that she’d volunteered that information to Joseph. He’d gone digging around in her brain, but she’d given him permission to have it.

I don’t want John to know, something in her said frantically, he can’t know.

“Reconsider,” Elliot bit out venomously, “what you’re going to say next, Seed.”

A moment of silence lapsed between the three of them. John was watching her curiously, waiting, perhaps, for her to elaborate on her angry outburst. She wouldn’t. He’d be waiting until he was in his fucking grave and then some if he thought she was going to say anything about it.

“John,” Joseph said, glancing at the brunette, “I’d like a moment with our deputy.”

The brunette’s expression tightened. Something, just a tiny little something, about that statement bothered John, Elliot could tell—though he said nothing about it, and instead swallowed back whatever it was, clearing his throat.

“That’s not necessary,” she insisted, looking between the two brothers. “John, it isn’t.”

Don’t. Don’t leave me alone with him. Please. I’m so tired, I’m so tired, I don’t want to do this anymore. Not with him.

“I’ll be outside,” John said, but he said it to Elliot, not to Joseph, and it did so very little to inspire any confidence in her; that John thought he needed to explain to her that he would be close by only reminded her that there was something predatory about Joseph that John didn’t like, either.

As he went to move past her, she grabbed his wrist out of instinct—the pads of her fingers brushed the crescent marks that she’d left on him that night in the river, and the differences in the ways that she gripped him now felt monumental.

The moment lingered, suspended, between them. John reached up with his un-gripped hand and brushed some of her hair behind her ear.

“It’s only a few minutes,” Joseph offered, as though it were supposed to comfort her. It didn’t.

She dropped her hand from his wrist, and his hand drifted from her face, and he was heading back to the door before she could figure out if she wanted to pitch more of a fit or not.

When the door closed behind them and left Joseph and herself alone, in the eerie stillness of the chapel, Elliot took in a slow breath. The last time she’d been alone with Joseph, she’d been doing what she knew he wanted her to—confessing to the things that hurt, the prickly, sharp parts of her that stung the most on their way out. She’d grappled back a thread of her control that day, but what should have been a catharsis had just felt—

Dirty.

“I know that you must be tired,” Joseph murmured, closing the distance between them. “You’ve been fighting for a long time, Elliot. Longer, I can say now with certainty, than before even us. Before this.”

Fuck you, she thought hatefully. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You took everything from me, you wretched fucking man.

“I am tired,” she relented, desperate to keep that tiny bit of Joseph’s favor if it just meant that he’d stop trying to pry her open all the time. “But that doesn’t—”

“The End is coming,” he interrupted, though with the slow, rich cadence of his voice, it often felt less like an interruption and more a gentle redirection, “whether you believe it or not. But let’s say, theoretically, that it isn’t. That I’m wrong.”

Elliot’s mouth went dry. She didn’t like hypothesizing theoretical situations, least of all with Joseph. “Okay...”

The man had closed the distance between them now; his eyes were fixed on her, the relentless, dauntless part of him that did not soften to his Fatherly persona. He lifted his hands, and it took everything in Elliot not to flinch back out of instinct—his fingers brushed where John’s had just moments ago, trailing the slope of her jaw, landing on the feverish bruise marks on her throat.

“We retrieved Kian’s body from the forest,” he murmured, his fingers not leaving her neck. He looked to be inspecting the bruises on her neck, at the corner of her mouth.

The scrutiny made her skin feel sickly-hot. “And?”

“You obliterated his face,” Joseph said plainly. “Crushed each bony structure on it, caved him in. His eyes barely stayed in his sockets by the time you were done with him.”

Do you feel guilty for what that man did to you?

Elliot felt her stomach churn, the vicious nausea rolling around inside of her head. She could still feel Kian’s bones crumbling under each impact of the shotgun cold, dark metal, taste the arterial spray in her mouth. And just like that, she could feel Joseph digging his metaphorical claws in, cracking open her rib cage so he could stick his hands right into the gore of her.

Will you feel guilty about this, too?

“It—” Elliot felt her brain swoon dizzyingly; for a second, the only thing keeping her anchored was Joseph’s feather-light touch. “It w-was—self-defense—”

“ I know that,” Joseph murmured, “and you know that, and John—even Jacob, and Faith, and the others. We all know that, Elliot. But your friends from the resistance? Mary May, Grace... Pastor Jeffries...” His voice trailed off. “Do you think they’ll understand, when they read the reports of what you did to that man? Of the trail of bodies you’ve left behind yourself?”

“H-He was going to kill me,” and the words came out barely past a whisper; anymore volume and it would have been a wail. “ They were—”

“Yes,” Joseph agreed, “and you mutilated his body well past the point of death.”

“He deserved it,” she managed out, “he deserved it, he—” He was in my home, he touched my things, he pushed his way into my head, he took my Joey from me, she was the only good thing I had left and he took her.

“I know.” Joseph’s breath fanned across her forehead. “I know, Elliot. I hope—”

He stopped himself, and then he pulled back so that their eyes could meet, his hands cradling her face. It was both an anchor and invasion, this incessant need of Joseph’s to touch her. It grounded her to reality, but it also rattled violently through her skeleton, aftershocks of an earthquake she’d been living through for the last week.

“What I mean to say is, I only hope you understand,” he continued, his voice low, “this gift that we are giving you.”

I want a home with you.

“Do you?” Joseph asked. “Understand?”

What would Pastor Jeffries think? How would Mary May look at her? Sharky, and Grace—would they still like her spark?

Or was she ruined now, too, like everything else Eden’s Gate had touched?

Are you happy, Elliot?

“Yes,” she managed out. “I do.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the chapel door opened, John had been standing around outside for about ten minutes—enough time to hate it, enough time to look at Boomer waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs and think, fucking dog has better patience than I do.

“We’re going,” Elliot said, moving down the steps. Joseph lingered in the doorway behind her.

John balked. Faith had said Joseph wanted to speak to both of them; she’d made it sound like there had been more for him to be a part of, and yet Joseph had just collected one-on-one time with Elliot for himself and that was it?

“We’re?” he asked. Her voice sounded thick. “To where? Joseph, didn’t you—”

The blonde walked past him, and with a single gesture of her hand, Boomer was trotting off after her. John watched her, and then looked back at his older brother; he was sure the confusion was written clear on his face, but true to his nature, Joseph let it linger for a moment before he said, “She requested a car to visit someplace important to her. I said it would be fine, if you went.”

“Where?”

“It didn’t feel pertinent to ask,” Joseph replied. John paused, and as soon as he turned to start walking after Elliot—and perhaps get more information than what it seemed his brother was willing to supply him with—Joseph said, “John?”

He stopped and turned to look at his brother, and said, “Yes?”

“The opportunity is slipping.” Joseph’s head cocked to the side, his gaze hardening. “Do not let your family down.”

John felt something—anxiety, perhaps, but probably more dread —creep down his spine at Joseph’s words. He swallowed and nodded once before he started heading off again, the slow IV-drip of his older brother’s casual, cloaked venom seeping straight into the marrow of his bones.

Joseph’s voice rattled in his skull. Tell me you can do this.

You can’t have both, Elliot’s mouth against his, voice teetering on something broken.

He gritted his teeth, catching up to Elliot as she pulled herself into the driver’s seat of a truck.

I can. You’re mine, and I can have both.

“Ready?” Elliot asked, having elaborated not at all on what was going on and only expecting that he would come along blindly. Well, she was right—to some extent, anyway, because here he was, knowing only one thing more than before and that was that Joseph’s patience was enduring, but running thin.

John flashed her a smile when she glanced over his way.

“As ever.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It didn’t get any more clear where it was Elliot was taking him. Perhaps “taking him” was a bit of a stretch—he was going along because Joseph had insisted, and even if he hadn’t insisted it probably would have been his first choice of how to spend the afternoon anyway.

They were running out of time. That much had been made clear to him, either by Joseph or by Elliot’s itching to get out of the compound; pulled two ways, and only one of them was able to give—Elliot, with the proper amount of planting, guiding.

John knew that he needed to stay focused. There could be no more lingering, favoring glances; she would need to be his, and he would have to make it happen.

Fast.

The blonde turned the truck up a long, winding drive that took them further back into the wilderness of Hope County and parked in front of a house that he’d seen only once or twice before, and only in passing; he’d even considered reaping it for himself, at one point, but it was far out and small enough that it would have been more of an inconvenience than it was worth.

“So,” he said, when she put the truck in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition, “where is this?”

It was a small house, but not as small as most houses in Hope County; by all accounts, the house was probably considered upper class —the snob in him wanted to scoff audibly even as the thought considering how fucking incredible that statement alone was—but the two-story ranch house screamed Gothic South at him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure where it was where Elliot’s parents hailed from.

All of the lights in the house wereoff; the wisteria climbing the trellis that arched over the pathway had just finished blooming, and some of its perfume still lingered; ivy climbed up the elaborate railing of the top front porch, and the garden had clearly been meticulously well-kept.

“My mom’s,” she replied after a moment, sliding out of the driver’s side and closing the door. She sounded more put-together now; whatever had transpired between herself and Joseph had shaken her, but only temporarily. She’d stuffed it down, locked it away somewhere far away from him.

Oh, John thought, feeling that little thrill of delight he got every time he thought Elliot might be about to let him in and under and through. Mom’s house, hm? Interesting.

Boomer leaped from the back without waiting for the tailgate to get dropped and raced excited circles around Elliot as she made her way up the bricked path. He barked once, twice, and then Elliot lifted her hand and he quieted just before she gestured for him to go and he took off running.

“I drove past this place when I first came back,” John said as he followed. “Your mom likes gardening, huh?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Elliot sighed, lifting one of the flower pots by the front door to fish a key out from underneath. There was something bitter and a little humorous as she added, “Scarlet Honeysett would never lift a hand to garden, except —” And here the blonde lifted a finger quite dutifully, that little Southern twang peeking through. “For her rose bushes. Nobody goes around touchin’ her rose bushes.”

John glanced around the front porch. The steps up were lined with the aforementioned bushes, tiny scalloped fencing keeping them from being in the way of foot traffic while still on perfect display. Ah, he thought absently, the neuroses.

Elliot unlocked the door, nudging the front door open with her foot and stuffing the key into her pocket. John followed her inside, glancing around in the late-afternoon light; the polished dark wood floors, the carefully placed decorations, plush foyer rug, elegant painting on the far wall leading past the stairs.

It was luxe, to say the least. A portrait hung on the wall closest to the door, a photo of a young woman and her blonde look-alike toddler. John thought that it was the kind of thing that you only saw in the home of a woman who put her daughter into pageants and drank martinis at ten in the morning.

“Elliot Honeysett,” he began, with no shortage of needling glee, “are you rich?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “ I certainly am not,” she told him. “My mother, however, is a trust fund baby, likely has not worked a single day in her life. Papa Graves was a retired jockey—made a lot of money, real quick, invested it, retired...”

Her voice trailed off and she walked past him to the room on the right, fiddling around with something past his line of sight. He picked up a frame on one of the side tables; it was a young blonde girl, grinning ear to ear, sitting atop a buckskin horse, her fingers tangled into its dark mane,

“You like horses?” John called.

As if to clarify, she replied, “Animals.”

Something in the next room clicked. For a second, John’s brain panicked; a gun, he thought, a brief second of considering that Elliot had brought him here to—

And then the music started to play. It was older music that didn’t quite suit his picture of Elliot—the same girl that had blasted Guns’N’Roses on their way out from the ranch—but dreamy. Hazy. The perfect kind of music to suit the golden light of the late afternoon slanting through the gauzy curtains framing French windows. For a second, John thought he could forget himself: she had let him in, to the most vulnerable part of her, this place littered with photos and monuments to Elliot as a child, Elliot as a girl, Elliot before any of this.

Joseph hadn’t gotten this. Nobody had gotten this—not Joseph, and not her ex-boyfriend, and not anyone. Not anyone except for him.

See the pyramids along the Nile; watch the sun rise on a tropic isle.

Next was a gentle clink. It sounded like ice cubes in a glass. John moved down the hallway, picking up another frame—what he could only presume to be young Elliot, perched atop the shoulders of a red-haired man, grinning like a scoundrel at the camera.

He could hear the sound of liquid pouring a room over. As he walked, he realized the table—and the walls—were covered with photos of this man, this red-haired stranger, freckles covering his face. He was handsome. His eyes looked familiar, too.

Just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me.

“John,” Elliot said from the sitting room—what an absurd thought; Elliot Honeysett, in a sitting room , and that’s what it was, a sitting room, “what are you doing?”

“Learning about you,” John replied. “Your parents left with the resistance?”

There was a pause. He thought that he knew the answer—the only pictures of the man whose eyes were mirrored by Elliot’s own were from when she was quite young. Maybe too young to even remember?

“Mama did, yeah,” Elliot replied. He heard a match striking in the room next to him. She didn’t elaborate on her father; everything in John was itching to pry, to slide just under her skin and figure out what was going on in that brain of hers. Per usual, her decision to remain tight-lipped concerning just about everything that held any emotional bearing on her proved the biggest obstacle.

I'll be so alone without you.

John rounded the corner back into the living room. Elliot had started a fire in the fireplace, kicked off her shoes, and in her hand was a drink; she looked tired , neck still mottled with bruises, but more relaxed than he thought he had seen her in a long time. Even more relaxed than when she was sleeping.

“Didn’t even make me a drink,” he tsked, walking behind the couch to the bar cart. “Just pulled me out here for a little vacation, did you? We could visit.” His gaze slid to her, still perched on the couch with her back to him. “About whatever you’d like.”

“Just wanted to get out of the compound. Felt like I couldn’t breathe in there.” She waved her empty hand in a vague gesture, as if to indicate he was welcome to help himself. “You really don’t stop talking, do you?”

“It’s my job,” John replied, “and you’ve forbidden me from using my mouth otherwise.”

“Oh,” Elliot drawled as he idled around the back of the couch, taking in every meticulous detail of her mother’s living room, “so all I had to do was forbid you and you’d stop doing shit?”

A short laugh billowed out of him. It was so strange to have Elliot like this—was this how she had been with Joey? With the other deputies, with her friends? What she was like before that pesky ex-boyfriend of hers?

Maybe you'll be lonesome too, and blue.

John walked around the side of the couch and sat next to her, regarding her amusedly. She side-eyed him like she didn’t want to exert the effort of turning her head all the way to look at him; when he reached up to brush his fingers along her jaw, she only tilted her head out of his reach for a moment before relenting.

“Might not have worked before,” he suggested. “You’ve definitely gotten more persuasive.”

“Ah.” She arched a brow at him loftily, letting him tilt her face so that she was facing him, and took a sip of her drink. “Maybe your brother is rubbing off on me. After all, romantic coercion isn’t really your style , is it, John?”

He felt his mouth sour at the words. Dropping his fingers from her chin, he instead lifted the drink from her hand; though she relinquished the glass readily, he did see her eyes narrow, just a little. “You just can’t resist, can you?”

He waited for the bite; a part of him anticipated it now, sat patiently, eagerly for the quick-strike of venom. It had become so intrinsic to their day-to-day that he couldn’t tell if he liked it more when she was prickly and headstrong or if he liked it when she was sighing his name like a prayer.

Probably the latter.

The blonde feigned innocence. “Resist what?”

John took a sip of the drink. It was a vodka soda—strong, burning on its way down. Maybe her drink of choice? Or someone else’s. “Picking a fight with me.”

“You do have an exceptionally punchable face,” Elliot acquiesced. And then, as though to soften the blow: “But you have lovely long eyelashes.” She smiled, angelic. “Like a lamb.”

“Fuck you,” John snapped.

“You can,” she replied idly, “if you beg. ”

John felt a flare of something—maybe delight, maybe shame —red-hot and searing in his chest at her nonchalant words. He wanted to stay focused; this was the perfect opportunity to pry more out of her, to really know her and figure out exactly what it was that made her tick, what got those little draconian gears in her head churning.

And they were draconian—after that little show she’d put on with Joseph, he thought maybe Elliot was just a bit more wicked than she liked to let on.

Regarding her for a moment, John set the glass back in her hand, the burn of the alcohol still lingering in the back of his throat. She looked comfortable, draped against the couch; before, being in the same room as him put her on edge, teeth grinding and eyes wild.

“Liked that?” he asked, forcing his voice to lightness, digging. “Having me beg for you?”

“Well,” Elliot said demurely, “who wouldn’t like to hear you begging for something, you smug fucker?”

He bit back his knee-jerk retort and instead willed his words out. “You really are filthy then, aren’t you, Deputy Honeysett?”

Elliot took a swallow of the drink and looked as though she were measuring something, weighing the pros and cons of it in her head. In a fluid motion that must have cost her quite a bit of labor considering the current state of her skeleton, she swung one leg over his lap and settled herself there; straddling him, one hand flattened and smooth against the fabric of his shirt, the other holding the glass and draped over the back of the couch.

“I suppose,” she said, her eyes flickering over his face, “that you’re going to offer to cleanse me of my sins?”

“You’re a quicker study than you let on,” he replied, grinning. “You’ve confessed, but you’re hardly clean. ”

“You should hear yourself.” Elliot’s voice was clipped coming out of her mouth, even as John’s hands came to her hips and tugged her down more firmly against his lap. Her fingers undid one of the buttons on his shirt. “ ‘You’re hardly clean’. You sound so fucking stupid—”

“Let me baptize you,” John insisted. He tried to stuff away his irritation at her words, but it was hard to—even when the sharpness of her words was punctuated by a kiss, her lips parting silkily against his as she sighed, the sharp bite of the vodka chasing the warmth of her mouth. Joseph’s low, murmured threat sat heavy in his chest. “Let me—”

“Drown me?” she said with no absence of venom, even when she said it against his mouth. “Or was that just a one-timer?”

“It’s different,” he snapped. His hands slid beneath the hem of her long-sleeved shirt, tracing the dips and curves of her before splaying against her spine. “It’s different when you choose .”

She sighed; for a moment, John thought she was going to slide off of him, but she stayed, shifting idly on his lap and making the temperature of his body spike. Wicked, wretched viper, he thought, but it was affection blooming in his chest. Wicked and wretched, but mine. Legally bound to me, and all mine.

Besides; where was she going to go, after all of this? She didn’t seriously think she was walking out of Hope County like nothing had happened.

“You gave Joseph what he wanted,” he continued, feeling a little spiteful even as he kept his hands in the slope of her hips. “How’s it feel, knowing that?”

Elliot’s mouth twisted in a grimace. His words had sucked the wind right out of her sails; he saw the impact on her face, meteoric in its destruction.

She said, “John, don’t—”

“I will ,” he insisted, watching her take another dutiful swallow of the alcohol in her glass, “and you did. You gave him exactly what he wanted, after spending all this time insisting you were going to kill him the second you got a chance to. You’ve had a chance. We all know what you did to Kian; all it would take is what, ten minutes alone with him? So, I’ll say it again, how—”

“Worse,” the blonde interrupted, her voice thick with an emotion that John couldn’t quite pin down, “than giving you what you want.”

Yes yes yes, the monster inside of him chanted. He could feel it writhing just beneath his proverbial fingers; so close to sticking the wings of her little butterfly, that special thing that she didn’t want him to have or know. Yes, all mine, give it to me, I deserve it.

The air felt thick, molten-hot and bubbling between them until he thought he was going to be dizzy from trying to breathe something so oxygen-thin. He could feel the flutter of Elliot’s pulse, unsteady and hammering, against his chest: not the heartbeat of an apex predator, but that of prey, snagged and caught and his.

John pressed his mouth to the slope of her neck, tightening his grip on her; his tongue traced the marks left there just below her jaw, and then he murmured, “Tell me how it feels to give me what I want, El.”

Elliot’s free hand had tangled into his hair, knotting there and gripping just a little tighter at his words.

“Good,” she managed out. Her voice barely broke the sound barrier of a whisper; that single word alone gave John a vibrant surge of triumph in his chest, billowed the breath right out of him. But when he pulled back to look at her, she finished off the rest of the vodka and set the glass on the side table before she plunged on, “I had a dream the other night.”

A brief pause dragged the silence on, with only the music playing absently in the background as she righted herself on his lap.

“It was after my walk with Faith,” Elliot continued. “You were there, and—it was just a stupid dream, but—”

“Dreams can be prophetic,” John said, because whatever she was unraveling was making her upset, and he wanted it; that little tremble in her voice, so sweet so sweet, the same kind of sweetness he’d wanted to taste that night he’d first gotten his hands on her.

When he opened his mouth to continue to encourage her, she slapped her palm over it and said, “Shut up or I’m going to lose my train of thought.”

John made a muffled noise of acquiescence. Elliot dropped her hand from his mouth and took in a short, sharp little breath.

“You were there, and you kept saying things like… That you wanted to be—mine,” she explained, and this whole time she hadn’t been looking at him, but she did now. “That you wanted a home with me, that we would—after Kian, we would leave Hope County and for a second—I fucking—everyone, and everything, it’s all gone to shit and for one fucking second when you were saying that I didn’t—I didn’t feel—”

So close, John thought, watching her try to work around the words that she wanted to say but that fought against her entire being to come out. I just need to hear it. That’s all I need.

“Alone,” Elliot finished softly.

It was the perfect opportunity; Joseph had made it clear that they weren’t going to be waiting to finish off the Family to retreat for the End, and that meant that John only had so much time to bring Elliot around. This was the moment that he had to take advantage of, to tell her about their marriage and hope for the best.

“It wasn’t,” John said after a moment. “A dream, I mean.”

The blonde stared at him for a moment. Her expression was guarded. “What wasn’t?”

“That night that you came back from your walk with Faith,” he began, “you weren’t feeling well, and I walked you back to the bunkhouse—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—and I told you that I didn’t want you to be alone anymore—”

“John.”

It’s fine, he thought, even when Elliot’s expression flattened and emptied out, it’s fine, it’s fine.

“—and that after all this was done, I would leave with you, and I wanted a home. With you.”

Elliot blinked. A few moments passed. Surprisingly, there was no fury radiating off of her; she looked blank, like she was still processing and taking in all of this information. Like maybe it hadn’t quite hit her yet.

John opened his mouth, very deliberately, to proceed and inform her of the next part—the completely fine and totally normal agreement to get married when Elliot said, “So you lied to me?”

His mouth closed. “Sorry?”

“I asked you about it,” she began, and now she was biting the words out, “the next morning. In the chapel. Jacob was there, and I asked you if something happened—”

“—less like it happened—”

“—and you said, John, that I walked myself to the bunkhouse and went to sleep.” Her fingers had fisted into the front of his shirt now, gripping, as if she were preparing for him to try and squirm out from underneath her. “I fucking knew you weren’t telling me the truth, I fucking knew it because my gun was on the table and I’d never fucking put it there to go to sleep, you stupid fuckhead—”

“El,” John said, lifting a hand, though he didn’t know why; maybe in an effort to soothe her, maybe to block any incoming blows, but Elliot smacked his hand out of the way.

“You fucking weasel—”

“Elliot, listen to me!”

Bad, John thought, and he hadn’t even told her about the part of this that was the most legally binding, the part of this that didn’t make her a Honeysett at all anymore but a Seed. All of that softness from before had evaporated in the heat of her rage. Bad, so fucking bad, fuck I’m fucked fuck.

“I’m gonna fucking dig the decay out of your teeth with a hunting knife, you lying piece of shit,” Elliot snapped. “You saw what I did to Kian, huh? I let you fuck me, and you lied to me—”

“I was—”

“—fucking rotten through and through—”

“Elliot,” John managed out, scrambling for something as he ducked an otherwise well-timed blow; he snagged her wrists, both of them, to stop her from landing any kind of hit. “I was embarrassed, okay? When you came in the next day and you didn’t remember, I—freaked out. Jacob was there, and I thought you’d kill me if I didn’t tell you, and also that you’d kill me if I said it front of Jacob, and I didn’t want to say it in front of him anyway because it was about how I was going to leave with you rather than stay with them!”

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. It was a lie —a big fucking lie, in a lot of ways, but most importantly a big lie-by-omission, but though he knew it John thought certainly there was no fucking way in Hell he was going to bring that part up to Elliot now, too.

She’s clearly emotionally fragile, he reasoned, I should wait until a better moment.

“Why’d you want me to get baptized then?” she snapped. “If you were planning on leaving with me?”

“Because,” John said slowly, come on come on come on, “Joseph—knows about us, and it would be suspicious. If you didn’t.”

Elliot stared at him. “And?”

“ And,” he insisted, “I planned on telling you in the car on the way out of the compound that night, and then we got hit, and we went on Kian’s fun little nightmare carnival ride, and—”

“Shut up.” Elliot yanked her wrists out of his grip and passed a hand over her face exhaustedly. John wanted to keep talking—it was instinct to want to weave the most elaborate tale that he could in the face of Elliot’s fury—but he did as she said, keeping his mouth shut as she processed whatever it was she had taken in.

Her hand dropped from her face, and she stared at a spot on the wall over his head for a minute before she sucked her teeth and said, “You don’t fucking lie to me, John.”

“I—”

“You don’t fucking lie to me,” Elliot reiterated again, “because if you do, I will find out, and I will make you fucking suffer.”

John regarded her warily. He knew that he needed to tell her. He knew that he should, because if this was any indication to how she was going to handle it, the full truth would be astronomically worse. It would be best to get it out of the way, let her process it, and maybe by the end she’d have come around to the picture he’d paint of them, together, as the End crept in; safe and in the bunker and—

“Okay,” he replied, “no lying.”

“No fucking lying.”

“Got it.”

“And if you do—”

“Skeleton pulled out of my body,” John supplied, lowering his hands hesitantly back to her hips. She eyed him through her lashes for a moment before she seemed to relax a little, sucking her teeth and crossing her arms over her chest. As each second ticked by that she didn’t make good on her violent promises of emergency tooth surgery, John felt more and more confident that he had assuaged the monster and reached up to gently unlace her arms. She balked at first, and then relented after another few heartbeats; when she allowed him to pull her arms around his neck, Elliot let out a soft little exhale, like she’d been holding her breath.

He said, trying for lightness, “I like when you get scary.”

“Did you mean it?” she asked, ignoring his little playful remark. When John looked at her expectantly, looking for some elaboration, she took in a breath and said, “About... leaving?” And then, with concerted effort: “With me?”

Soft —she was so soft, right then and there, and only for him. It was in moments like this when John wanted to drag her down into him, kiss her until his lungs ached, until their breath mixed and intermingled; to capture something like this and keep it his and his alone, forever.

He’d tell her. He’d tell her when things were better—when she wasn’t so emotionally raw, when she hadn’t lost so much so quickly, and when she’d have a more level head about it. She’d feel safer, more secure, with this little white lie; and then he’d tell her about the End again, once things had quieted down for a few days, and explain the importance of having her by his side. As his wife.

“Yeah, El,” he replied. “I meant it.” And then, because she was staring at him with those eyes—wary, cautious, guarded—he took her face in his hands and said, “I’m yours.”

“Don’t,” she managed out, and now her voice was really wobbling, “don’t fucking lie to me again, John Seed.”

She’ll see that I did this for us.

“I won’t.” And technically, sort of, it was true—he wasn’t going to tell her another lie now that she’d just said not to do it again. Unless she asked again. But she wouldn’t. So it was sort of like he was doing exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Elliot’s forehead brushed his. She let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t have anything left,” she said after a second, “anymore.”

He pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss—luxuriated in, drenched himself in it, indulged in the feeling of her leaned into his touch.

“You have me,” he said against her mouth. “You know that.”

“Yes.” Elliot’s voice was an exhausted murmur; her eyes fluttered shut. Got you, John thought, dragging his thumb along the slope of her cheekbone, and she said, “I know.”

Got you, hellcat.

#john seed x deputy #john seed x original female character #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #fic: ancient names #my writing #ch: joseph seed #i'm really not out here trying to be like i hated writing this but we're pretty close to that #i finally hit some kind of stride with it which was cool #anyway #it does ALL feel important #so that's what matters #next chapter can be full of actual drama and steam to make up for the downer <3 #thank you everyone for reading!!!#far cry 5 #fc5 #this whole chapter is john going #this is fine

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saharamae21 · 5 years ago

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Never Ran Smooth (Part 18)

Hey guys! Sorry about the day off, but I took a well deserved me day up the coast and needed to relax!

________________________________________________

No more yielding but a dream

I woke up the next morning surrounded in JJ’s arms. I felt the soft rise and fall of his chest as he slept soundly next to me. His hair was stuck to his face, covering his eyes. I pushed it gently out of the way and caressed his cheek a little. He shifted a little, rolling over on his side more and pulling me even further into his chest. His breathing changed and I felt his lips on the top of my head.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, half asleep still. I smiled and could feel the contentedness in my chest. I greeted him back and closed my eyes, enjoying his warm embrace. I could get so addicted to waking up next to him in the morning.

“Savannah?” I heard a muffle yell from upstairs. I slipped out of JJ’s arms in a panic as I knew my brother had come to check up on me. He groaned as I left his side, but he was too sleepy to get up and stop me from leaving. I grabbed a shirt off of the floor and slipped it on before slipping into the hallway, trying my best to avoid any pain and discomfort. I heard my brother coming down the steps and I shut the bedroom door and leaned against the wall blocking it. “There you are.”

My brother smirked suspiciously at me as soon as we made eye contact. I knew he knew what was going on, but I wasn’t about to give him any satisfaction.

“Morning Jasp,” I said. “I’m feeling a bit better so you don’t need to check up on me today.”

“I can see that,” he said. “How’d you get down here? You could barely walk yesterday.”

“I managed. The couch was uncomfortable,” I said. I could tell he wasn’t buying it, but he just let out a little chuckle. He turned his back on me and began to walk away. I let out a sigh of relief as he made his way back to the stairs.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” he said laughing as he looked over his shoulder. I looked down and saw that the shirt I picked up had, in fact, been JJ’s. I face palmed and silently cursed myself as he left. “Oh, mom’s probably going to come check up on you in about 15 minutes, so you might want to get JJ out of here.”

I wasn’t shocked that he knew. In a sense, this felt like Jasp was giving us his blessing. I smiled to myself and reached for the door. I stopped myself though, feeling nervous all of the sudden. I knew JJ was my person, but was all of this enough for him to think I was his? I gathered all my courage and opened the door. JJ was laying cutely under the sheets, but his head perked up when he heard the door open. His hair was messy and his face was scrunched up as if he had just woken up. I could help smiling when I looked at him.

“You look cute in my shirt,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Wait, come here.”

I walked over to him and plopped down next to him again. I walked as he leaned back and grabbed his hat from off the bedside table and placed it on my head. He pulled my hair over my shoulders and smiled at me. It was a wholesome smile, a precious one you only share with someone you love.

“We should get you outta here,” I said, remembering my mom would be coming down here in a little bit. I watched as his face fell and he stared at me.

“I thought we were good,” he said softly. I opened my mouth to say something, but he just kept talking. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it and I’m not good with expressing my emotions. I just want the best for you and I really care about you. I just thought-”

“JJ,” I said, trying to end his rambling. It didn’t work very well though. He just kept going on and on about how sorry he was and it was breaking my heart. I learned forward and pressed my lips gently against his. This was slowly becoming our way of shutting each other up. I pulled away, leaving my forehead pressed against his. “JJ, shut up.”

“I’m in love with you,” JJ said. I felt my heart stop. He couldn’t be any more perfect than at this moment. I blinked my eyes and continued to stare into his. There was no sense of lying and no sense of hesitation. JJ Maybank loved me.

“Savannah?” I heard my mom's voice yell. I cursed under my breath and frantically shoved JJ into the closet. I tried to compose myself as I opened the door and walked out. I greeted my mom awkwardly and noticed her staring at my shirt. I swore repeatedly in my head as I remembered I was still in JJ’s shirt. “I see your following in my footsteps.”

“Sometimes I forget dad was a pogue,” I mumbled. She stared at me with sad eyes.

“He just wants you to grow up better than he did,” she said.

“No, he wants to make sure he never goes back to that life,” I said. I listened as she tried to interject, but none of it mattered to me. “He hates me. Do you know what it’s like to have your parents say they’ll never love them? You dad let you marry a pogue! I can’t even introduce JJ to you guys without the world ending.”

“Where is he?” she asked. I stared at her blankly, unable to process what was going on. Within a minute, she had moved past me and opened the closet door. “Hi, JJ.”

“Mom!” I said, but it was too late. JJ stared uncomfortably from me to my mom and back to me.

“Hi, Mrs. Stryker,” he said, covering his bruises awkwardly. “I’m usually a little more presentable than this. I promise.” I let out a giggle, but JJ shot daggers at me. He wanted to make a good first impression which made my heart swell.

“It’s okay,” my mom said. “Just so you both know, I have no issues with you two dating. I apologize for Nicholas, but give it time and he will come around to it. I just wanted to make sure you were okay Sav. Next time try to hide your boyfriend better.” I felt my jaw drop a little bit as she walked away. When did my mom become cool? I felt JJ slip his arms around my waist and place sloppy kisses in the crook of my neck. I hummed a little bit at the sensation and turned around to face him. I was met with quick and hungry kisses. He planted one and deepened it immediately. My hands unconsciously cupped his face and his hands found his way to the small of my back, pulling me into his chest. The kiss was intoxicating and I found my head going dizzy from the sensation. He shifted one hand to my side, brushing my bruises. I winced hard and pushed him away as my side burned in pain.

“Shit,” JJ said. “I’m so sorry Sav, but can I please take you to the hospital now?”

“I’m fine,” I said. I looked at him and saw the horribly worried look on his face. It immediately tugged on my heartstrings. “Would it make you feel better?”

He nodded and the look on his face said it all. I sighed and took a step towards him, wrapping my arms around his torso. “Fine, I’ll go.”

I sat nervously as JJ drove me to the hospital. I walked up to the front desk and checked myself in. I sat nervously in the waiting room with JJ by my side. I think he could feel my anxiety and slipped his hand into mine. It was good to know that he would be by my side.

After the doctor’s visit, JJ insisted I rested. I had three broken ribs on my left side, but some painkillers should help ease the pain. That pain wasn’t going to stop me from being by his side. We compromised on me coming with him as long as I promised to do nothing, but sit and lie down. I, of course, agreed to his terms and sat comfortably while him and Kie prepared for the gold extraction. I sat carefully as I watched, taking in every moment. Kie and JJ laughed and every ounce of me was happy. This is where I belonged.

No one knew what laid ahead of this moment.

______________________________________________

IMPORTANT:

I want to know what you guys want to come after this fanfic! Do you want a sequel with more JJ and Sav, post show with uncanon events? Or do you a brand new fanfic based on OBX? A new plot and a new main character? Let me know!

Tag List : @jjmaybangme @thebendslikebendover @justcallmesams @jellyfishbeansontoast @obxmxybxnk

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nekoannie-chan · 5 years ago

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Universus

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader

Word count: 1777 words.

Summary: It seemed like a normal training day for you and Brock until Johnny came to ruin the day

Warnings: Angst, this is an Horror AU.

A/N: Universus means Universe.

This is my entry to the @star-spangled-beard-burn ‘s Season of Fiction Writing challenge 2020 with the fall prompt #1:

“I TOLD you I can’t do haunted houses”.

Also my entry to the @marvelgirlonamarvelworld ‘s Val’s 500 Writing challenge with the dialogue prompt #3:

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the one who fucked us all up. What trouble did you get yourself into now, sweetiepie?”

And my entry to the @anika-ann ‘s 500 Celebration Challenge with the Arrow prompt #5:

“You tell anyone about this, I will kill you”.

“…That’s just an expression, right?”

Is a horror AU.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @navybrat817

You slipped and winced; Brock turned around and saw you on the floor, he went back to check if you were hurt.

“Are you okay?” He asked offering his hand to you.

"Yes, it's nothing, I just got distracted," you answered taking his hand and standing up with her help.

“Are you sure? You've had a lot of accidents and been distracted all week,” Brock commented with concern.

You dusted yourself off and looked at your boyfriend smiling.

"Come on, we've managed to survive that guy with the weird cloak and the girl who takes daggers out of her hands, as well as the group of weird kids who have a dinosaur."

"I still don't understand why they have a dinosaur," Brock questioned, putting a hand on his beard.

"After all we've been through, are there still things that surprise you?" You questioned incredulously.

"Not exactly, rather it surprises me that without having powers, I am still alive," he replied.

"That is because I’m healing all your wounds in the missions with my powers, but your destiny would probably be different if I didn’t do it," you agreed with satisfaction.

"Always so modest," he said wryly.

“Of course, well next time I won't heal you and I don’t know who’s gonna help you.”

"I don't think you will be so cruel ... are you?" He asked nervously.

"Challenge me and you will see," you threatened.

"You know I love you so much, right?" Brock replied, trying to sound friendly and approaching you.

"Don't even think about it," you stopped him by putting your hand on his chest.

"Don't be mad, babe, but as soon as the fair will be in the town, I will take you to the haunted house."

He got closer and started kissing your arm.

"Noooo, you know I hate haunted houses, let me," you said laughing, you knew what he was trying.

If you let him continue, he would achieve his goal and you could no longer pretend that you were upset with him, although obviously, at night you were going to take revenge. You saw the time and decided it was better to return to compound before they will start looking for them or they will find you in a "compromising" situation.

Baxter Building

Johnny saw the object in his hands, he had heard Ben talk about it, and obviously, Reed had created it, although he could not understand what it was for, he shook it a little, but nothing happened.

Maybe he could take it with Y/N and Wanda and see if they could find out what that item was doing or what it was for.

He immediately saved it and went to the compound, it would surely be a very fun visit, as long as the three of you were there you used to have many adventures.

Compound

"Hello ladies," Johnny said, entering to the place.

“What are you doing here?” Brock asked.

Johnny and Brock didn't get along at all since Brock thought Johnny liked you.

“What is that?” Wanda asked when she saw what Johnny was holding.

"I don't know, I found it in Reed's lab, but you two are very smart and I know you'll help me find out," Johnny replied, ignoring Brock.

"Well ... it seems ... something Reed is probably going to be very upset if he doesn't find it when he looks for it," you said.

“Oh come on! I don't think…!”

At that time the Multisect activated and everything went dark for a few seconds.

Unknown place

You opened your eyes confused, you felt stunned, you assumed that the others were too, you turned looking for the rest, who were lying in the place, you did not know where they were, and you did not even seem familiar.

“Is everyone okay?” Johnny asked, getting up.

“Where we are?” Brock asked sulkily, he was sure you were going to have problems.

"This place is very dingy," Wanda said scared.

"I just hope a madman with a machete or an electric saw doesn't show up and wants to kill us," you said.

"Well, Tinker Bell, take us back to the compound," Brock ordered.

"Yes, of course," Johnny muttered as he waved the Multisect.

You and Wanda exchanged glances, you knew Johnny, and so you would have to find another way to return to the compound… although perhaps you should first find out where you were. Johnny seemed nervous, he didn't know how said object worked.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't the one who fucked us all up. What trouble did you get yourself into now, sweetie pie? ”

“Brock, this is not the time for sarcasm, we must find out where we are supposed to be and, above all, how to return to the compound…”

“Your idiot friend brought us who knows where, we have no weapons apart from those we carry for training, or anything to defend ourselves as we know, we will have to improvise and worst of all, we have not the slightest idea of what the ground, ”Brock interrupted.

"We have Wanda who has powers, Johnny has powers, I have powers, we will be fine, and apart from that is what training is for, right?"

Brock growled disgruntled, he did not like what was happening at all, of course, he could have hand-to-hand combat, which was his speciality, but he knew well that for some things, having some kind of power was more effective and weapons they were a great help too.

“Johnny please, don't lose that thing, I don't care if Reed scolds you, but we surely need it to return home…”

You heard a sound nearby as if someone was dragging chains and stepping on leaves, the four of you put themselves in a position to defend yourselves if necessary.

“What was that?” You asked scared in a whisper.

"I think your question is rather where we are?" Wanda corrected.

"We have two options, or we stay here like idiots while Tinkerbell tries to fix that shit or we start walking to find a way out, obviously we shouldn't separate," Brock suggested.

You turned to see Johnny, who smiled nervously.

"I don't know how it works," he admitted.

Brock sighed exasperated, you would have to walk without knowing what dangers there were.

"I don't know who is more useless if this one or Rogers, although at the moment I think we already have a winner," Brock mumbled.

“Then what do we do? “You asked.

Johnny pushed himself to be able to fly, however, it did not work, just as Wanda tried to use her powers creating a field, there was no success either.

"Okay, we are screwed, I think we will have to walk to get to the highway ... or somewhere that can bring us closer to a populated area, maybe there we can get a phone to call the others and come for us," you said while you were looking for the compass in your pockets.

Once you found it, you started walking towards where the compass indicated that it was the north, Wanda took your hand to try to control the fear that both of you felt, Brock had an angry and Johnny tried to make a flame appear in his fingers.

The forest seemed huge and endless, you lost track of time, you no longer knew if you walked for hours or minutes, each time the place became gloomier.

“Are you sure it's the right way? “Wanda questioned.

"I don't know, I don't even know where we are, I'm just following where the compass tells me its north," you replied.

Suddenly Brock stopped them, you looked at him asking for explanations; however, he put a finger to his mouth to silence everyone, you hid behind a huge tree.

A group of people with masks passed by, it seemed that they had some hostages that they were taking somewhere.

"We should help them," you whisper.

"We cannot care about others."

"Although I never liked him, your boyfriend is right," Johnny said.

you began to walk slowly so as not to attract attention and to run away when you were far enough they ran into another guy wearing another mask, so Brock and you shot him, you did no harm him, he began to chase you, you separated into two groups, you and Brock, Wanda and Johnny, without realizing it.

After you made sure you weren't chasing them anymore, you stopped, turned around looking for your friends while trying to catch your breath.

"Brock ... where are Wanda and Johnny?" You asked raggedly.

"I don't know ... I thought they were coming after us."

“Do we look for them or what do we do?”

"First, not to separate, second, we have to walk trying to avoid those damned fools and find them."

You held hands and began to walk, it was difficult to determine if you had already walked through the place or not, at times you had to run again when you were being chased.

"I TOLD you I can't do haunted houses".

"This is not a damn haunted house, it is a fuckin’ haunted forest," Brock replied.

"Anyway, Brock, I'm seriously scared, we must find Wanda and Johnny," you whimpered.

You were surrounded, it seemed that there was no escape, you tried to run until you ended up crashing into the other couple.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked terrified.

“We are still alive, but I don't know how long…”

Impulsively Johnny threw the Multisect at the attackers, which activated at the exact moment when it looked like they were going to attack you.

You saw the others without understanding, nobody knew how you came to the compound, and the only thing that mattered was that you were safe. You and Wanda hugged each other while Brock grabbed Johnny by the collar of his shirt to threaten him.

"You tell anyone about this, I will kill you."

"... That’s just an expression, right?"

"No jerk, I'm serious ..."

“Brock is enough, Johnny already learned the lesson, he is going to return the object to Reed's laboratory, right Johnny? “You broke in separating the men.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.

"You know what, we're going to go with Johnny," Wanda said.

You entered the laboratory and Johnny left the Multisect where he had found it, then you went to the hall and there you found Reed.

"Hi guys, haven't you seen my Multisect?" Reed asked.

“Your…what?”

“The Multisect, it serves to travel to other universes… you know, forget it, I don't want you to get into troubles.”

"Doctor Richards, if you knew ..." You spluttered as he left.

#SeasonsofFiction2020 #Val’s500challenge #challenge500ann #brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #brock fanfic #brock rumlow fanfic #brock rumlow x you #brockrumlow #brock rumlow x mutant reader #brockrumlow x reader #brock rumlow x y/n #brockrumlow x y/n #brockrumlow x mutant reader

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sage-druid · 5 years ago

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The Greatest Reward

I almost didn’t write this, but I need the proposal. I struggled with the love scene. I know I am not as good as all of the other talented writers out there. I did the best I could :`~( Be gentle. Feeling a bit vulnerable. One of my reasons for even attempting to write all this this is for the next episode.

Part 5 of: The Love of Every Lifetime to Come

It seemed like that this was the first time that MC had awaken before Helena. It was a rare treat to be able to stare at her, peacefully sleeping with her golden hair draped delicately over her shoulders and naked breasts. It was also amazing to see how much she had grown. MC was so proud of her. It brought the sweetest joy to her heart, that now, after everything that Helena had endured, that finally the rest of the world saw her beauty as well. For a moment, MC stopped and thought "God, she is perfect." Helena was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was smarter and more creative that many of the inventor's in MC's world. And there is a beauty to Helen that goes beyond anything physical. She was so tender and loyal. MC had never really been with anyone who gave unconditional love so freely. She was a dream come true. She felt, truly blessed, to be spending the rest of her life with this wonderful woman who was now free of a continuing evil. MC had made sure that Helena would be safe forever. And she would spend the rest of her life protecting her and making sure no one hurt her again. Then, MC smirked and shook her head. She was now thinking back to the past two days. Embarrassment was only one of the feelings she had. Normally, MC was so positive - the cheerleader for everyone else. How could she be so weak? Why could she not get herself out of that pit of despair? She should have been there for Helena and not the other way around. Still, unsure how and why it escalated like that would remain a mystery. Perhaps, it was meant to be? Maybe there was a reason why she got to that point. MC usually did things, sometimes by instinct, to give Helena what she needed at specific moments. She wondered, "Was this something that Helena needed to see?" The way Helena responded could not have been more perfect. "Here we go again. She is perfect." MC looked sweetly at the beautiful angel sleeping next to her. She made the deepest sigh, smiled softly and recalled the events of last night.

The truth is, when Helena said MC was her hero and kissed her, she took away all of the darkness. It was absolutely magical. As if the touch of Helena's lips contained such a power that it could drain the poisonous thoughts from her mind. There was never any doubts that she loved Helena. She really never thought she could love Helena anymore than she already did. But when Helena kissed her, she gave up anything that could ever come in the way of their happiness. MC had given everything to Helena at that moment: heart, mind, body and soul. Helena owned her entirely. Helena saved her once again.

Helena scooped up MC into her arms and said, "Come on my love, I have a surprise for you, fit for the hero that you are.". MC giggled and kissed her. "Welcome back my love. I have missed that smile dearly." MC saw her opportunity to continual th jovial mood and tease Helena. "Wait, if I am your hero, then why are you carrying me?" MC teasingly asked as she smirked. Helena's eyes pierced and she replied, "I do not think you have the strength to have it the other way around. Of course I could cast a spell to empower you. My love, if your physical strength was as strong as your inner strength, you could carry all of the this realm on your own power." Helena smirked and laughed deeply. MC smiled brightly and said, "Aw babe, you say the sweetest things." Then MC playfully declared, "Hey I am strong enough! I took out an evil Witch Queen in one swipe and saved the world." Helena looked devilishly into MC eyes and replied, "That you did, my love. And now it is time to claim your reward." With that response, chills rushed through MC's entire body and oddly set her face ablaze. Helena could immediately see it in MC's blush, which made her own desire rise quickly.

Reiner cleared his throat and asked, "Um Lady, MC ... uh ... your wounds". A hint of amber came to his cheeks as both MC and Helena turned back and looked a him with a "super bad timing, buddy" look. Ishara quickly came to their defense and looked at Reiner with a very uncharacteristic sly grin. "I think that Helena has a salve or two for that, Reiner." Reiner looked embarrassed and agreed, "I am sure you are correct, Your Majesty"

Helena didn't even need to wave a hand to have the door to their suite open. When they entered the room, there was a most beautiful sight. The bed was completely covered with thick long vines. Each of the four ends were attached singularly, to the four bed posts. Helena carefully removed MC's tunic. She slowly moved her hand down her chest and paused when she reached the center and kissed gently. She continued her careful caress with her mouth as she moved down to her stomach. Then she dropped to her knees and bowed before MC. When she looked up, she said is a shaky soft voice, "My love, there is a question I must ask." MC gasped and swallowed hard. MC's head was screaming, and she shouted to herself "Yes, God, yes I consent already! Just take me". MC bit her lip and nodded. "Yes, babe, what is it?", she asked urgently. Helena, opened her hand and placed her other hand over the top and muttered a faint spell. When she removed her hand, in the palm of her hand was a small circular object. It was beautifully designed. The gold color of the ring practically matched the shade of the color of Helen's hair. There was an intricately designed pattern to the shape the ring that made it look like it was carved to resemble two vines entwined together. On the top a the ring was a crystal "ice blue" gem in the shape of a rose and the shade of blue identically matched the color of Helena's eyes. MC's mouth dropped open and a tear fell from her eye.

Helena looked tenderly into MC's eyes. "My love, you have always been there by my side, even when others wished to see my demise. With the strongest love and the deepest faith, you gave unto me the most precious gift of love, unconditionally. You have always stood strong to protect and comfort me in every way. Your heart is the only home that I will ever desire. I wish this ring to be my vow. I shall give to you, without compromise and unyielding, the same gifts that you have given to me. I pledge to be by your side through all things, regardless of world, throughout all time, and even in the absence of life. I ask that you continue to share all of your love and dreams with me, in this life and every life yet to come. This is my promise that I will find you and love you in all worlds and in every lifetime. Will you honor me and accept my oath? Will you be my wife until the end of time?"

There are a million things that MC could have said. Who could ever say "no" to this woman? She was her soulmate. She was the woman who gave up everything for her. Honestly, Helena, ultimately completed her. Everything about Helena was a beautiful gift. To have that for not only this lifetime, but every lifetime, was pure satisfaction. MC thought for a brief moment to just reply with a simple "yes". She felt that it was possibly the only word that she could manage to come out of her mouth due to the overwhelming emotion. As if empowered by a gentle breeze, there was an uncontrollable urge to speak the words to her that she has always wanted to say. "Helena Klein you are worth a million lifetimes. And it is you that does me the honor of allowing me to enjoy this precious gift of you for as long as I breathe. YES. A million times YES!"

Helena's eyes filled with tears. She stood and kissed MC deeply. "My love, you have me at a disadvantage. I am unsure where this should be placed. Is there a place that you prefer?". MC just lost it. Tears were streaming down her face. Attempting to compose herself, she explained, "In my world we place it on this finger. It is said that this finger is unique because it has a vein that goes straight to the heart. Will you please place it here? I always want you as close to my heart as possible." Helena smiled, with her hand shaking, she carefully slid the ring of her finger and declared, "With this ring we are one. You are mine and I am yours. And now I seal this vow forever." When Helena kissed her, she could feel a rush of warm electricity. MC's entire body tingled. It was like a million little sparks of static electricity. Every hair on her body stood on end. "Wow, Helena! That was really surreal. I can feel you through my entire body. Is that a new spell?" Helena smiled and said, "No my love, this has always been within me. I never wanted to produce it with anyone except you. I knew in my heart that I would share it with you, and you alone, since the day I first saw you. This will always be your spell." MC asked, "Sweetheart, did you make this ring yourself? It is spectacularly crafted?" Helena nodded and replied, "The metal that I used is a very strong metal. They say that it cannot be destroyed. ]The strength of the metal seemed appropriate to the unyielding strength of our love. I have been working on the design for some time now." MC looked in awe into Helena's eyes, shook her head and stated, "You continue to amaze me every day with your talents." MC grabbed Helena's face and kissed her so deeply that Helena felt a very different form of magic. This was far from anything she had ever felt. This was very warm and it sent a sensation through Helena as if she was shielded and wrapped in a warm light. Every part of her body felt a comforting warm. Helena felt safe and protected. "It appears, my love that you have captivated me with a spell of your own, And this warmth, that that you have given to me, burns deeply within my heart. I wish to feel this feeling, forever."

Helena's voice deepened, "My love, there is something I desire deeply. Will you honor me once again and indulge me?". She raised her eyebrow and smiled coyly. "It does require that I remove the rest of your clothes." MC snapped back to life, and realized that the original passion that had built up was temporarily put to the side. But when Helena's tone changed and she spied "that" look in her eyes, she was brought right back to the moment. MC looked towards the bed, admiring the multitude of vines on the bed. She tilted her head towards the bed and asked in a playful tone, "Does it have anything to do with the small garden growing out on our bed?" With a deep hum, Helena responded, "Indeed it does, love. Do you consent?" MC undid her belt and looked devilishly into Helena's face and sarcastically replied, "Oh, I consented the moment you swung open that door with a blink of your eye. Your magic is the best aphrodisiac in the world. Ten million time stronger that oysters."

Helena gently placed MC on the bed and removed the rest of her clothes. "First there is something I must do to prepare", Helena announced. She cupped one hand over the other and breathed deeply. When she removed her top hand, her bottom hand contain a gooey thick substance. MC looked at the substance and thought, "Oh wow, just how kinky is this going to get that she's gotta lube me up?" MC's eyes widened. "Babe?" was the only thing she could get out of her mouth. Helena looked at MC with a big grin, as her imagination for what MC was thinking assumed her greatly. In a direct tone she stated, "I need to attend to your arms first so that the vines will not scratch open the wounds." MC blushed and averted her eyes to the door and said "Oh, okay." Helena chuckled, ""What did you think I was going to do with this?" MC, now red as a beet, quietly replied "I thought you preparing to ravish me beyond my wildest dreams and wanted to ..." Helena stopped her and confidently said, "Oh I will ravish you my love. But I do not need to use anything other than my mouth to prepare you fully." MC closed her eyes and thought "Yeah, she's got that right. I am already wet enough to make my own slip and slide."

Helena gently applied the ointment to MC's arms and face. It felt icy cool and was so soothing. "There. That should suffice.", Helena said so softly to herself. Helena closed her eyes. Magically, the vines came to life and wrapped around MC. They draped her in a beautiful green foliage. As each vine grew, it tickled MC's skin. It felt as if a hundred fingers were caressing every inch of her body where it touched her skin. All four of her extremities were tightly spread apart. There was not any play in their confinement. Her legs were spread so wide that she had barely any room to even move her hips. Then the vines continued their path as if they were in desperate search of something. A vine crawled across her forehead, holding her head down making it impossible to move one way or the other. When a vine started to take form over MC's throat, Helena shook her head, dismissed it with a wave of her hand, and said, "No. That belongs to me." She bent down and sucked passionately on MC's throbbing pulse. Helena slid her tongue over the sunken area and continued to MC's throat. She bit down delicately and then sucked in a rhythmic motion. Left behind was the distinctive branding of Helena's love. "You will always belong to me. Tell me you are mine, my love.", Helena passionately demanded. MC gasped and softly said " I am yours and yours alone?" Helena's tone became stern. "I cannot hear you. I want the world to hear your desire." MC rolled her eyes and in a voice that came from her toes she exclaimed "I belong to Helena Klein.!" MC pleaded, "Please, babe! I want you with my soul. Just release me." Helena's grinned wickedly and said "Much better my love. Your sweet request, I shall grant." "Do you know how much I long to see you this way? How you glisten with desire? Giving yourself to me so completely? It raises a desire within me that I can no longer suppress. I want you to show me how much you want me." Helena stood and removed all of her clothes. Helena's greatly burning passion could be seen in the form of her fully erect, pink nipples and a thin steam of liquid running down her leg. MC was mesmerized. The only thing she wanted was to taste Helena. "What is your desire my love? I can see a flame in your eyes that is unknown to me." MC fought to hold back the words for a moment until Helena took her finger and gathered the wetness from her own desire. She placed her finger on MC lips. MC lost it completely and started pulling with all her power in a futile attempt against the strength of the vines. Each time she pulled the vines not only resisted, but they pulled tighter. This was madness! "Please Helena, I need to taste more of you. I would give anything at this moment." Helena cocked her head and gave her signature smirk. "As you wish my love." Helena straddled MC face and began to push, and with each gyration, she got closer and closer to reaching her climax. MC licked and sucked furiously. She knew Helena was close. MC was already at her peak. She was throbbing furiously an began to feel lightheaded. Without warning, the vines wrapped around MC and began to spread. They then continued to climb up Helena arms. The vines were entwining them together. Helena removed herself from MC's face. MC whimpered with a saddened disappointment. Helena slid down the length of MC body. Placing her hips over MC's hips, she joined their most sensitive parts and began to rock slowly. The motion was slow and purposeful. MC was at the mercy of Helena's movement. The vines had restricted her so, that she could barely move her hips. But no movement was needed on MC's part. This act of Helena being solely responsible for their pleasure, set MC to the edge. Helena had her seconds away from from releasing the strongest flood she had ever experienced. The vines grew and surrounded Helena completely. There were small peaks of skin. Mostly, she was completely enveloped in the green garden. When they wrapped around Helena's waist, she was barely able to to speak. She moaned two words and her voice was shaking in a way MC never heard before, "Love, now!" Suddenly, seconds away from both releasing, the vines started sprouting a red growth. A multitude of red roses began to bloom. As they climaxed together, the roses came into full bloom around their bodies.

Helena, exhausted with a gleam in her eyes dismounted and laid next to MC. She looked at the vines and then released MC from her position. MC, completely paralyzed from the effect, was in awe of the sight. She looked tenderly at Helena with tears streaming down her face and spoke. "Please, don't remove them. This is the most beautiful moment that I have experienced. I never want it to end." Helena looked deeply into MC's eyes and said "My desire is to give you this each day of our lives. This is how you make me feel each time I look into your eyes." They kissed tenderly, both crying, until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

MC basked in this thought of this memory and sighed deeply, as she watched her soulmate sleeping quietly. A small tear fell from her eye. She couldn't ask for anything more. There was no treasure greater than Helena's love. To lay here forever was the greatest reward to her. There was no need for any ceremony. The only thing she wanted was this moment. As if Helena could hear her thoughts, she smiled and softly said "My love, there is nothing else I desire in this life, other than to spend each moment with you." Chills radiated through MC's body. Helena open her eyes and stared at MC with her sleepy blue eyes. MC, softly held Helena's face and kissed her like it was the sole reason for her breathing. As if the kiss brought the breath to her lungs, she continue to press forward for fear that without that kiss, she would be not be able to breathe. Lost in complete emotion, MC responded with the only thing she could get out of her lips, "All my life - I want this." Helena smiled and said "As you wish, my love." She kissed MC longingly.

Bringing a serious mood to the room, Helena smiled and said, "Today is your day. We need to prepare you for court. We should start with getting you dressed and building your strength with some breakfast. I have asked Solaire to prepare something special that I know you will like." MC sighed deeply and shook her head. Then she said "I suppose you are right. But the only place I want to be is right here in your arms. Can we stay this way forever?" Helena smiled sweetly and said, "I will do my best for the rest of my life. But for now, I wish to observe everyone paying tribute to the love of my love for saving the world. Let us go my hero."

MC stood and said, "Fine, but I have nothing to wear that is acceptable to go before the King in in." Helena chuckled and stated, "You are perfect with anything you wear. However I must admit, you are most perfect when you wear nothing at all." MC cocked her head and gave a pensive stare and retorted, "On that note, did you actually propose to me while I was half naked?" A blush came to Helena's face. She admitted "Of course my love. I wished for you to be as natural as possible. My intent was to have you totally disrobed, but I am afraid that I was overcome with emotion." MC looked at Helena with a questioning stare and in a serious tone, "Speaking of 'nature' ... that spell, babe ... bookmark as one of my favorites. Wow, talk about getting back to nature." Helena sweetly replied "Consider it bookmarked." MC chuckled softly, shook her head and kissed Helena tenderly.

“I love you so much Helena Klein. I can't wait until we are married and I can finally call you my wife."

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kookadoodle · 7 years ago

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Missing Pants (Pt. 1)

PLOT: Y/N wakes up in the Bangtan frat house post-party and takes on the challenge of finding her missing pants.

PAIRING: Yoongi x reader (ft. the other boys) GENRE: comedy, kinda fluffy, Fratboy!AU WARNINGS: drinking, some sexual themes WORDCOUNT: 6.7k A/N: do not take this one too seriously, I mean no harm x

Pt. 2 ♥

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You are not really sure whose party this is. All you know is that there are currently a ton of people, and you do not recognize half of them. You got lost from your friends a few hours ago, and you are pretty sure that they will not come looking for you. They are used to you going missing as you wander off to do your own thing somewhere. Their worry has stopped showing its face many wild stories ago. You are pouring back drink after drink, surrounded by sweaty bodies and blasting tunes that has your mind pounding, forcing you to try to escape. Yet even despite your intoxication, your mind is telling you that you cannot leave here in this state. You are not to be trusted behind a wheel, let alone on your own feet, since your sense of direction right now is thoroughly obscured by the alcohol running through your veins. That, and how your balance is way off, making you unsure of whether you will be able to stay upright for long enough to make it home.

The house is grand, hosting several frat boys on the daily, which means that there are a few different rooms to choose from as a temporary sanction. You stumble your way upstairs, almost tripping over your own feet… or maybe the steps themselves, you are not sure. You feel as if your mind is playing tricks on you, since the staircase never seems to come to an end, until it finally does. You have managed to reach the top, and looking down the hall you see doors side by side and feel troubled trying to choose which one to enter through. It does not take long, however, till you find yourself at the last door, wanting to get as far away from the noise as possible. It might not really make much difference at all, but right now, it seems as the most logical choice to you and your drunken brain. You open the door and step inside, closing it behind you. There is a light on, yet you do not take time to study your surroundings. You just step further inside towards the bed in the room, where a lying figure suddenly becomes apparent to you as you approach it. “Can I help you?” the boy asks soberly from his position beneath the covers, phone in hand and mouth slightly agape from your sudden intrusion. You look at him and squint your eyes. He has chocolate brown hair, messed up a bit from his current occupation, and by the look of his face, he does not exactly seem joyful about your presence. Not that you care in your current state. You only find his chubby cheeks very squishable, thinking it makes him resemblance a fluffy kitten somehow. “I think we should go to sleep,” you mumble absentmindedly as you sit down on the floor beside his bed, which causes his furrowed expression to face towards you, watching you take place in his room uninvitedly. He honestly does not know what to even say to that. It is not what he had imagined the night to entail. He thought he could just go to bed early and ignore the party downstairs, but apparently not everyone got the message of the upstairs being off-limits. It is typical party behavior, though, which he should have known. “I’m Y/N,” you then say as you have already forgotten that sleeping usually requires lying down and not sitting up as you currently are, staring at his blurry shape. You are looking at him, but your eyelids are just droopy enough to give your pupils a hard time to focus on his features. “Now that we are friends, can I ask you a favor?” you speak before letting him return your greeting, meaning you do not actually catch his name. The boy watches you closely as he tries to figure you out, finding himself at a loss of how to get you to leave. You seem pretty set on staying, and he does not have the conscience to tell you to go without knowing if you actually get home safely. He might be known for his cold exterior around campus, but he has never been rumored of actually being made of ice. So, he lets himself be amused by you in return for your sudden visit. Call it a compromise. “I guess,” the confused boy finally speaks gruffly, and he already wonders what you might ask of him. Usually, these types of situations are a bit unpredictable as you never know what drunk people might want. It could literally be anything and everything, depending on the level of drunkenness the person has reached. From what he can already tell about you, you are most likely going to surprise him with whatever you choose to say. You scooch closer towards his bed, which proves his point before words even leave you. “I’ll whisper it, so come closer,” you manage to say, failing at keeping your own voice down as you lean in. He lifts himself up to rest against his elbows, getting closer to you to hear your mystery words, but to his surprise, nothing leaves you but a laugh after you steal one of his pillows from right under him. He sighs immediately, shaking his head at the way you just played him. You are clearly proud of yourself, shown through the smile plastered on your face as you get comfortable on the floor. He repositions the pillow he has left under him, lying back down. He guess, it is only fair that you at least have some comfort on his wooden floor. However, he keeps his eyes on you, not wanting you to suddenly steal his covers as well. You close your eyes as you position yourself comfortably on the space beside his bed, which has him thinking that you are going to sleep now. He turns back over, lying on his back, and brings back his phone to occupy his tired mind that refuses to rest just yet. A moment of quietness goes by until he hears you rummaging on the floor again. His gaze returns to you, and he is surprised to see that you are struggling with trying to remove your jeans from your slinky legs. His eyes widen in slight panic. “Aish, what are you doing?” he whines, scolding your drunken antics for being inappropriate. Having a girl in here is questionable enough, he does not need you to start undressing as well. “They are too tight… and they are dirty, too,” you explain, pulling them off your legs and throwing them away, hearing them land with a thud. His eyes follow your pants dumbfoundedly as they are flying through the room and landing against his dresser across from his bed. “Could you wash them for me? I spilled on them earlier,” you ask mid-yawn as you scratch your head and squint your tired eyes. The boy blinks a few times to himself, bewildered of how his night could change so drastically, when all he wanted was to ignore the party his friends had decided to throw. “Sure,” he frowns lightly, thinking you will probably not even remember this conversation in the morning. You start pulling at his duvet, and his hands grip tightly around it as a reflex, not allowing you to steal it from his shape. You start pouting at his resistance, letting go and start rubbing your bare arms and legs. You are wearing an oversized t-shirt that stops right above the knee, but despite its ability to cover your most intimate parts, it is most definitely not enough to keep you warm throughout the night. The boy realizes that. “Wait,” he sighs defeatedly. He gets up from his bed and walks over to his dresser, pulling out a big comfy blanket that his mom had gotten him a while back. He has never really used it, but there really is a time for everything. “Here,” he mumbles groggily and spreads out the blanket on top of you, causing you to lie your head back down on the pillow. He then gets back in bed and crawls underneath the covers to return to his phone. You try to get cozy, but every time you close your eyes, you feel as if the room is taking a spin, which has your eyes darting back to their opened state. “I can’t sleep,” you pout, sitting up once again. What is it with this girl? the boy thinks to himself, bothered by your chattiness. Yet even though, he would usually never let someone sleep in his room, he just cannot find it in his heart to throw you out in this state. But that does not mean that you are not bothering him still. You most definitely are, yet he cannot help but find you entertaining too. Especially, when he sees you reach out your hand to grab the newly poured glass of water on his nightstand and take a sip from it, sighing with satisfaction afterwards and seeming completely oblivious to the fact that the glass was not meant for you. You clearly have no shame at all, and something is telling him that your sober mind is just as unapologetic as your intoxicated one. He tries to ignore you, telling himself that you will just go to sleep eventually and be gone sometime tomorrow morning without exchanging a word before you leave. The boy then finds out that ignoring you is easier said than done as he ends up still being forced to listen to you and your troubled mind. “Is that you?” you ask him, studying the picture on his night stand beside the glass that you have just made yours by putting your lips on the brim. The photo is of two boys, and from your current blurry vision, you decide that either one of them could easily be him. The boy turns as he looks to see what you are referring to. “Yeah,” he answers shortly, causing you to ask further, when the reply creates a million follow-up questions in your head. Your mind decides on one that seems most vital to ask at this point. “So, are you one of those?” you ask, whispering it with slightly widened eyes and a serious look on your face. The boy’s expression contorts a bit in confusion. “One of what?” he asks, not sure of what you mean. “You know,” you chuckle, lifting your brows briefly as if it would be enough explanation, which it is definitely not. “I really don’t,” he says again, clearly not following your train of thought. “Like…,” you start and try to come up with a way to explain it that your drunken mind will actually allow. You lean in a bit towards him, feeling giddy in your stomach by the thought. “Like, do you kiss boys?” you ask as you look him in the eyes, wide grin on your flushed face. He frowns again and sighs after your question registers in his mind, convincing himself not to pursue this conversation with you. You do not get the hint. “Is that your boyfriend?” you ask, still referring to the picture of the two of them after establishing that one of them is in fact the boy in front of you. He locks his phone and places it on the night stand next to the picture, front lying down on the wood. “No, it’s my brother,” he says as he fixes his duvet to get it to cover him fully and not leave his feet to turn cold from a lack of coverage. He can sense that you are not actually listening to him, which is probably because of your state that has had your complexion turn reddish. “For how long?” you ask as you are lying back down, and the question makes him close his eyes and mentally facepalm. You have already decided his answers on his behalf, not registering his answers fully in your brain, and apparently in your head, he is a homosexual now. “All of our lives,” he then says, turning around on his side with his back facing you. If he could just go to sleep, maybe you would finally stop talking. He would not mind chatting with you if you were actually saying something that made sense, but it is clear that you are talking nonsense right now. Your only reply just further proves his point. “Wow, crazy stuff,” you say amazed, and he is almost amused enough to let a chuckle leave his lips. It might be the most one-sided conversation he has ever had with you doing almost all of the talking. “Good night, Y/N,” he says, switching off the light. You sigh tiredly and return his words. “Good night, little meow meow,” you smile as you lay down, picturing his fluffy cheeks with a pair of whiskers attached instead of noticing the spinning room of his.

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Your eyes resist to open, not wanting to allow the bright light inside their comforting barriers. However, you force them to, since your subconscious knows that you are not in the comfort of your own bed, but on a wooden floor at a campus frat house. You rub at them, sitting up to notice how your back is slightly aching from its lack of the usual plushy support, and you look around, while your eyes are getting used to the brightness of the strange room. You quickly gather that you are alone, and despite your carefree approach to the servings yesterday, you are actually feeling fine without too bad of a headache. You scratch your scalp as you rise to your feet, letting the t-shirt unfold onto your thighs, covering your body just enough to not be exposed. To be honest, you are actually not remembering much from what happened yesterday, and you are not sure how you even ended up in this room. You do remember, though, that you were wearing pants, and you realize that right now you are not. Looking around, you fail to find your jeans, which has you furrowing your brows. When did I take them off? you think to yourself, trying to replay the party in your mind to no avail. You remember searching for your friends, but after that, you must have consumed a bit too much to obtain anything that actually was registered in your mind. You refuse to let yourself worry just yet. Hearing voices from downstairs, you find yourself making your way towards them and ending up in the kitchen, where the frat boys of this house are gathered for breakfast. You step through the door, and the room immediately goes quieter at the realization of your presence. The boys look you up and down with slightly curious expressions and movements turning into slower motion. You look each of them in the eyes as your gaze travels around the table, searching for an empty seat among the seven of them. There is not any. You sigh, not feeling the least bothered by their stares. They can stare all they want. All you want right now is to sit down and maybe take part in this breakfast of theirs, considering your rumbling tummy has your interest peaked. You do not know any of them, but that is all the more reason to just not care of how you are perceived. They observe you closely as they wait for you to speak or cry or something, whatever girls do these days. “So, is anyone gonna offer me a seat?” you suddenly ask casually, letting your arms fall slack at your sides, looking at the boys unapologetically. You have never been intimidated by boys as you have three brothers yourself, so it comes more naturally to you than if it had been a bunch of girls sitting in a row, braiding each other’s hair. The boys do seem a bit surprised by your sudden approach, though. “You can sit on my lap,” Jungkook then says back as a joke that has his hyungs laughing. He does not consider you actually hearing it, but only wants to continue the playful mood they had had before you came into the room. “Okay,” you say nonchalantly, causing the boy’s head to turn towards you almost fast enough to give him whiplash from the spin. “W-what?” he stutters surprised by your acceptance of his unserious offer. You make your way to him with half-lidded eyes from tiredness and place yourself down on his right thigh as you slouch your back in your now seated position. You sense him flexing beneath you in slight panic at the sudden proximity, seeing your butt placed on him. He is really regretting making that joke now, being the most inexperienced of the group and having a slight anxiety about talking to girls in general. This was not what he had had in mind, when he was trying to be funny. You ignore the boy’s nervous state, thinking he might give up eventually and just give you the seat in order to escape his current position. The rest of the boys return to their previous conversation, ignoring your presence as it has currently become Jungkook’s problem. While waiting for Jungkook to decide for or against the drops of sweat running down his forehead, you notice the boy next to you as he looks at you through squinted eyes. You lock gazes with him and he sees it as his opportunity to ask the question that is circling in his mind. “Why are you not wearing pants?” Taehyung asks, keeping his wondering eyes on yours. “They are missing,” you say back, shrugging your shoulders at not being able to find them in the other room. “Wait, that has happened to you too?” the boy asks, surprise evident in his expression as if he has been dealing with the issue for a while. “Does that mean you will have to go home without any pants on?” he adds to his previous questioning, realizing how exposed you are going to be out there in public in just an oversized t-shirt. “If I don’t find them, then yes,” you say. His mouth falls agape at the thought. “That can’t happen, you can borrow some of mine,” he quickly offers, but as the words leave him, the realization hits. “No, shit. All mine are missing right now too,” he states, biting down on his bottom lip as he tries to come up with a solution. The statement really has you pondering, not understanding how he could be in such a position. You look down for just a brief moment to see that the boy is not wearing pants either, but only sits in his boxers, and it confuses you. Taehyung’s pants had started to go missing, since Jin decided to keep them from him after having been doing his laundry for a while. He wanted to teach the younger one a lesson and get him to do his own chores, but he had not expected the boy to just walk around in his briefs all day without truly questioning the disappearance of his clothes. Apparently, Taehyung finds it strange that his stuff goes missing around the house, but he never actually acts on it. The turnout was quite unexpected. “Jungkookie, borrow her some of your pants,” Taehyung says to the boy beneath you, who you sense is quick to shake his head in refusal. Your eyes land on the boy sitting across from you, shaking his head at the conversation happening before him. “The stupidity of this place,” Namjoon says defeatedly as he runs a hand through his hair, proving his distress. He rises from his seat, not wanting to deal with the others any more right now after overhearing Taehyung talking about his pants, still not having realized that they are just not being washed by Jin as usual. “I should have chosen Kappa Sig, instead,” Namjoon mumbles to himself as he leaves the kitchen. He leaves it all behind as he retracts to his room, hoping to catch a break from the guys. They can sometimes be quite a handful. As Namjoon leaves, his chair becomes unoccupied, and you quickly make your way around the table to sit down and claim it for yourself. Jungkook is very happy with your decision, since it means that he can actually breathe normally again, instead of lightly hyperventilating. As you take your place by the table, your stomach signals another grumble that reminds you of not having eaten yet. An untouched piece of toast with Nutella has been left behind by the dimpled boy from before, and the slow sensation of nausea that threatens to show itself has you taking a bite from the bread. It earns a look from the boy with squishy cheeks that sits across from you on the opposite side of Jungkook. He does not pay you much attention, but the glance is quick enough to let you know that your actions have him questioning life on several levels. You disregard his judging attitude as something about him is causing questions of your own to be shaped. He looks familiar. Yoongi looks away from you, listening to the words that leave Hoseok’s lips, while he is wondering if you remember who he is and the conversation you had last night, before you fell asleep on the floor of his bedroom after eventually stealing his covers too. He had slept through the night, but it had been quite chilly to wake up without a warm duvet, while you were covered in both your blanket and his missing one. You had looked so peaceful to him, so he decided to just let you sleep it off in his room and not wake you despite his want for you to leave. You are a stranger after all. Right now, he is just sipping on his juice and being slightly weirded out by your choice to eat off of Namjoon’s plate so relentlessly. He must admit that you are quite something. “So, which one of you are the gay one?” you suddenly ask, earning all of their attention to be directed to you. It might be a stereotypical thought, you have gotten imprinted in your mind or maybe even a myth, but for some reason, you believe that each frat house has at least one homosexual. And whoever it is in this house, you intend on becoming friends with them. You have always wanted a gay best friend. Thinking you are referring to the conversation last night, where you had claimed that Yoongi was gay from simply a picture (with his brother, he might add), he assumes that you are talking to him. “That would be me, I guess,” Yoongi says calmly. The other boys frown, finding it difficult to decide which statement is surprising them the most. You, asking such a random question to a bunch of strangers or their roommate/friend claiming to be gay, when he has only ever seemed interested in girls. The table goes quiet. “Oh, you were the last one I would have expected,” you say frankly, turning to lock eyes with Yoongi. He tilts his head in slight confusion, internally debating your recollection of yesterday’s interaction. “I’m not actually gay, though,” he states, wanting to be clear that he is not in fact dating his brother, if you are still making assumptions from the photo on his nightstand. Your eyes squint as you try to figure out his answer. “Now, you are confusing me,” you speak a bit hushed, knowing what he has said has been misleading. You question it internally as you are not remembering anything that happened yesterday in his room. Yoongi, who remembers everything, is just as confused. “Who would you have expected, then?” Taehyung then asks, breaking the eye contact between the two of you. You look to him instead, finding a set of gleaming eyes as if he already has an answer in mind that he would like to hear from you. “Him,” you say bluntly and point at Jungkook, who almost chokes on his water. “W-why?” he questions shocked, eyes widened at the surprise. Your answer has several chuckles erupting from the boys around you, even the confused one with the squishy cheeks. “When I sat on your lap, my gaydar just went crazy,” you say, his stiffened posture and desperate need to not let you borrow his pants in mind. “What about Jin-hyung?” he says and points to his hyung, who is wearing an all pink pajama and is filing his nails. You look at the boy, taking in his appearance for a second. “Nah, he isn’t gay, I can tell,” you state confidently. “I’m a psych major, so I know things like that, you know, Freud and the egg and stuff,” you add, further explaining why you would be qualified to guess. You might in reality be failing the class, but the boys do not need to know that. They are strangers after all. Having zoned out of the conversation, Taehyung hands you an egg as he had only heard one word out of your explanation, thinking you had asked for one. “Thanks,” you say, hesitantly receiving the egg and leaving a satisfied smile on the boy’s face. None of the remaining boys really know what to make of the strange interaction that they have just witnessed unfold.

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An hour later, Hoseok and Seokjin are working out. The frat house has one room with fitness equipment, that all the boys had chipped in to set up. Some of them ended up using it a lot more than others, but Taehyung and Yoongi still have unrealistic goals of actually trying one of the machines one day. If ever pigs learn to fly. Hoseok is running on the treadmill, and Jin is lifting weights, admiring himself in the mirror. Sometimes, the other boys believe that he even practices dad jokes during lifting, since it is where he finds himself the most confident. If one listens closely, they might be able to hear a gentle windshield laugh between sets. “Wow, this is cool,” you say as you enter the room. The boys both turn to look at you, suddenly feeling a bit odd. They have never worked out in front of a girl before. And no, Jimin does not count, even though Jungkook tries to convince everyone that he does. “Can I try?” you ask as you run a finger over the steering wheel of the exercise bike. “Sure,” Hoseok speaks between pants, nodding in permission. You smile widely as you position yourself on the bike, trying to remember when you last went to the gym. Honestly, you cannot tell. The bike is placed to slightly turn away from the boys, which is probably a good thing, considering you are still missing your jeans. The new position is a bit revealing, and you would not want to distract them from their workout. You start biking at a comfortable pace, finding the sensation amusing. It has always entertained your mind, thinking about all those bikers on exercising bikes that never go anywhere. It seems a bit silly to you. Hoseok and Seokjin are both caught up in their own activity to pay you any attention, but suddenly as you look up, you are met with a pair of far widened eyes and lips parted in shock. Jungkook is once again caught in a situation too provocative for his innocent mind as he is standing in the doorway with his body frozen and his eyes locked on the impure sight between your legs. He does not mean to stare at all, since he is not even aware that he is. The realization causes a laughter to escape you, which breaks Jungkook out of his hypnotized state. His eyes dart up to meet yours, cheeks flushing a vibrant red color of embarrassment. His reaction even further fuels your laughter, causing you to almost tip over on the bike as you silently grin. The boy enters the room and makes his way to the weights to join his hyung, shaking his head at your entertainment. “I didn’t see anything,” the boy then states firmly across the room, face avoiding yours as he tries to calm his flustered state. “It’s fine,” you say, containing yourself a bit, yet smile still widely straining your expression. Jungkook sighs into his hands, feeling unable to escape the awkwardness he feels towards himself right now. “From now on, no girls allowed,” he says aloud, seeming determined with his new rule. Seokjin nods hesitantly, oblivious to what has just occurred between the two of you, since he is busy with trying to win a stare-off against himself through the mirror. “Well, that doesn’t really surprise me, coming from you,” you say, causing Jungkook to finally look at you and forgetting his bashfulness as it is replaced with frustration. “You should really update that gaydar or whatever you called it earlier,” the boy says. You hop off the bike and make your way towards the door to end the session that never really began on your part. “From what just happened, I think my gaydar is perfectly intact,” you say cheekily before leaving the room to the sweating men and the baffled bunny-boy.

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After searching most of the house, you are seriously finding it troubling that your jeans are gone. It does not make sense to you at all. Could someone had taken them yesterday? you think to yourself, but it seems weird that anyone should have, considering you probably removed your pants right before bed as you usually do. Not remembering last night is making it difficult as well, since you do not even know whose room you slept in. You should have been more observant this morning, when you left to go downstairs, but your tired mind could not really focus on anything. Besides, looking at the doors side by side, they all look alike, which only makes it all the more confusing. There is really only one thing to do - search all the rooms until you find the one in question. You start at one end of the hall, opening the first door. You step inside and find Taehyung sitting on the floor before his TV, controller in hand and eyes locked on the screen. You quickly recognize the game, and the sheer excitement makes you forget what you even came in here to do. “Ooh, can I play?” you ask as you sit down beside him, already engulfed in the scene. “Sure, in a minute,” Taehyung says as he is in the middle of a quest. You watch him, while impatiently waiting for your turn to come.

Another hour has already passed by with you and Taehyung switching turns to play. You are both sitting without pants on, attention fully locked on the game and fingers controlling the console. “I’m gonna get some water, want any?” Taehyung asks as he gets up from his seat, rubbing his sore butt from the position on the floor. He should have learned by now, but he keeps making the same mistakes. No wonder, his butt seems to get number with time. “No thanks,” you say quickly, thumbs clicking away at the controller. The boy makes his way downstairs, leaving you with his precious console to get a refreshment. Entering the kitchen, he halts in his steps as some of the other boys are gathered together, sipping their teas and coffees. It seems as if they are talking about something, yet Taehyung ignores them as he pulls out a glass from the cabinet. “So, Tae, it didn’t take long for you to get her to your room, huh?” Namjoon then says with a suggestive smirk, thinking the younger one has somehow managed to get you into bed with him. Taehyung looks back at them, seeing how Hoseok and Jimin are waiting for his reply as well, but he cannot exactly place their expressions. They are looking at him kind of dirty, and he is unsure of why. “I was already at it, and she just came in and asked to join,” Taehyung says, oblivious to what the two of you might have sounded like from downstairs with your whines and cheers. His statement has the boys’ brows rising in surprise. “So, you just continued even after she came into your room?” Jimin asks a bit horrified, but somewhat intrigued by his friend’s presumed experience. Taehyung nods dumbfoundedly. “You shouldn’t stop for anybody, Jimin, you should know this,” he says, filling his glass with water from the fridge. The other boys are in a state of shock from what he is saying, especially as the explanation leaves him so casually. “How is she then?” Hoseok asks awkwardly, clearing his throat before sipping from his cup. Taehyung halts in his movements and looks at them with a serious expression. “Honestly, she is really good. She might even be better than Jungkookie,” Taehyung says before making his way back upstairs, leaving his friends to almost choke on their drinks in unison. This house might normally be a chaos, but after your arrival, it only seems to have become more like a train skipping off its tracks. The silence is almost deadly between the three of them. “Do you really think Jungkook is gay?” Jimin then asks his hyungs carefully, and they are both lost in their minds. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” Namjoon speaks back seriously, causing them all to sip another sip, panic slowly spreading amongst them.

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Noticing how time has gone by a lot faster than expected, already starting on the afternoon, you realize that you have to continue your search, if you actually want to leave this house soon. To be honest, you are not even sure that you want to leave anymore, since being here has been way funnier than whatever you could do back at your own sorority. But you know that all nice things must come to an end, and that you also cannot keep torturing the poor bunny-boy, who speeds off every time you come near him by now. As fun as it is to watch his expression of pure terror, you have to give the guy a rest at some point. You are finally at the last room on the opposite end from Taehyung’s, where you started (of course, right?), and you really hope that this one will be it. So far, you have already interrupted Namjoon’s study session in his room and Jimin’s skincare routine in the bathroom, and none of them have gotten you closer to finding your pants. At least it feels so. Namjoon had been very polite to you, when you interrupted him and started searching through his things. It was a bit odd, though, how awkwardly tense he was, beads of sweat almost decorating his hairline. He seemed so unbothered by your presence this morning, so you find it odd that his demeanor towards you has changed throughout the day. However, opposite Namjoon, Jimin had not shown an ounce of nervousness, when you had walked in on him shirtless, rubbing on facial cream. He smiled at you and studied your shape intently as if feeding his curiosity through his eyes. It was a bit much for your taste, but considering you caught the guy putting on facial cream, you still feel as if you are the one leaving the encounter with confidence. Not that he lacks in that department neither. You open the last door, and as you step inside, you are met with the sight of a brown-haired boy in a flannel shirt, folding your jeans with his hands. You are surprised by the sight, and for the first time all day, you are actually somewhat speechless. Yoongi turns his head and meets your eyes. “There you are,” he says calmly and steps towards you. “Here,” he adds, handing you the neatly folded pair of pants that you have been looking for all day. “W-wh--,” you stutter, not managing to ask the question, until you try again. “Why do you have these?” you ask, chuckling as you look at his brown orbs that match his softly curled locks. He smiles at that, sighing as he studies the look in your eyes. “You don’t remember our conversation from last night at all, do you?” Yoongi asks, his face telling you that he had slowly realized this throughout the day. He had seen you interact with the other boys and overheard a few things, which had led him to the realization of you not recollecting much from the previous night. You shake your head, lightly grinning at yourself and your forgetful mind. “Before we went to sleep, you asked if I would wash them for you,” he explains softly, gesturing to the freshly cleaned pants in your grip. “Sounds like me,” you laugh, feeling a bit embarrassed yourself for once. You cannot help but blush a little, realizing that you have been searching for them all day and now look like a total dumbass, having asked him to wash them for you. It is kind of sweet, though, when you think about it, that he has done what you had asked him to in your drunken state. “I’m sorry, If I was pain today,” you say, hugging the jeans as you look at him gratefully. It causes him to smile, shrugging his shoulders. “Believe it or not, but you actually fit in quite nicely with us. Everyone thinks you’re pretty funny,” Yoongi answers honestly, and you cannot help but gleam a bit. “Aish, I would rather you had stopped after ‘pretty’,” you joke, whipping your hair sarcastically. The boy chuckles at that. “Well, I do think you are pretty, too,” he says comfortably, and you feel the warmth spreading onto your cheeks. You have not felt shy in such a long time that the sensation is a bit foreign, but still very familiar to you from your younger days. “Thanks,” you speak humbly, word laced with appreciation for his relaxed approach to your chaotic self. “I should probably get going now, then,” you say, looking at your jeans, which suddenly is a bittersweet sight to you. The boy nods in understanding. “Just so you know, you are welcome to come back another time if you want,” he then adds a bit shyly himself, which has you wondering if he is almost asking you to return. You meet eyes with him and sense the sincerity in his offer. “I would like that,” you smile, earning him to mirror your expression. “Good,” he sighs slightly relieved. He lets the moment come to an end as he leaves you to finally put on your clothes and get ready to go home. You glance around the room for a moment, confirming that this is where you woke up this morning. You notice the band posters on the walls and the few gadgets lying around, realizing that you might actually have a lot in common with this boy. You put on your pants and close them around your waist, zipping them up and feeling a bit restricted, but comfortable in your jeans. You might have found more in this house than you had lost, which is a pretty good bargain in your eyes. You will definitely be coming back to annoy these boys a bit further at some other time. Thanks for the stay, little meow meow, you think to yourself, feeling your heart flutter at the thought of the boy with the squishy cheeks and the caring nature.

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texanredrose · 7 years ago

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Vent Post

Alright, I don’t typically do this, but I’ve hit my limit. Please understand, while I appreciate the love and support my stories have received, there is a trend that I have to address because it’s gotten to the point where it’s beyond ridiculous. After talking about it here, I honestly don’t want to have to bring it up again, and I expect no one to go harassing others over it. This isn’t directed at a single person and, for the most part, y’all have been wonderful; I truly couldn’t be more thankful.

However, if you’ve ever left a comment/review regarding Queens of Vale on another work of mine, especially if you didn’t ever leave a comment/review on Queens of Vale itself, and doubly so if you did that without actually reading the contents of the work in question? This is for you.

TL;DR: to everyone who loves Queens of Vale, I’m so sorry the next chapter hasn’t been posted yet. I would love nothing more than to return to it. But I also haven’t gone two weeks without someone using one of my other works to try to guilt trip me into posting it, and that kinda ticks me off.

Text contents of the above picture: “YYBB does have a point. I would LOVE to go back to working on QoV- or Freezerburn fics in general, really- but the amount of comments in that vein I've received have made it a sore spot, to the point where I've considered deleting it from FFN and AO3 entirely just so I don't have to deal with it anymore. It's also a big reason why I don't post promptly from tumblr to AO3/FFN, because each time I do- even though I've completely stopped writing FB and QoV- I get at least one comment/review/PM like this. I thank you for at least addressing the contents of THIS fic, since a lot of the ones I've received don't do that. You've also at least reviewed QoV before which, again, is something most people DON'T do when they leave comments like this on my other fics.

None of my fics are forgotten or abandoned. I go back and reread them myself and work on updates for them all the time! The next update for QoV, for instance, has been nearly completed for the better part of a year now. But I write what strikes my fancy in the moment and constantly being treated like my hobby should be dictated by others is extremely discouraging. Ultimately, I'm going to do what makes me happiest, because until writing starts paying my bills, I've really no inclination to put undue pressure on myself by compromising my free time to meet arbitrary deadlines.

I DO appreciate that you love the story. A lot of people do and that's fine! I'm absolutely FLOORED by how many fell in love with it! But, if people stopped hounding me to update it (the current record is less than two weeks), it would've HAD an update by now, much like several other fics that I updated or wrote sequels that no one asked for.

I also apologize for the wall of text. This just happened to be the straw that broke the camel's back. (I usually delete the aforementioned comments/reviews- which is hard as hell to do on FFN btw- but silence isn't getting me anywhere, so it seems like a tumblr post is in order.)”

For well over a year, I’ve been receiving all manner of comments/reviews/PMs/asks regarding the next update for QoV. They’ve ranged from polite questions to outright demands. At first, I tried to take them with a grain of salt- for anyone who actually read the Author’s Note at the end of the last chapter, you’ll know that I had to rewrite chapters, and thus it would take time for the next update to come because I had other commitments- but as time wore on, I became discouraged from continuing it when the other, smaller things I’d written started getting reviews/comments addressing QoV instead.

I love the stories I’ve written. I love the characters I’ve written. I genuinely care about each and every one and try to put the same love and care into all of them. Can you imagine how frustrating it can be when someone who didn’t even bother to tell you they liked something only mentions it when you’ve offered up something different? And people trying to guilt me into it, like I owe anything to people who couldn’t give the five seconds it takes to type up “this is cute” or “I like this”?

Understand, I’ve been putting up with this for three years- you would be shocked by how many people combed through my previous works to comment about how “it’s too bad you don’t write [ship] because your writing is so good!” Like, examine that statement for a minute; if my writing’s that good, does it matter which ship I write? Judging by how many people have responded to even the most niche ships I’ve written for, I’m going to answer that: no, it absolutely doesn’t. It’s just a method of trying to make me doubt my own abilities and passion, to push me to write something I don’t want to write.

Incidentally, my NOTP list? Entirely comprised of the suggestions other people have provided in reviews/comments like that. Because I don’t believe in rewarding bullies or praising bad behavior by bending to it, even for ships I honestly wouldn’t mind writing. So I’ve dealt with this, on a regular basis, all this time, in silence.

But enough is enough. The ones I’ve gotten recently? Couldn’t even be bothered to read the “this is a commission” literally at the top; the story’s written (mostly), I’m just posting at the customer’s request.

Do you know how infuriating that is? Here I am, writing something that literally tells you what’s up, but you aren’t going to read it because... you want to read... something else? ??? Where is the logic? How can I even be sure you read any part of QoV- because, again, a lot of people doing this didn’t comment/review, so it’s not like I know for sure- and aren’t just doing it for some sort of smug satisfaction? Really, there’s no motivation here to even open the draft.

Y’all, I’m sorry for getting so long winded about this, but it has been building for a while. I’m a little annoyed, to put things lightly. And, yes, I have considered pulling the story from the internet entirely; I’ve gotten to that point before because if anyone thinks I’m scared of threats, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ll call your bluff and look you in the eye while I do it. I’ve tagged people before, telling them to save a local copy- that’s how close I’ve been to just washing my hands of it.

And the thing that hurts most of all is knowing that a lot of really good, kind people love the story, too. People who’ve been patient and understanding would love to see an update. Hell, I only even wrote it because Maka made the suggestion! Y’all are the only reason I haven’t deleted QoV and keep working on the draft. But if I post it, the people who’ve been hounding me will think their tactics worked, and they’ll either try to do it on another work of mine or to another writer entirely, and that’s the last thing I want.

So I’m just coming right out and saying it. Until I can go three weeks without someone using another fic of mine to demand an update, QoV will be abandoned. It sucks because I was so looking forward to this arc, which was going to set up some really epic scenes towards the end and focus pretty heavily on the relationship between Yang and Weiss, as well as their relationship with the rest of Patch. I was so looking forward to it, y’all don’t even know! Whenever I start reading over the draft, I get excited all over again!

I really wish it hadn’t come to this. I put out what I think is a lot of content- I’m already over 331k words for 2018, and there’s still more to come; I’m on track to exceed last year’s 340k words- but I’m doing this for fun. I love writing and telling stories, but I’m going to tell the stories I want to tell and I’m too damn stubborn for that to change any time soon.

I’ve always told y’all I’m an asshole. I’m sorry to be a dick but I’m not going to back down because a bunch of people who haven’t spent hours working on stories of their own think it’s okay to dictate how I should be doing it.

And I swear to God if someone waits three weeks and one day to do this shit again, y’all will know. Y’all will know immediately.

#Tex has some shit to get off their chest #and the sad thing is I already KNOW the people who need to read this won't #so this is just screaming into the void #but goddamnit the void's going to listen

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yasuda-yoshiya · 7 years ago

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EP2 reread notes, Part 1

It’s been a long time, but my Umineko reread has been slowly progressing! Here is a long-overdue update.

My readthrough of Episode 2 has actually been complete for months. This episode is both particularly important to me and covers a lot of particularly sensitive material, and as such I was hesitant to just post my rough notes in mostly unedited form as I did with the first episode; I really wanted to make sure I could properly express a lot of things about this episode in particular, and to that end I’ve been fleshing out my notes into a more substantial commentary this time.

As such, it seems appropriate to split this one into multiple posts. I’d like to hope I can get the others out fairly soon, now that a lot of the draft has been fleshed out! But for now, here’s the first part of this episode, focusing on Shannon’s half of the flashback arc.

Prologue

* The way George's narration in the intro is worded really does emphasise just how much he values his relationship with Shannon primarily as feeding into his own self-worth, making him feel like he can play the part of the "guy teasing the girl he likes" when that's always been something that he's only been able to look at enviously from the outside before. It practically comes across like he's using her to act out his own pre-existing personal script for his "dream romance" a lot of the time. It always bothers me that Ryukishi captures these disturbing nuances so well, but doesn't really seem interested in following through on critically exploring them with George the way he does with his other characters...

* Well, I suppose you could say that Yasu values George for basically the same reason, that he makes her feel like "someone who can know love" when she sees that as an unattainable dream for herself. It's sort of interesting to me in theory to think of the George/Shannon relationship through the (very cynical) lens that it basically amounts to two people both using the other as a piece to achieve happiness for themselves, but it's hard for me to really see that as an equal thing when the whole dynamic is so transparently skewed towards George happily getting to achieve his dreams and play out all his personal fantasies with no worries while Yasu is quietly making all kinds of agonising internal compromises with herself in the background.

* The metaphor that Shannon uses about the huge tank at the aquarium "being no different from an infinite sea to the fish swimming inside" always really gets to me. I think the whole concept of being able to define your own reality and the idea that "if I just believe I'm happy, then I am happy" is one that feels very personally familiar and important to me, so Yasu's particular idea of "magic" and the way Umineko is built around exploring that is a big part of what makes it resonate so much with me. I always have mixed feelings about what Shannon expresses here; I think there's a lot of genuine truth and power in the sentiment (a lot of the value of life really does come down to what you perceive it to be), but at the same time I sort of feel like if you've reached the point of consciously telling yourself "my world is complete to me as long as I don't know what I'm missing" as a coping strategy, then by necessity that means you've already kind of gone past the point of being able to wholeheartedly believe in that illusion. In a way, that's what Beatrice ultimately breaking Shannon down represents. But at the same time, I still sort of find myself wanting to say that consciously struggling to "build a self-contained world for yourself" in that way can still lead to a valid and genuine sense of fulfilment, even so - and in a broad sense I think being able to find peace and satisfaction in something that you know to be imperfect is a skill that everyone has to learn to an extent.

* This idea also pretty much sets the stage for one of the main themes of the episode as a whole. The fish tank metaphor represents Shannon's attitude to her relationship with George that amounts to "This love can obviously never really happen, but I can create an illusion of love that will be real to us", and trying to convince herself that that's fine; much of the conflict between Shannon, Kanon and Beatrice that follows in the rest of the episode is centred around Yasu fighting with herself over whether she really can feel content with that much or not. In contrast, George's immediate thought in response is basically "However big it might be, it still just looks like a tank to me", which...well, it's no surprise that Yasu is so afraid of what might happen if he finds out that his relationship with her isn't really his dream come true, but an attempt to create an indistinguishable illusion of that dream being possible. It's vital for him to remain ignorant of the fact that their "tank" isn't actually an infinite sea.

* God, George is awful. That's all I've got to say about the rest of this sequence. I'm tired of talking about George.

* The whole scene at the shrine is really powerfully written, and possibly the first part of the series where we really hear the unfiltered voice of "Yasu" speaking. The symbol of the shrine mirror as a metaphor for Shannon's unchanging fate and the obstacle to Beatrice's resurrection takes on all kinds of new dimensions given everything that mirrors mean to Yasu; the thing that Yasu needs to destroy in order to become "human" in her eyes is "her self", her own reflection in the mirror. The physical reality of her own body prevents her from being the person she wants to be - a sentiment that goes way back to Yasu's feeling as a child that the reality of her own pitiful face reflected in the mirror was a threat to her image of herself as the great witch Beatrice. The way Yasu translates these pre-established parts of her personal mythology into a new context to convey how she feels about her present situation always feels very authentic to me.

“Furniture”

* And now we flash back to the origins of Shannon's feelings for George. I do find it a little easier this time to understand why George noticing and unobtrusively helping to smooth things over for Shannon when she made mistakes was so touching to her; she's so used to being unnoticed and taken for granted as a servant that it would mean a lot when George showed consideration for her as a person. And I do appreciate that his "humble-bragging" moment afterwards is framed as totally transparent and that he's willing to laugh at himself when Jessica mocks him for it too; I can see why a little flaw like that could seem endearing and humanising to Shannon from her perspective at the time, in the sense that it makes him feel approachably human and not just "admirable".

* Well, like I think yumeta said on Goats, Shannon and George's dynamic actually seems okay when they're allowed to mutually acknowledge and laugh about each other's "childish points" together, but it's when George gets in the creepily patronising role of talking about "rules" and "orders" and gleefully enjoying one-sidedly making her uncomfortable that it gets really gross to me... Unfortunately, George is really specifically invested in feeling like he's "becoming an adult" and "overcoming his childish phase" through this relationship, so it feels like he ends up actively working to stay securely in control of their dynamic as much as he can to prove that he's "a real man" or whatever. Being honest about his immature aspects and letting Shannon poke at his "cute points" too much probably hits too close to his insecurities for him to be willing to keep it up for all that long - which is a shame because I think that's probably the kind of relationship Yasu feels most comfortable with, as you can see from BeaBato.

* The way the narrative transitions between these two scenes gives a lot of insight into how things like this must have influenced Yasu's current view of herself. The memory of Eva's whole "you're not worthy of George, know your place you servant" rant in the past becomes a reminder to Yasu in the present, something she uses to reinforce to herself that she was foolish to think she could be anything more than furniture; this scene really makes it easy to see how Yasu finding out the truth about her body would have just fed even deeper into reinforcing these kinds of messages about her "inferior, unworthy, subhuman" position that she'd already been receiving her whole life because of her social status. Those two parallel aspects of her seeing herself as "furniture" definitely feed into each other a lot, and the subsequent scene with Natsuhi abusing her just goes on to further hammer this home; the idea that Yasu is less than human is something that her environment has drilled into her for a very long time, even without taking into account the issue of her body.

* At the same time, though, I think it's important to note the implication that Yasu evidently refused to meekly accept Eva's words at the time and did keep pursuing her relationship with George regardless. It's clear that Yasu's lifelong mistreatment as a servant alone *wasn't* enough to totally crush Yasu's sense of self-worth; continuing to pursue a relationship with someone so "far above her station" shows that despite everything around her reinforcing her inferior position, Yasu was still able to believe strongly enough in her own right to happiness that she was able to actively reject that deeply ingrained impulse to resign herself to her current misery on the grounds that she should just be grateful for what she had. A big part of the tragedy here is that it feels like Yasu having her status as subhuman and unworthy of love physically "confirmed" to her when she solved the epitaph really pushed her straight back into those terrible thought patterns, just as she was starting to cast them off.

* But even after enduring all of that, Yasu still can't bring herself to totally give up and accept that she can do nothing but resign herself to a fate of being furniture - instead she ends up fighting with all she has to overcome that subhuman status in a different way, as portrayed through Shannon's use of "Beatrice's magic" here. Much as it might be easy at first glance to dismiss Yasu's concept of herself as furniture as passive and self-defeating, I think it's important to note that her narrative is specifically centred around her desperately fighting AGAINST that perception of herself and trying to overcome it in whatever way she can, even with everything around her constantly trying to push her back down into the resignation and stagnation that "Shannon" represents. I feel like it's really missing the point to frame Yasu's pessimism about herself as primarily a problem of her own innate personality, rather than a problem of her initially strong hopes for herself being slowly crushed and eroded as an inevitable consequence of her brutal circumstances and the awful environment she's had to adapt to.

* The particular way that Beatrice tempts Shannon into breaking the shrine mirror - in other words, into going through with testing the explosives - is very illuminating in terms of what pushed Yasu over the edge. If love is the all-important "single element" and the only thing that can make a person's life worthwhile, then continuing to live in her "body incapable of love" would be dooming Yasu to a hollow and meaningless life, as far as she's concerned. On the other hand, if Shannon continues to "deceive" George by hiding the truth about her body, using "magic" to make that illusion real, then she can live as if she was a real human for a time - but the further she goes with that, the further she goes past the point of no return and commits herself to having to create the catbox in the end to preserve that love, because it can't last indefinitely. But as Beatrice puts forth, isn't that still better than living a hollow life forever?

* And of course the wonderful Kanon-kun comes to the rescue, driving Beatrice off and telling her to stop trying to lead Shannon astray. But Beatrice isn't concerned, because she knows her words have left their mark - as evidenced by the butterfly marks on Shannon and Kanon's hands. Even the framing of the narrative itself is designed to reinforce that sense of inevitability; at this point we've already witnessed the scene where Shannon breaks the mirror, so we "know" - as Yasu "knows" - that Shannon isn't going to be able to resist in the long run. Yasu just isn't able to resign herself to being unhappy forever; she'll take her chance at happiness even knowing it's likely to lead to ruin.

* And honestly, even though Yasu frames that as Shannon giving into an evil temptation, is it really so evil to want some level of happiness? What Shannon wants is only what any "normal" person would automatically be entitled to. I think Yasu's "Beatrice" in this episode generally becomes a lot more sympathetic when you understand that her anger at Shannon basically comes down to her refusing to accept her assertion that her miserable situation is fine as it is, and that she doesn't need or deserve anything more - because, frankly, Shannon *is* wrong about that. That genuinely is a messed up attitude. But of course, the other side of that is that, in the course of arguing that Shannon isn't fine as she is, she's also putting forth that her current state is truly miserable and pathetic and unfixable without resorting to drastic measures - and there's obviously a ton of unealthy self-loathing in that too, in a different way.

Wonderful Utopia

* Aaand then we flash forward into the future to show that George and Shannon's relationship is going smoothly, and Jessica and Shannon are talking together happily about it. This is a little dark when you consider the implication in light of the preceding scene (because Shannon gave in and accepted Beatrice's "magic", everything is going fine).

* This is really yet another thing that shows a huge amount of courage from Yasu when you think about it; Yasu was totally aware that going on an overnight trip with George could easily lead to her body being exposed, but she still went along with it. She was willing to risk "breaking the magic", even though that should have been unthinkable if she totally believed Beatrice was right about her relationship with George. Like Ryukishi said in the Answer interview, it must have been a very complicated feeling for Yasu when she found out that George booked separate rooms for them after all; of course she'd be glad not to be exposed in the short term, but in a way, it might have been a relief for her to have been "forced" into confessing the truth and taking the reaction as it came, to have the choice taken away from her. This is pretty much the same mindset on which Yasu ends up building the whole mystery roulette - deep down, she wants someone to stop her and "make her confess", so she gives the survivors all kinds of openings to "expose her", but she still needs someone to corner her into revealing everything. The fear of the consequences makes it impossible for her to step up and do it of her own accord. Even so, taking that kind of gamble with George here at all must have taken a lot of bravery...

* In contrast with Beatrice's mockery and derision of Shannon in the previous scene, now that Shannon has "accepted her" Beatrice is very friendly to her. The whole arc here, with Beatrice acting at first like she's truly happy for Shannon and George and has their best interests at heart and Shannon coming to see her as a friend, but then eventually revealing her true nature as an evil sadistic witch who was deliberately tormenting Shannon by making her know a happiness that she couldn't ever really be allowed to have...it totally works as its own story on the surface level, so nothing seems "off" about it on first read, but it really does hurt so much when you understand that it's Yasu reflecting back on her decision to keep pursuing love despite knowing she's "furniture", and how she tried to pretend to herself that that was a pure and noble thing when it really ended up being just a cruel way to increase her pain and deceive both George and herself with the false promise of a relationship that could never be fulfilled.

* The way Beatrice is so persistent, even while still maintaining her friendly facade, in reminding Shannon not to "get too full of herself" and forget that her love is only possible because of Beatrice's magic - in other words, not to delude herself into thinking that George and Shannon's love might actually go deep enough to survive the revelation about her body - is extremely upsetting. I don't actually think she's wrong about this (that George is really in love with an "illusion" of Shannon rather than Yasu herself), though to me that's more a testament to George being a jerk than to Yasu being fundamentally unlovable - but I think the genuine truth in what she's saying makes it a lot harder for Yasu to shrug it off.

* This part makes it clear that Shannon's attitude has changed quite a bit since we saw her hopelessly lamenting earlier. She concedes to Beatrice that her relationship with George could only have started because of her magic - but she wants to believe that, now that their relationship has progressed this far, she doesn't need that magic any more. She wants to believe that their love has become strong enough that it can survive George finding out the truth. And that “should” be the case, right? If everything George says about the strength of their love is true, it should be able to overcome that kind of barrier easily. That's why Shannon was willing to take that risk of going on an overnight trip with George. Beatrice sort of indulgently agrees for now, but she also insists that Shannon keeps the brooch around just in case she does want to use it again; as much as Yasu would like to totally believe that George would accept her, she can't abandon the catbox as a fall-back option.

* It really hurts to read this because Yasu obviously really, really wanted to believe in what Shannon is saying - it's really easy, and heartbreaking, for me to imagine Yasu originally choosing to keep going with George knowing that she was only constructing an "illusion" and that the magic would have to end some day, but then as things went on, to start to let herself believe that, you know what, maybe love could conquer everything! Maybe there's hope for her to live as a human after all! But it also makes perfect sense to me that Shannon ultimately "loses" to Beatrice on this, because the reality of the signals George was giving her (laughing off and dismissing any tentative attempts Shannon made to bring up her issues or to question his perception of their relationship and the picture he was painting of their future) make it very, very hard to believe he would really react well to hearing the truth.

*Another aspect of this is that...well, from Yasu’s perspective, the longer she goes without revealing the truth to George, the more chance there is for George to become strongly invested in her as a person and to develop the kinds of resilient feelings that could theoretically withstand the revelation about her body - but also, the more devastating the potential fallout becomes when George finds out about her “keeping this secret for so long” and “letting things proceed this far without telling him”. I’m hesitant to talk too firmly about this, but I think that kind of uncomfortable balancing act in terms of considering "when to tell your partner” is probably something a lot of people in similar situations to Yasu can relate to, and it’s remarkable to me that Ryukishi is able to capture the stress of that kind of situation so well.

* The way Shannon reflects on Beatrice's underlying loneliness and how she becomes a lot more approachable when you get to know her is really sweet and endearing! The way Yasu writes Beatrice's character here in her "friendship" with Shannon is very consistent with the image of Beatrice we get from Maria's (and even Natsuhi's) scenes with her later - of someone who seems like an intimidating, all-powerful witch on the surface, but actually has a lot of endearingly cute and childish traits once you get to know her, getting all excited over the sweets Shannon brings her from Okinawa. It really comes across here, just as it does with Maria, that she's really desperate for company and genuinely overjoyed to have someone to talk to since she's been trapped on the island for so long - she may be "all-powerful" in magical terms, but the loneliness of living in an environment where no one else can recognise or acknowledge that power, and the unexpected joy of having someone who can actually see it and be grateful for her use of it, is also evident.

* I really like how those things that Beatrice's character expresses about Yasu still translate so strongly when she's being written into a completely fictional, metaphorical scenario - the person who Beatrice is enjoying being able to help with her magic and receiving gratitude from here is...well, uh, herself, in pure physical terms, but the reaction that Beatrice would theoretically have to Shannon as a separate person in this fictional narrative also expresses important things about her character. Aah, I just really love the unique way Yasu is characterised through these constructs, it's so clever and multilayered and I could gush about it endlessly, ahaha.

* And once again, Kanon comes along to break up this chat and scold Shannon for listening to the witch. God, Kanon and Beatrice's mutual antagonism in this episode is really intense. I'll talk about it a lot more when we get to the more Kanon-centric parts of this episode, but they really do hate each other a lot, and the things that mutual hatred expresses about Yasu's self-loathing always hit me particularly hard.

* It's amazing how easy it is in hindsight to read this scene as Yasu wrestling with herself; it all flows very naturally once you understand what they're really talking about. Yasu really wants to believe she can overcome her being "furniture" by achieving love, but Kanon represents the part of her that remains cynical about that possibility; he believes that she's letting Beatrice delude her into mistaking the illusion of love she's created for something real. He's kind of right, too; though I absolutely don’t believe it’s impossible for a strong love to withstand something like Yasu’s secret in principle, Kanon is right that George and Shannon's relationship isn't really the perfect fairytale love that Shannon would like it to be, and Shannon really has put herself in a very dangerous and precarious position by letting her relationship with George proceed this far. At this point, though, Shannon seems stronger than Kanon; she's optimistic enough about George right now that she wants to believe she doesn't need Beatrice's magic any more.

* It's sort of important to note that Kanon and Beatrice are pretty much aligned on their view of Yasu's situation - yeah, it sucks and it's hopeless, she's totally furniture, George won't accept her at all - but their opinions on how Yasu should respond to that are very different. Again, though, that's probably best saved for when we get more into their interaction...

* Regardless, for now, while Shannon is in this positive frame of mind, she decides to give Kanon a chance at Beatrice's "magic" too, lending him the brooch. And note the implication here - if Yasu is really so happy and optimistic about Shannon's relationship with George, as this scene tries to push so hard, then why does Kanon still need to be given a chance? This sort of implies to me that Yasu's not as confident in George's acceptance as she might want to admit; it's kind of ugly to say that Yasu might have been partly thinking of Jessica as a "backup plan", as Confession puts it, but there is an element of that in here. But I'd also argue that Yasu wants Kanon to try to pursue love because the idea of gaining happiness as Kanon specifically is so important to her that she needs to check out that possibility too.

* Kanon grudgingly decides that "maybe he might learn something if he tries this magic" - in other words, despite his skepticism, maybe if Yasu did seriously try living as Kanon, it could make him happy in a way he didn't foresee. This gains even more weight in light of Confession - we know that hearing Jessica express interest in Kanon gave Yasu a totally unexpected rush of euphoria. This new gambit, to give Kanon a chance of "magic", is informed by that - Yasu has to try to pursue and explore that new sense of happiness she experienced back then, even with Shannon already being in such a committed relationship with George.

* In a way, it's sort of interesting that Yasu's decision to pursue love with Kanon comes at a point when Yasu is feeling more optimistic about herself - at the point where she's able to try to tell herself that "love can overcome being furniture", and where she's willing to take risks like the overnight trip with George on that basis, even though Kanon and Beato's words of warning obviously represent her lingering doubts about that. Kanon normally shows so much pessimism about himself that trying to achieve love himself would be unthinkable - if Yasu's unable to even fully believe in Shannon being able to achieve love, when Shannon is so intentionally designed to be lovable and to compromise Yasu's internal self to that end, then how could Kanon possibly have a chance? But when Shannon momentarily experiences hope through her own relationship and becomes more optimistic about herself for a while, that sort of serves as a stepping stone to letting herself believe that maybe Kanon’s chances might not be so remote either. I guess you could say that's something good that came out of the George/Shannon relationship, although when all was said and done Yasu probably regretted making things even more complicated for herself by opening up this avenue too...

* And that’s as good a stopping point as any. Next time, I get to talk more about Kanon-kun, which is always very exciting!

#umineko #umineko reread

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hanalwayssolo · 8 years ago

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Remember Me As A Time of Day

A/N: Finally, a chance to post this! For day 1 of @glaiveweek, aka my attempt to flesh out Nyx Ulric because I’m a total ho for back stories.

Tagging some folks: @eternallydaydreaming2015 @theyearofdiamonddogs @themissimmortal @hypaalicious @louisvuittontrashbags @cupnoodle-queen @nifwrites

Nyx closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath.

One, two, three, four, five, he counted in his head as he hid behind a collapsed wall, seeking temporary refuge from the manic behemoth and a herd of daemons on the loose. He heard his own heartbeat amidst the sound of gunfire, explosions, and voices of his dying comrades. He even heard Selena’s voice blaring over and over. Save mother, help her, she called out, and his own mind would punish him, replaying the precise moment that he lost his sister in vivid detail. He had that moment memorized, the conversation of bullets that ripped his home and family apart, and he had it stamped and inked permanently in the thresholds of his mind.

His head throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut again, and Nyx could see the crystal blue of the sky of what could have been a clear summer’s morning, the very same from his young, halcyon days in Galahd. But Nyx was aware, too hyper aware even, that if he opened his eyes, he would see the billowing smoke that smeared the summer sky into a dusty palette of red and gray.

One, two, three, four, five—shit!

Nyx’s mind was racing in the palpable tension of fear and danger. He needed to concentrate. He needed a proper minute to process everything happening around him and plan his next course of action.

But his mind offered him little solace and more snippets of his old life, the face of his sister, and the sound of his mother’s voice. Nyx gathered all his might to stop the overwhelming desire to cry.

“Not here, goddamnit,” he whispered under his breath. Of all the things he could think of in the middle of this battleground that swelled the stench of death, Nyx thought of the life he desperately wanted to return to, the one thing he wanted so bad to cling and latch onto until his bones turn to dust. But at this rate, Nyx knew his old life was nothing more than a pipe dream, and hanging onto it would be his own demise.

Six, seven, eight, nine—

Fucking impeccable timing, Nyx wistfully smiled to himself, and thought how it was ridiculous for his memories to have such a sick sense of humor. Before he could even reach ten, he was suddenly reminded of the first time in his life he whirled himself into trouble.

Nyx was ten when he first got into a fistfight.

It was a clear summer’s morning, and the pristine blue waters of the Galahd River shimmered like sapphires in the bright blaze of sunshine. It was the perfect day for swimming, and not the perfect day to be wasted on punching other children square in the face. It was the last day of summer, Nyx knew he had to spend it wisely. His dark buzz-cut hair and sharp blue eyes may make him seem like a rambunctious kid, but scrawny as he was, Nyx never had any intention of causing any stress for anyone, both adults and children alike. He had only planned to dedicate the rest of the scorching day teaching Selena how to swim, and he had spent the night prior convincing his little sister that the river was absolutely nothing to be scared of.

Much to Nyx’s dismay, Selena became deathly afraid of water after that one time she almost drowned along the beach just right outside their house. Nyx saved her just in time, but he was willing to go a mile at this point; he was more than adamant to help his sister conquer her fears. Their mother didn’t even argue; Nyx properly insisted that anyone living on the isles of Galahd must know how to swim, and considered it as a valuable life skill. As such, he offered Selena a firm assurance, and finally, a sweet promise of sea salt ice cream should she ever accept the daunting challenge before her. Nyx did not need to say anything else after that; it was more than enough to make his sister say yes. Though young, spirited, and clever as she was, Selena was still too easily charmed and bribed by her brother; she loved it when Nyx spoiled her rotten, and she loved him for it most dearly.

What Nyx had in mind was simple: get his sister to learn how to float at the very least, and again, not to cause any sort of trouble, else he would never hear the end of it from their mother. He even asked Libertus to tag along for moral support, which proved to be less than helpful when Libertus headed straight into their favorite jumping spot—a huge, washed out boulder sitting comfortably at the edge of the river, and plunged head first into the water.

“Selena, look!” Libertus bellowed as he resurfaced, and he tried to demonstrate several floating motions for Selena, one in which he appeared to be chubby-looking starfish. “It’s not that deep!”

“It looks very deep to me, Libby. You’re not even standing anymore,” Selena rolled her eyes, stooped down, and hugged her knees. She watched Libertus float on his back, carefree and most ardently enjoying the crisp and cold water, his blithe, smiling face becoming the subject of Selena’s fiery curiosity. It was a look that carried a strong determination and resolve, betraying the usual gentleness behind her hazel eyes.

“Nyx,” she finally whispered and pointed at Libertus, “I want—I need to learn how to do that.”

Every word Selena stressed felt like an answered prayer that Nyx grinned with utmost satisfaction. Albeit inadvertently, Libertus might have helped in this effort after all.

“Let’s start somewhere shallow first, alright?” Nyx eagerly proposed, giving her shoulder a nudge.

“Okay,” Selena nodded and beamed, “but can I jump from here once I get the hang of it?”

“Yes, you can,” Nyx laughed, and even Libertus excitedly hollered at the distance.

It was all Nyx had wanted: to marinate under this beautiful weather, soaking on every drop of freshwater with his sister and his best friend in peace.

But as Nyx and Selena were about to climb down from the top of the boulder, a brown-haired, pale-faced boy sneaked behind them and shoved Selena towards the river. Nyx watched in horror as he witnessed his sister plummeting face first, shattering a loud splash. He didn’t even spare a second to take a good look at the culprit’s face, nor did he even acknowledge the seething anger and crippling dread that bubbled at the pit of his stomach. It was without any conscious thought that Nyx instantly dived right into his sister’s rescue. Libertus followed suit from where he was, and they both swam to follow Selena, whose body was helplessly thrashing and struggling to keep herself afloat. Nyx swam as hard as he could, his lanky arms sweeping through the current, until he finally managed to scoop her along and dragged her back on land.

Nyx and Libertus stayed by Selena’s side and tended to her as she suffered fits of coughing, choking and wheezing all the water out of her lungs. The other boy made his approach without even a hint of remorse on his pallid face; there was only a mischievous glint of amusement present in his cold, blue eyes, the twitch of his lips forming into a delighted smile, as if he had just orchestrated such an entertaining show. But neither Nyx nor Libertus were entertained, and quite far from it. Nyx welcomed the violent return of the boiling rage that churned every flesh and bone in his body; he did not wait to get an explanation, and immediately, he greeted the brown-haired boy with a piece of his mind and fist.

“Why the hell did you do that, Luche?!” Nyx’s knuckles winced at the heavy blow, and the boy’s—Luche’s—gaunt face instantly bruised, the corner of his mouth trickling with blood. Luche was also his friend, but Nyx recognized no friendship nor any form of acquaintance if his sister’s safety was compromised.

What was once a look of amusement was replaced by a look of both contempt and hostility that Luche tackled Nyx to the ground, returning the favor with his own fist. They traded blows and punches, hurling all the nastiest insults that their young minds could ever create, wrestling and toppling on each other. When Nyx got the upperhand, he focused on snuffing the life out of Luche when he straddled him in the dirt. He was too focused that he didn’t even notice both Libertus and Selena were already on their feet, helplessly trying to wrench them apart.

”Nyx, stop it!” Selena screamed, desperately yanking Nyx’s shirt just to get him off Luche. Libertus, in turn, was severely confused on who he should pry off from who, so he settled on summoning all his strength on pulling both the Ulric siblings.

Luche, who was still struggling and wriggling under Nyx’s weight, managed to choke out, “Get off me! It was just a prank, idiot!”

“You’re the idiot! My sister can’t swim!” Nyx harshly clenched on the collar of Luche’s shirt to drive his point. “She coulda died! Have you ever thought about that, huh!?”

Luche’s eyes faltered in surprise. “What, I—”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, you son of a bitch—”

Nyx was about to deliver another round of bashing when Luche raised his hands and cried, “Wait, I’m sorry, alright! I didn’t know!”

Luche’s apology allowed Nyx to finally loosen his grip. Selena took this opportunity to seize his brother and pull him up, while Luche squirmed his way on the ground to get back on his feet. Libertus was quick to stop him from bolting away.

“Apologize to the lady. Now.” Libertus growled, roughly snatching Luche at the back of his shirt. Libertus and Luche were around the same age, but with Libertus’ round and burly figure, he can intimidate any kid if he wanted to. But Libertus preferred kindness over violence, and used the latter only when a grave situation called for it. This particular one met that exception.

“I’m sorry, Selena,” Luche croaked in what could be mistaken as fear. He looked at Selena with nothing but sincere regret over a prank he realized had gone way too wrong. The boy was even on the verge of tears.

“Apology accepted,” Selena smiled weakly in response, slightly hiding behind Nyx, clutching the hem of her brother’s shirt. “Here—” she reached for the pocket of her sopping, wet dress, and dug out a small, tin can. She flicked it open, picked one strip of her pink-colored bandages, and handed it to Luche. “You need one. I’m using all of this on my brother’s face thanks to your handiwork, but I’m sharing one with you.”

“Uh, I—thanks,” Luche timidly took the band-aid. He looked at Selena again, and then quickly glanced at Nyx and Libertus, who both stood on guard if he ever tried something funny again, and then back at Selena. Luche suddenly burst out crying, and then ran off towards the other side of the river.

Nyx and Libertus shared a glance of confusion. They didn’t know what shocked them: Luche’s easy admission of his mistake, or Selena’s dauntless display of kindness. It was probably both. The boys were both aware of Luche’s reputation of being a topnotch troublemaker, and it amazed them how Selena’s guileless generosity made Luche scamper away with his tail between his legs. The boys could not help themselves; they broke into a loud, boisterous laughter, and it was only a moment later that they took notice of Selena, who was breaking into tears.

“Hey, Selena,” Nyx knelt down and held her sister by her small arms. “What’s the matter?”

“You shouldn’t have done that to Luche. You were scary.” Selena sniffed. “And you said a lot of really bad words. You said son of a—”

“Alright, I know—” Nyx interrupted and shot Libertus a worried look. Libertus only snorted at him, completely amused. “Don’t tell mom, please,” Nyx pleaded. “And I’m sorry, it’s just—I got real worried about you.”

“I know,” Selena nodded. “Big brother instinct.”

“Right,” Nyx smiled.

Selena quickly added, “But swear not to get into fights again, or I’m telling Mom.”

“Okay, I promise.” Nyx grinned and raised his pinky finger, and Libertus could only shake his head.

Nyx immediately broke that promise the next day.

The first morning of his sixth grade, Nyx rushed into the back of the campus to meet Libertus at their usual hangout spot, only to catch him being bullied by a couple of eighth graders. The other kids were trying to get his lunch money, but Libertus stood his ground and tried to fend them off with a show of his meaty fists. They laughed. Quick on his feet, Nyx grabbed a nearby baseball bat and chased them off with it; funnily enough, they walked away, only spewing empty threats at them.

“I owe you,” Libertus exhaled in relief.

Nyx patted him on the back and smiled. “You sure do. Better put in on your tab.”

“We should probably join the judo club or something. You know, for self-defense,” Libertus proposed as they walked back inside to their classroom. “Especially you. You seem to be getting yourself into a lot of trouble these days. To think you promised Selena yesterday—what a bunch of bogus.”

“Shut up,” Nyx rolled his eyes; he knew Libertus was right. “And I don’t know, Libertus. Trouble just can’t get its hands off me, I guess.”

True enough, as the years came and went, the older Nyx got, the more trouble he attracted in his direction. It arrived at a tumultuous momentum by the time he was eighteen. May it be with the ladies or just life in general, the phenomenon was beyond Nyx’s explanation. Selena often joked that he only had his pretty face to blame; adolescence crafted a handsome face and sculpted lean muscle out of the young and lanky Nyx that even anyone within his circle of acquaintances found it difficult to repel his natural charm. The same could be said of Selena, who blossomed into a quiet and gentle beauty of her own, yet still brazenly shielded by her razor-sharp wit. Much to his relief, Nyx did not find any sort of trouble that involved his sister as of late—Selena was good enough warding off unworthy men who tried to win her attention and affection.

However, in Nyx’s case, the sort of trouble he attracted most of the time, the one that he added into his unwanted arsenal of mischief, was getting into heated arguments with adults. As opposed to fistfights, he figured this one was something he could fairly control, and would need every ounce of his wealthy resource of shrewdness and sarcasm. In his defense, he did not have a penchant of starting arguments. Ever since Nyx and Libertus started their little bar at the busy outskirts of their hometown, they had drawn a wide range of customers, and with it, its own array of interactions that bordered on either meaningful conversations or a shitty squabble. Nevertheless, Nyx enjoyed tending to their simple space; this laidback bar was all born out of their crucial need to scrape a living for college, all fueled by Nyx’s surprising business acumen and Libertus’ culinary expertise. Nyx relished on getting to know people, and he had believed that he was a good judge of character, until a tall man, possibly in his late twenties, stumbled upon their little place.

“Excuse me,” the man called Nyx’s attention. “Would you know if there are any other places good enough to eat around here?”

The question was asked kindly, but something about it just grinded Nyx’s proud Galahdian gears. There was a certain air of utmost propriety in the man’s austere face, and that brown crop of hair and stern, blue eyes suggested that he was not someone Nyx should even dare to mess with.

But Nyx couldn’t help it, so he smugly answered: “You’re already standing in one.”

“Yes, we heard—but we prefer something that’s… not skewers. If possible.” The man said, and Nyx itched to defend the honor of Galahdian food to this foreigner. He wanted to call Libertus from the kitchen, but decided against it.

“Are you telling me that skewers are not good enough to eat?” Nyx held his ground and countered, and the annoyance in his voice was more evident.

The man looked suddenly rattled. “No, I didn’t mean it that way, kid—what I’m saying is that my company and I need something else—”

“I apologize for my friend’s picky palate, he didn’t mean to be rude—” a raven-haired man in a sharply-fashioned suit and tie interrupted Nyx’s nearly brewing dispute. Apparently, the serious-looking, brown-haired man was accompanied by a ragtag band of outsiders. Apart from the dashing, black-haired fellow, there was a grumpy man beside him who looked surly and couldn’t care less about what was going on. The two others who trailed behind them were men who seemed to be in their early thirties: one was a monocled man in a vest-and-shirt ensemble, whose manners were too courteous for Nyx’s taste; the other was a hulking figure of a man with a striking bird tattoo, who Nyx imagined could break every bone in his body.

“We’ll order whatever’s best on your menu, uh—” Nyx saw the raven-haired man quickly squinted at the name tag attached to his apron— “Nyx Ulric.”

“Alright, sir,” Nyx nodded, and warily eyed the group of men as they took their seats at the table right across the bar. He called out for Libertus, “Five orders of serum skewers!”

“On it!” Libertus immediately answered behind the kitchen doors.

Nyx shuffled along and grabbed a couple of beer bottles from the cooler. “We only serve alcohol around here so would you like to—”

“So Reggie, I’m the one with the picky palate now?” the brown-haired man argued with his companion. Nyx abruptly paused and watched cautiously, only because the man’s tone was far from friendly.

The raven-haired fellow only cheekily smiled; he carried himself in a grace and formality that Nyx couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Well, Cor, it is sort of true—“

“What’s the problem with skewers, anyway?” The tattooed man asked with a shit-eating grin on his rugged face. “Cor, look at you—you need more meat!“

“No, Clarus—what I need is more patience.”

“And what I need now is a drink,” the monocled man added in jest, and he beckoned Nyx to come over with a simple jerk of his head.

Nyx single-handedly brought the booze with him and was merely watching their outrageous banter and discussion unfold when he suddenly realized something of incredible and of obvious importance. He grinded into a screeching halt, his eyes widening at his own ignorance. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t spill a drop of beer from the tray he was carrying. “Wait a second. You’re all—“ he bewilderedly pointed at all of them, and he stopped at the black-haired man— “You’re… are you—nope, you’re… King Regis.”

The five men exchanged tensed and worried looks. The black-haired man’s mouth opened and closed, tentatively calculating what he should respond, until the eldest and the grumpiest in the group let out a loud, exasperated sigh.

“You lot shoulda kept yer traps shut,” the grumpy man addressed his companions, finally crushing the anxious silence. “Anyhoo—nice to meet ya, Nyx Ulric. Name’s Cid. And yes, this slack-jawed idiot right here is your king. Don’t bother with the others. And yes, I would love to have that bottle of beer now, if yer pretty face won’t mind.”

Nyx mindlessly set the tray down the table and handed one over to Cid. He looked again at Regis—the King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, incumbent ruler of Lucis—and gingerly slid a bottle over to him.

King Regis nodded and smiled, “Thank you, Nyx. Please forgive Cid, he tends to forget his manners from time to time.”

Cid only rolled his eyes as he took a swig. Nyx smiled timidly and tried to keep his cool, serving the remaining bottles to the other men. In truth, he still stewed the astounding fact that King Regis and his royal retainers just showed up to eat at his bar, and it baffled him how men of their importance would settle eating something like street food.

“Oh, I’m sorry—I suppose I’m the one who forgot my manners,” King Regis straightened on his seat as he continued. “So, my name’s Regis—pleasure to meet you. And this is Clarus, Weskham, and Cor.” He gestured at the tattooed giant, the monocled gentleman, and the serious-looking fellow respectively.

Nyx sheepishly glanced at Cor when another realization hit him like a bus. “Shit, then you must be the Cor Leonis.”

“That, I am.” Cor raises his bottle in kind confirmation and acknowledgement.

Nyx couldn’t believe it. He had heard of the moniker The Immortal all over the news, and how his exploits in battle have cemented him as a stuff of legend. It surprised him how he could even meet such a man of caliber in his lifetime.

Nyx nodded, almost too awkwardly eager. “Right. Okay. Cool, cool, cool—“

Libertus interrupted Nyx’s short circuiting moment when he went swung out of the door, plates of skewers in hand. “Here’s your order of—holy fucking shit.”

Nyx turned around and he beamed nervously at Libertus. “Hey, Lib—“

“Nyx,” Libertus blinked. He spoke in a low and serious tone. “Please tell me that I’m not seeing the king and his retainers in our bar—“

“Actually, they’re really here and I didn’t realize sooner—“

“You fool! How can you not recognize the fucking king of Lucis, Nyx? Gods be good to you!” Libertus sneered and waltzed away from Nyx, proceeding straight to the table. “On behalf of my friend, I apologize for his extreme obliviousness. Anyway, here are the… um, skewers you ordered—“ he carefully placed the plate in the middle— “uh, are you really sure it’s okay for you to eat something like this—“

“I assure you, it’s quite fine. Thank you,” King Regis offered with a sincere smile.

“Why, look at all of this—“ Clarus beamed at both the sight and scent of the food before him. “You Galadhians know how to treat your meat right. This smells amazing.”

Libertus and Nyx were about to walk away to leave the king’s group in peace when Weskham chimed in.

“Join us, please,” Weskham amiably requested, and both Libertus and Nyx froze in their feet. Considering Nyx’s ability to make small talk with his patrons, this one was a particularly new territory. He had never met people of nobility before. “Galahd sure is a charming place, and we would be delighted to learn the lay of the land from such passionate young locals such as yourselves.”

Libertus and Nyx nervously glanced at each other, but in the end, they both rose out of their hesitation and timidly obliged. Weskham and Cid both asked about the local delicacies, while Regis and Clarus sought information about any hunts available. Cor remained quiet on the other side of the table, nursing his bottle of beer. Libertus and Nyx were generous enough to share everything they know, and gradually, their conversation with the group shifted from trading helpful information to exchanging hilarious anecdotes and unsolicited advice on women. Eventually, with the contagious laughter and energy led by Clarus’s oozing charm, the two of them forgot any sort of hierarchical wall that stood between them and the royal group.

A plateful of meat and few bottles of beer later, Nyx had gathered confidence to shift the conversation to a different direction.

“Your Majesty, may I ask you a question?”

King Regis nodded. “By all means.”

“If I daresay ask—what makes you devote your life fighting this war?”

Libertus almost choked on his beer. “Nyx!”

An immediate silence followed. Everyone watched and waited expectantly how this exchange between the king and this bold, young commoner would turn out. There was already a certain unease that thickly permeated among the king’s companions that they flicked each other knowing looks. But King Regis only solemnly smiled at Nyx; the smile that graced the king’s face veiled a hint of sadness, but somehow, it resonated a strong sense of hope.

“It’s for young people like you, Nyx Ulric,” King Regis finally answered, and in his voice, one could hear the echo of his resolve. “I know it seems like all is lost… but if there’s something I learned in this journey is that my life is nothing.” He slowly admitted, and he looked at all of them, his gaze remained unwavering. “But to have even the smallest hope, a fighting chance to give a future to my people... To me, that is everything.”

Nyx saw King Regis’s green eyes aflame with wildfire passion. And in that moment, he felt like a moth, so small and so drawn to King Regis’s light. He suddenly wondered if this unbridled passion would ever be enough to win the war against an enemy who claimed the odds at their favor from the very beginning.

Nyx wanted to believe, and believe he did.

“Nyx Ulric, pull your head out of your ass and go out there!”

Drautos’ voice snapped Nyx out of his mindless reverie. Nyx didn’t even notice Drautos coming to his aid, or the fact that he had been shaking Nyx out of his troubled mind for what could have been an infinite minute.

Save mother, help her.

Nyx only nodded absentmindedly in response. Drautos had to harshly haul him up by the shoulders for good measure. “I’ll order for a medic—“

“Captain, there’s no need—I can…”

My life is nothing. The pair of kukris in his hands suddenly felt heavier. Nyx knew he was never meant to be a fighter, but the war and his circumstances forged a warrior tempered by grief and anger out of him, his memories merely fuel to the fire that raged at the very core of what’s left of his soul.

Drautos asked him again, “Are you sure you can still fight?”

A small hope, a fighting chance to give a future to the people. King Regis’s voice resounded again, beating some sense into his head. He thought he had understood it, but as he stood in this wasteland ravaged by war, he realized that the answer had been there all along.

He was that small glimmer of hope. He was that fighting chance. And so were the rest of his comrades.

“I still have strength in my body, sir,” Nyx answered and he pulled his mouth into a smile, one that buried all the remaining doubts and fears that gripped every bone and muscle of his being. Nyx may never outrun his demons, but he sure as hell can’t let them get the best of him and win. Not now, not ever.

He clenched his fists on his weapons as he warped out of Drautos’s sight, rejoining the fray.

#glaiveweek #kingsglaive #final fantasy xv #ffxv #nyx ulric #my writing

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overdrivels · 8 years ago

Note

could we get a continuation to "change of plans?" like genji's s/o eventually caves to his persistence and joins blackwatch. maybe explore what his s/o's time is like in the organization and how they get along with mccree? (i imagine genji was kinda snippy with him when they first met; i'm curious how their relationship developed over the years.)

A continuation to “Change of Plans”? I can’t say I’ve ever really thought of one, so this one took a little while. But I also very much like exploring character development, so I’mma play around with this a little. At this point, tensions between Blackwatch and Overwatch are starting to plateau. It turned into less of a Genji x Reader and more of a general story that went off on a weird tangent.

The stress was mounting, and it was coming on fast.

The screens that surrounded you had different articles from varying news sources of the decay of Overwatch, and the dark underbelly known as Blackwatch. Topographical maps for the next mission are also up, enemy posts and potential points of interests such as chokepoints and strongholds are all highlighted by blips of red and green, connected by lines that illustrated theoretical attack and escape routes.

You work tirelessly into the night for your first mission plan in Blackwatch. It took Genji roughly four months, a mock proposal, several handwritten letters, several more stunts (some which may or may not have involved the usage of his shurikens), and long conversation after the failure of a Blackwatch mission to get you to join.

Even now, you don’t know if this is what you should be doing. More than once in the past, you found yourself glad to have been in Overwatch and Genji in Blackwatch. Your missions and his would never intersect, at least, not directly. And it was a boon you both, despite Genji’s insistence to the contrary.

Even now as you continue to study the map, bringing up holograms of buildings, you can’t be sure you belong here.

“Huh. So you’re the newbie.”

Genji steps in front of you defensively before you even have a chance to open your mouth. “What do you need, McCree.” It is much closer to a threat than an actual question, and the sudden change in demeanor makes your head spin just once around. You’re barely able to take a breath, the tension thick.

“Can’t a guy just introduce himself to a new member?” The man says all too casually.

You look at the man Genji calls ‘McCree’ carefully. If he finds him to be dubious, then there’s no reason on your end to doubt that. He meets your gaze and nods at you, then at Genji. “Awfully cute. I hope that’s not their only redeeming feature?”

“McCree!” Genji drops to his stance, and McCree’s hand swings down to his holster, a triumphant grin spreading on his face.

“Hey! Get out of here, you’re blocking up the halls.” Both Genji and McCree jump to attention at once. You yourself take a moment before you realize it’s Gabriel Reyes, your new commander. He stands there impatiently, waiting for all of you to disperse.

McCree takes off his hat for moment, and holds it to his chest. “‘scuse me, boss. Just practicin’ my manners.”

“I didn’t employ for your manners. Don’t you have a mission to prepare for?”

McCree’s eyes fall on you, and places his hat back, his drawl becoming languid but purposeful. “I’ll prepare once th’mission plan’s complete. Wouldn’t want to charge in without one now, would I?”

“What did you say?” There is no mistaking the sharp ‘kshink’ of shuriken slipping out from Genji’s mechanical arm.

“Genji.” Reyes’s voice is stern, and even Genji knows to step back. “Now quit standing here, you all have work to do.”

McCree tips his hat at the commander and gives you a wonk before departing whereas Genji takes you by the arm and hurries you both away. But before you can get completely out of earshot, Reyes says, “I expect results good things from you.”

That was about a week ago. Gabriel has since given you further details on the mission you were to conduct the research for. A factory building omnics needs to be shut down, but as the factory itself builds consumer robots as well, there is a strong opposition against Overwatch’s ‘help’. And so, this mission must be completed with the utmost secrecy and care as to not pin the blame on Overwatch or Blackwatch.

You don’t sleep even when Genji urges you to do so. He will be carrying this plan out along with a small team of two others. You have to get this right. The pages of your carefully crafted plans laid out on the screens before you, and tab after tab of contingencies wait quietly. Profiles of each agent is on a different screen, meticulously gathered statistics fill the space underneath their pictures. The office space (more of a control center) was still bustling with other agents who were trying to perfect the last of their operation plans.

The sun is already rising when you have your plan fully compiled and ready to be presented. When you arrive at your new boss’s door, your nerves rattle. Perhaps you should have asked Genji to accompany you, but quickly shake it from your mind. No, you need to be proud of your plan and sure of it. Some other members have already given it a once-over and approved of it, so there was only the final hurdle.

You won’t disappoint.

“Come in.”

“Good morning, Commander Reyes. I’m here to present my plans for Operation Garm.”

Gabriel looks through the file he’s been presented, mouth drawn in a hard line. It didn’t even take a minute for him to put it down, and tap a finger against it. You straighten your back in attention. You were going to get questioned. This is normal. You are ready. You believe in your plan.

“This,” he says slowly, “is built from your concern for their safety.”

You hold your head high. You can’t falter when it comes to presenting your ideas. “Yes.”

He laces his fingers together, regarding you with a casual expression, but his eyes are shrewd. “It’s good, but your plan is not suited for my men.”

Your brain sinks straight to the ground, and you utter a shaky, “…excuse me?”

“My men can take care of themselves; they don’t need a plan that gets them back safely. They need a plan that will complete the mission.”

You take a step forward, weariness stripping you of your filter. “But sir, with all due respect, if we don’t take the necessary precautions, our agents wi–”

“We need a plan that will stop the production of these omnics before someone uses them for something they’re not meant for, agent, not a plan that forces my men to drop out at the first sign of trouble.”

Your mind splutters for a moment. Didn’t he realize that this factory was also outfitted with state-of-the-art security bots? If the agents engaged them in a fire fight, they’d lose. Heck, if they engaged any of them in any sort of skirmish, they’d immediately alert everyone in the vicinity–the whole city will converge on them and trap them and then Blackwatch will be implicated. Among these agents were Genji, and if he suffered any more than he already has then…

“I can’t compromise the safety of our agents for any reason,” you say breathlessly.

“You are compromising the mission.”

His word ignites your anger. The mission? Did he care at all about how his men acted? About securing points for them to rest? Their equipment? Nothing? Just the mission itself? Frustration eats at you in relentless chucks, and you try to get the impassive man in front of your to understand.

“I know I’m out of line, but because of that sort of thinking, Blackwatch is getting into more and more trouble! Our plans need to have our agents carefully consider their actions and take them carefully.”

“Because of your thinking, we’re going to end up with more casualties. We don’t do things half-assed here.” The words ‘like Overwatch’ hung unspoken in the air.

Embers inside you become a flame. How dare he.

“I didn’t know you were this sort of man,” you hiss, patience long evaporated.

“And I didn’t know you had so little faith in our agents,” he responds coolly.

“I have faith in them! That’s why–”

“–that’s why you created a plan that forsakes the mission. That is not faith.” He takes a dramatic pause to look you in the eye and whispers, “That’s fear.”

Perhaps it’s because he’s absolutely right and he dug straight to the core of it and yanked it out without regard, or perhaps it’s because he’s entirely wrong and there’s nothing cowardly about prioritizing the survival of your teammates, but you shout, “I CARE about our agents, I’m not going to send them off to die!”

“Cool your head,” Gabriel orders, unfazed by your outburst having dealt with much, much worse. “Come back to me with a new plan with the mission as priority. I want it on my desk by the end of day, tomorrow.”

You salute half-heartedly and turn your heel, instantly more angry as the door slides open instead of granting you the satisfaction of slamming it behind you. The silence you leave behind in Gabriel’s room is tense even without your presence, but from a blind spot in the room, hidden behind a cabinet and a wall, McCree emerges, a low whistle escaping his lips.

Gabriel remains motionless, face still hidden behind crossed fingers.

“Ain’t that a lil’ too harsh, boss? First plan ‘n all.” There is little sympathy in his voice however.

“I already said it: I have faith in my men.”

Jesse skims over the plans strewn over Gabriel’s desk with mild interest, and scoffs after the first few bullet points. “Genji’s nabbed a sweetie, but sweetness ain’t got anyone nowhere; Blackwatch ain’t for bleedin’ hearts.” Again, he looks over the papers. “Awfully nice of ‘em though,” he adds as an afterthought.

Gabriel does not agree, but he does not refute it either, getting up from his chair, your plans in hand.

Zenyatta catches you storming out of Gabriel’s office. It is strange to see the omnic walking around Blackwatch territory, but then again, it isn’t as though you knew exactly where he goes all the time.

The omnic waves at you. “Greetings.”

“Agent Zenyatta,” you politely nod in his direction which he returns in kind. You have worked with him before, arranging for reinforcements and protection whenever he goes on his trips to negotiate on behalf of Overwatch. However, with the recent troubles Overwatch seems to have gotten into, Zenyatta’s job was becoming more and more difficult to handle–no protection meant an easy target, but more protection meant bringing in hostilities to any diplomatic meetings. It was a horrid paradox.

“You seem distressed. Is something the matter?”

An immediate ‘no’ comes to your mouth on the account of your pride, but remains there. Of course something was the matter, but how could you even begin to tell someone unrelated to the situation that ‘oh, it’s no big deal, it’s just that one of my plans that I slaved many nights over just got rejected when I’ve been doing the same damn thing for YEARS and isn’t good enough because apparently I care too much’. The frustration that gnaws at you is beyond words.

Zenyatta, sensing your trepidation, says, “Perhaps elsewhere then.”

It doesn’t take long before you unleash your torrent of grievances and insecurities on Zenyatta, who pries them out of you with practiced ease. You both talk and talk–other rather, you talk and he listens, an occasional nod of his head or a helpful quip to show he is listening.

It’s late into the afternoon by the time you both part ways, your chest already lighter without the burden of your troubles.

“I heard about what happened with Reyes,” is the first thing Genji says when he sees you in the canteen. He doesn’t normally eat, at least not a lot, but he needs the structure of pretending by ordering it anyway.

“He went over it with us,” he continues as you shovel another forkful of food into your mouth. “I told him we should do it.”

You almost choke. “You wha–”

“I believe in your plans, that’s why I asked for you to transfer here. I believe in you.” His words are resolute, even more so than you are about your own ideas. There is a fire in his voice that transfers over, warming you.

“Genji…”

“I trust your plans. I made that clear to Reyes today.”

You immediately perk up. “Is he…”

“He says he will think on it more, but still wants another plan. He was just…hesitant because it is not Blackwatch’s way of doing things.” Genji says slowly, his human hand resting reassuringly on your thigh.

You grumble slightly. “Then what is Blackwatch’s way?”

The cybernetic robot does not answer for a long while, but when he does, you nearly drop your drink. “Perhaps not the right way.”

In the end, you go see Commander Reyes again, and with some slight modifications to the original one, he begrudgingly accepts it with a warning that follows you throughout the whole time you await the results of the mission. “Your intentions are good, but they’re going to come bite you.”

You tell him with unwavering confidence that they won’t. You’ve designed many plans and spearheaded several projects for Overwatch, and this should not be any different. The only difference is your faction and the fact you’re sending someone you’re intimately close to on a mission of your design.

“I trust you, so you better come back safely,” you say to Genji just before he leaves.

He gives your hand a squeeze, and you realize just how cold yours are in comparison to his. “And I trust your plans, so I will. Do not doubt that I won’t.”

You let him go reluctantly, and watch as he joins the other members of the team who then shortly disappear into the dead of the night. You can only hope it goes well.

But hope by itself does not manage to put a damper on Murphy’s Law. The mission goes terribly. The three-man team was forced to abort almost immediately upon reaching the target, unable to execute any contingencies while under siege by the city’s police force which you had not anticipated to be so deeply entangled in this mess.

The agents managed to have their lives spared, a bloodless escape that was long calculated into the plan coupled by Commander Reyes’s supervision, but the mission itself–

Plastered all over the news in another smear campaign against the tyranny of Overwatch and Blackwatch, who in their words, are attempting to make themselves relevant by now interfering with the daily lives of civilians. Some even suspect that Overwatch sends Blackwatch to create havoc so that Overwatch themselves may come in to ‘rescue’ everyone, securing their position in the world as peace-keepers while secretly doling out evil deeds.

The stories becomes unbearably ridiculous, and is reported suspiciously quick.

However, you were deaf to all of this, rushing desperately to the medical bay, Gabriel hot on your heels. Genji. He sits in one of the offices alongside the other two agents who accompanied him, clearly agitated but uninjured–just like your plan dictated. But when he catches sight of you, breathless and wide-eyed, he immediately gets up.

“I’m sorry. Your plan–”

You don’t bother letting him finish, flinging your arms around his shoulders, still mindful of the tubes and wires that protrude from his back. Relief and anguish tumble inside you, fighting their way out at once. “Thank god–thank god you’re okay, I’m just so glad you’re not hurt, I’m so sorry, Genji–”

You babble on and on, Genji’s touches and reassurances unable to soothe you. You fell into the exact trap that you yourself had spoken against prior to joining Blackwatch. How could it have gone so badly? It wasn’t supposed to be this way–it was supposed to be simple, an in-and-out mission with all factors accounted for.

“That’s enough, good to see you all still alive,” says Gabriel, stepping forward. Genji untangles himself from you, and joins the other two agents in rigid salute.

“Thank you. sir,” they all say in unison.

“Gabriel Reyes.” All of you jump, except the man in question, jumps at the irritable and booming voice.

“Jack.”

“The hell was that? Operation Garm. Not even Zenyatta is going to be able to put out this fire you’ve caused.” The blond commander was practically seething, angrier and more exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. You meekly step forward, a growing dread in your stomach.

“I’m sorry, sir, that–”

“Yeah, I sanctioned it. Got a problem with that?” Gabriel practically shields you with his body without actually seeming to do so. Sharp blue eyes turn toward your new commander.

“Let’s take in this my office.”

There is no room for argument in Commander Morrison’s order, and he turns tail, fully expecting Gabriel to follow. Gabriel gives you something of a sympathetic look, he pats your shoulder with a heavy hand and squeezes, a slight resemblance of comfort and reassurance, before he dismisses everyone with a nod of his chin and follows after Jack.

Genji and yourself stand there for several long moments, and you try to wrap your head around what’s just happened and what you have gotten yourself into.

#reader #genji shimada #ask #anon #zenyatta didn't know how to levitate until he reached enlightenment because it made him light enough to float #my writing

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